Dancer tilted his head, his eyes inwardly focused, as if lost in his own thoughts.
“Dancer?” Han said.
Dancer blinked at Han. Then he focused on Han’s wrists. “Crow wants to know what happened to you,” he said, gently turning Han’s blistered arms.
“Crow?”
Dancer looked almost embarrassed. He tapped his forehead. “He’s here. The way he was with you when you came through the tunnels. He’s been guiding us along the way. He told me how to cast the shade that fooled Bayar. And you, apparently.”
That answered some questions but raised others. “But you mean you…you let him?”
“I didn’t really have a choice,” Dancer said, grimacing. “I told Bird to shoot me if I turned into a demon.” He paused, as if listening again, then prompted Han. “Your arms?”
“It was the darbies…the manacles,” Han said, his breath hissing out as metal touched his tender skin.
Dancer reached out and gripped the serpent amulet. Han felt a ripple of consciousness as Crow passed back into the jinxpiece.
Dancer slid his hands under the wristcuffs, supporting them. They glowed for a long moment, then shivered into glittering dust.
Han’s wrists looked awful—like they belonged to someone who’d guested in the queen’s gaol for decades, chained to the wall.
“Maybe Willo can do something about this,” Han said, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“If we can find her,” Dancer said. “I’m not sure exactly where she is right now.”
“What do you mean?” Han looked from Bird to Dancer. “What’s happened?”
“Marisa Pines Camp was destroyed,” Dancer said. “The clans have gone to high ground. And Gerard Montaigne’s army has surrounded the capital.”
C H A P T E R F O R T Y - F I V E
SECOND-STORY
WORK
After more than a year of scheming and plotting—of dreaming of a blade-to-blade throwdown with Bayar—Han found his enemy’s death curiously unsatisfying. Bayar was dead, but it seemed there were scores of new enemies elbowing forward, eager to take his place. He was no closer to his goal than before. In fact, there was an army between him and Raisa now.
What he wanted more than anything was to storm back to Fellsmarch Castle and free her. But he couldn’t do it by himself. He needed help. And for that he needed to retrieve the movable the Bayars had taken from him.
If the Crimson Crown wasn’t at Aerie House, he’d have to return to the armory and find something else. But the crown was the most recognizable glitterbit in the armory—the key to bludgeoning wizards and clans into working together.
He’d sent Bird and Dancer to lay the groundwork with the clans. He had to do his part.
Han knew one way into Aerie House, and that was through the tunnels into the dungeons. Though he had no desire to pass that way again, it had its advantages. It seemed the residents of Aerie House were more interested in keeping people in their dungeons than keeping people out.
This time, there were no Bayars in the way. Shielded in glamours, Han soft-footed it up through the cellars into the main servant corridors.
It was darkman’s hour, and the corridors were deserted. He’d have to watch for servants and others returning from late-night trysts. He’d avoid the kitchens, where the baker’s helpers would be proofing the bread for the next day.
The question was—where would Bayar have stowed such a prize? Some marks kept their valuables in strongboxes under their beds; others in strongholds under the stairs. He hoped he wouldn’t have to slide under a bed with somebody in it.
Just where was Micah Bayar? Where had he been during the torture sessions in the dungeons? Why hadn’t he come with Fiona and Gavan when they’d gone looking for the armory? What mischief was he up to while Han was trapped underground?
Han did a quick search of the common areas. No strongholds in the cellars, nothing in the central keep. There was no choice but to head into the sleeping wing. But as he turned down that corridor, he saw light seeping under one of the doors. Somebody was awake.
At the same moment, he heard footsteps rapidly approaching from behind. Han flattened himself against the wall, layering a glamour overtop.
It was Micah Bayar, in traveling clothes, a carry bag slung over his shoulder. He rapped hard on the underlit door. A woman’s voice bade him enter, and he did.
Without pausing to think, Han ducked into the room next door, which, fortunately, was empty. He pressed his ear against the wall, but it was too thick—he could hear nothing.
