The Gray Wolf Throne

by Chima, Cinda Williams

  “Tea?” Making a disapproving face, Lucius settled onto the bench next to the hearth and carefully arranged his cups next to him. “I’d prefer something stronger.”

  “Let’s stick with tea for now,” Han said. He refilled his own and Dancer’s cups and made more tea for Lucius. Closing Lucius’s hands around the cup, Han made sure he had a good hold before he returned to his seat.

  “So,” Lucius said, setting the tea aside without tasting it, “tell me everything, boy. Tell me about Oden’s Ford. My years at the academy were the best years of my life. Are the houses still fighting on Bridge Street?”

  “Still fighting,” Han said. “And the provosts are still rounding them up.”

  “Bloody provosts,” Lucius muttered, his milky eyes fixed on some private memory. “Them and their curfews. Alger, he used to tweak their pointy noses, let me tell you. He was like a vapor, that boy. He went wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and nothing the provosts could do about it.”

  “That’s who I wanted to talk to you about,” Han said. “Alger.”

  “Alger?” Lucius’s head jerked up, his expression wary. “What about him?”

  “What he was like when you knew him?” Han said. “For instance, what did he look like?”

  “Well. He was devilish handsome,” Lucius said. “Blond hair and blue eyes the color of the Indio in midsummer. Ladies claimed you could drown in ’em. Well built he was, and he moved like a cat. I wasn’t so bad in my day, but never could compete with Alger Waterlow when it came to the ladies.” Lucius rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand.

  “Me and Alger, we once spent a whole weekend in the women’s dormitory at the Temple School. Bunch of dedicates decided against taking vows after that.” Lucius grinned a gap-toothed grin, which faded quickly. “’Course all that catting around ended when he met Hanalea.”

  “How did he get along with the other students?” Han asked.

  “There was just something about him,” Lucius said. “Folks wanted to be with him. He’d draw you in. Soon as he’d walk into a room he’d be the center of attention. Ever’body loved him.”

  Han rubbed his chin. He was supposed to believe that the flame-eyed Demon King of the stories was the bang-up cove of Oden’s Ford?

  “Ever’body loved him—’cept Kinley Bayar, that is,” Lucius amended.

  “Kinley Bayar?” Han asked. “Who’s that?”

  “Remember? He was the one was to marry Queen Hanalea.”

  “Oh. Right,” Han said.

  “They was like oil and water—Kinley and Alger. Kinley always wanted to be in charge. So did Alger—and whenever he and Kinley went head-to-head, Alger usually won, and Kinley couldn’t abide losing.”

  “Have you ever been to Aediion?” Han asked abruptly.

  “Aediion?” Lucius said, blinking at the rapid change of topic. “A’ course. Plenty of times. That was our back-alley highway. Our secret meeting place, especially during the civil war.”

  Which made sense, if Crow was telling the truth.

  “Dancer and I have been to Aediion, too,” Han said. “I’ve met someone there who claims to be Alger Waterlow.”

  Lucius’s dreamy expression slid away. “Alger? What are you talking about?” The old man leaned forward, agitated, his Adam’s apple jumping as he swallowed.

  “That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” Han said. “It doesn’t seem possible, but that’s what he claims, and he knows more about magic than anyone I’ve met.”

  “Alger,” Lucius breathed. His burled hands scrabbled in his lap as if trying to gain a purchase on the idea. “Alger alive. Who would’ve thought?”

  “Well, not exactly alive,” Han said. “He claims he’s been hidden in his old amulet all this time.” Han touched the serpent flashpiece, then remembered that Lucius couldn’t see it. “He describes himself as a remnant. Not a ghost, exactly, but…he can’t exist in real life. Not as himself, anyway.”

  Lucius licked his lips, his face more pasty pale than usual. “You sure about that, boy? You sure he can’t find a way?”

  “Well.” Han shrugged. “He says not.”

  “Anything’s possible when it comes to Alger Waterlow,” Lucius said. “If I’m alive, then he could be too. Did he say anything about me?” He pawed at Han’s arm. “Did he say what he wants? Tell me.”

  Han shook his head, worried the old man might have a stroke. “He hasn’t said much about the past, except that he wants revenge on the Bayars. He seems…he seems bitter about what happened.”

  “He should be bitter,” Lucius said. “He’s got reason.” Turning, he groped for his bottle and pulled the cork with his teeth. He splashed product into a cup, his hand shaking. Then drained it and poured again.

  “He also seems to blame Hanalea,” Han said. “For betraying him.”

  Lucius shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, his hands wrapped around his tin cup.

  “But—is that even possible?” Han went on. “That he could last a thousand years hidden in an amulet? Based on what you know about magic, and what you knew about him?”

  “You listen to me,” Lucius said, his eyes popping open again. “I don’t know how it could be done, but if anybody could do it, he could.” He emptied his cup with one gulp and refilled it. “Sweet Thea of the mountains, Alger’s come back.”

  “Whoa, now,” Han said, putting his hand on the old man’s arm. Lucius flinched, nearly spilling his drink. “I’m not absolutely sure it’s him. It could be some kind of a trick. I was hoping you could tell me something—some question I could ask him that only he would know the answer to.”

  “Something Alger would know.” Lucius frowned, blotting his forehead with his sleeve. “Let me think.”

  While he was thinking, Han rose and refilled their teacups. Except for Lucius’s, which was still full.

  “Here’s two things,” Lucius said abruptly. “Two things that only Alger would know. First, what was their secret meeting place—him and Hanalea’s? And what did he give to her as a love token when they were betrothed?”

  “All right,” Han said, thinking Alger and Lucius must have been tight friends if Lucius knew those kinds of secrets. “What are the answers?”

  “They used to meet in the conservatory at Fellsmarch Castle, right over Hanalea’s bedchamber,” Lucius said. “Maybe it’s still there. There was a secret passage from her room to the garden.”

  “The conservatory,” Han repeated. “And what did he give Hanalea?”

  “It was a ring, moonstones and sapphires and pearls,” Lucius said. “Because he only ever saw her by moonlight, he said. Hanalea wore it the rest of her life.” He shuddered. “Imagine what it was like for him—trapped in that amulet while Hanalea grew old and died.”

  Strange, Han thought. It wasn’t just that Lucius thought Crow’s story was possible—he seemed convinced already that it was true. Like he’d been waiting to hear it for a thousand years. Like it was inevitable.

  “What are you going to do, boy?” Lucius asked, breaking into Han’s thoughts.

  “Me and Dancer are going to Aediion tonight,” Han said. “I’m going to find out if he is who he says he is.”

  “Look,” Dancer said. “Even if he is who he says he is, and even if Lucius is willing to vouch for him, how do we know we can trust him? A thousand years locked in an amulet can change a person. He may be planning to finish the job he started during the Breaking.”

  “Boy—does he know who you are?” Lucius asked. “Does he know you’re his blood?”

  “No,” Han said. “He doesn’t seem to know much that’s happened while he was—ah—locked up.” Han shrugged. “I didn’t know whether to tell him or not.”

  “You should tell him,” Lucius said. “He