The fireplace beckoned. Ducking inside, Han braced his feet against the sides and skinned up the chimney. The fireplaces were connected to a common chimney through a horizontal passageway. On hands and knees, he crawled along the passageway until he reached the fireplace in the adjacent room.
Muffled voices seeped up from below. After a moment’s hesitation, Han fit his feet into the crevices on either side and descended, nearly to floor level. Clinging upside down to the stonework like a bat, he dropped his head until he could peer out of the fireplace opening.
Micah and Lady Bayar were standing by the hearth, nearly close enough for Han to reach out and pinch. Lady Bayar held a glass of wine. There was an empty carafe on the table.
“The guest suite has been prepared for the queen’s arrival, as your father instructed,” Lady Bayar said. Her slurred speech told Han she was deep in her cups. She looked past Micah, toward the door. “Where is she? It’s rather late to receive her formally, but—”
“She didn’t come,” Micah said bluntly, cutting off the flow of speech. Carelessly, he dropped the carry bag onto the hearth and flopped into a fireside chair.
“She didn’t come?” Lady Bayar pouted. “Whyever not?”
“She didn’t want to risk trying to slip through the southern lines,” Micah said, seeming eager to have done with that subject. “Where is Father? I need to talk to him now.”
Lady Bayar scowled as if Raisa’s absence were a personal slight. “Speaker Redfern is already here—he was more than happy to get out of the city when the southerners arrived. And the flowers—do you think it’s easy to locate flowers with the entire country in turmoil? They won’t last forever, you know. How many times are we going to have to plan this wedding?”
Han’s heart froze within his chest. He nearly lost his hold and tumbled onto the hearth.
Lady Bayar sniffed. “She’s not even pretty, Micah. So small and swarthy, like a gypsy’s chance child. I do hope your children inherit your complexion. And your height.”
“Shut up, Mother,” Micah said, closing his eyes as if exhausted. “You’re talking about my betrothed.” Micah held up his hand, and Han recognized Raisa’s wolf ring on his little finger. The ring she never took off.
“So she agreed?”
“Of course she agreed,” Micah said. “I told you she would.” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, as if it hurt.
“Well, I say she should be thrilled to marry you. You come from royal blood, too—your lineage is as old as hers. And, given those sordid rumors about her and that street thief, I’d say she—”
“That’s enough!” Micah said, raising his voice to drown his mother out. “You really don’t believe she would take up with Alister, do you? Seriously?”
“It would not surprise me, given that her mother was the worst sort of round-heeled slut.”
Micah closed his eyes as if to shut out the sight of her. “Where is Father?”
“I hoped you could tell me. I haven’t seen him or Fiona for three days, and me with a wedding to plan. This family is falling apart.”
Micah opened his eyes, drawing his thick eyebrows together in a frown. “Three days! Where would they be? Where would they go?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Lady Bayar said. “Nobody tells me anything.”
Micah surged to his feet. “I need to check on something,” he said.
“But you only just came,” Lady B
ayar protested. “You must be famished. I’ll have Molly bring in a light supper and some of that brandy you like. Don’t forget—the tailors need to meet with you later this morning for your final fitting.”
Micah snatched up the carry bag and thrust it toward his mother. “Put this in the strongbox,” he said. “I shouldn’t be too long.” He turned on his heel and banged out the door.
No doubt on his way to the dungeons, Han thought. And when he found those empty, on to the tunnels. I could follow him and make sure he never comes back. His palm itched for the cold kiss of steel.
But it was too late. The wolf ring conferred on Micah a kind of protection. If there was even a chance Raisa had chosen him, then Han would have to let him be.
If he were to save Raisa’s life, he would need every gifted hand. Gavan Bayar and Fiona were dead. It wouldn’t do to hush someone as magically powerful as Micah.
Micah could be lying to his mother, but why would he? And there was the ring as proof.
Why would she do it? Why would Raisa say yes to Micah after everything that had happened? After she’d said yes to Han?
If it saved the queendom, she would do it in a heartbeat, he thought. The queendom has always come first.
All of Han’s doubts resurfaced, the ones that had been stilled by the night in Hanalea’s garden. Chief among them—would someone like Raisa ever agree to marry someone like him?
To avoid thinking about it, he returned his attention to Lady Bayar. She stood staring at the door, the strap of the carry bag clutched in one fist, her wine in the other. Finally, she tossed back the last of the wine, dropped the bag onto the chair, and stumbled into what Han assumed was her bedchamber.
Han hung there for several minutes until he heard snores emanating from the adjacent room. He dropped silently to the floor. Grabbing up the carry bag, he lifted the flap and looked inside, confirming that Micah had been toting the crown around. Han had what he’d come for, but somehow it didn’t seem important anymore.
Slipping the strap over his own shoulder, Han slid out the door to the corridor. Moments later, he was on his way back to the tunnels.
His streetlord self hoped that he would encounter Micah in the tunnels under Gray Lady—that he would be forced to kill him in self-defense. But he made it all the way back to the entrance on Hanalea without seeing anyone.
C H A P T E R F O R T Y - S I X
ON THE INSIDE
On the afternoon after her meeting with Micah, Raisa sought out Mellony in her suite of rooms in the Queen’s Tower. She had to talk to her sister about Micah—sooner rather than later. It was a conversation she dreaded.
Leaving her guard in the corridor, Raisa entered her sister’s sunny sitting room—only to find Mellony and Missy Hakkam at a table by the window, playing cards.
Bones, Raisa thought. She was in no mood to deal with Missy.
“Your Majesty!” they chorused, rose and curtsied. Missy returned to her seat, but Mellony crossed to Raisa and embraced her, kissing her cheek. Ever since the news had come about Han’s death, her younger sister had treated Raisa like a fragile piece of Tamric spun glass.
“Would you like to play with us, Raisa?” Mellony asked eagerly. “It might take your mind off…everything.”
“Magret won’t even play with us anymore,” Missy said, throwing down her cards. “And if we make Caterina play, she cheats.”
“What does it matter if you aren’t playing for money?” Raisa said.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Missy said.
“Everybody’s tired,” Raisa said. “Magret and Caterina have been taking shifts on the walls. If anybody has any spare time, they spend it sleeping.”
“I worked in the kitchen yesterday,” Missy said, with a martyr’s air. “My father insisted, said I had to set an example. It was ghastly hot, and I broke a nail scrubbing burnt barley out of the cooking pot. There’s no way to make barley palatable anyway.”
Stung into honesty, Raisa muttered, “Well, you won’t have to worry about that too much longer. We’re nearly out.”
“Thank the Lady,” Missy said. “I don’t care if I never eat barley again.”
Until you’re starving, Raisa thought. She’d just heard a series of bleak reports about their food supply. It might last another week if they were careful. And then what?
“I rather like working in the kitchens,” Mellony said. “I’ve never done much cooking, and I’m learning a lot. Mistress Barkleigh is a good teacher, if you show that you’re willing to work. She says that anyone who oversees a household should know her way around a kitchen.”
Missy rolled her eyes. “Mistress Barkleigh is an ill-tempered witch. Anyway, maybe surrender wouldn’t be so bad. Arden is a civilized country, not so very different from us. King Gerard may honor the claims of landholders here. He’ll need thanes to manage the—”
“When Montaigne took Tamron Court, there was a massacre,” Raisa snapped. “His soldiers rampaged through the city, raping and pillaging. The southern attitude toward women is different than what you are used to.”
Missy’s eyes went wide. “I don’t believe that! Anyway, General Klemath will prevent that from happening. He wouldn’t possibly—”
“General Klemath is a traitor,” Raisa said. “Besides, it’s Marin Karn in charge. We’ve met before. I have no desire to meet him again.”
“Well, they’re in the city already,” Missy said crossly. “It’s reasonable to think that any pillaging has already happened.”
Which was true. Fellsmarch was not a walled city. The mountains were the wall they’d always relied on. Raisa tried not to think what might be happening outside the castle. Which reminded her of the task at hand.
“Lady Hakkam, thank you for keeping my sister company. You are dismissed for the afternoon.”
“Really, I’m happy to stay, Your Majesty,” Missy stammered. “I don’t really have any—”
“Perhaps Mistress Barkleigh could use some help.” Raisa nodded toward the door.
Missy stood, fluffing out her skirts. “Frankly, I can’t wait for the siege to be over,” she said. “I’m tired of seeing the same old people day after day.” With a curtsy to Raisa, she flounced out.
There’s something we agree on, Raisa thought. There are some people I’m tired of, too.
“I picked some flowers for you, Raisa,” Mellony said. She crossed to the window and returned with a vase of wilting black stars and autumn lilies. “Lady Hakkam has a shade garden that’s still blooming even in this heat.”
“Thank you,” Raisa said. She brought the flowers to her nose, breathing in the scent of sweet decay. She set the vase on the table next to her.
Mellony sat down next to Raisa and lifted a thick leather-bound book onto her lap. “Would you like me to read to you? Speaker Jemson lent me another book of poetry. Or I could play the harpsichord. Lady Dubai showed me a new piece. I don’t quite have it down, but I could give it a try.” From the way the words tumbled out, it was almost as if Mellony anticipated bad news and didn’t want to hear it. Or maybe that was Raisa’s conscience pricking her.
“I need to talk to you about Micah,” Raisa said.
“I’ve been wondering where he is,” Mellony said, resting her hands on the book in her lap. “I haven’t seen him all day. Is he on duty, do you know?”
“Micah is gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?” Mellony looked stricken.
“He’s gone to the mountains,” Raisa said, raking both hands through her hair. “He’s going to try to organize a rescue.”
“Why would he leave?” Mellony whispered.
“I told him to go,” Raisa said. “It’s either that or surrender. He can’t beat two armies by himself.”
“He should have stayed here,” Mellony whispered, her blue eyes pooling with tears. “What if something happens to him?”
Sweet Lady in chains, Raisa thought. I wish I didn’t have to deal with this now, along with everything else.
“There’s more.” She extended her hand, the one on which she wore Micah’s ring.
Mellony’s hand snaked out and caught hold of Raisa’s wrist. “That’s Micah’s ring,” she said, pulling it close. “His signet ring. Isn’t it?”
Raisa nodded.
“What does this mean?” Mellony said, her lower lip trembling. “You’ve exchanged rings?”
“It means we are betrothed,” Raisa said. “I have agreed to marry him.”
Mellony’s eyes widened. “But…but you don’t even love him! You told me you didn’t. Or was that a lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie. I meant what I said. I don’t love him.” All of the bitterness of the choice she’d been forced to make welled up in Raisa. “You wanted to be queen, didn’t you? Well, this is what it’s like. You don’t get to marry for love.”
“But…but…you’re using him! You’re using him for your own selfish reasons. You just want him to risk his life to break the siege. And that’s wrong!”
Guilt sharpened Raisa’s tongue. “Don’t be naive, Mellony. Everybody uses everyone. That’s the way the world is. I didn’t make it.”
“What about Father?” Mellony demanded. “Does he know about this?”
“No, he doesn’t know yet,” Raisa said. “How would he?” Collecting herself, she took Mellony’s hands in hers. “It’s important that we keep this a secret for now, because some in the clans won’t understand why I’ve made this decision.”
Mellony yanked back her hands. “I don’t understand it, either. If Father were here, I would tell him right away. He would stop this.”
“Mellony, don’t you see? It’s important that we work together if we’re to have any chance of—”
“Don’t lecture me!” Mellony interrupted, her voice as cold and hard as We’enhaven marble. “We can work together as long as you give the orders. Your lover Lord Alister is dead and so now you’ve decided to take Micah away from me!”
The Crimson Crown Page 39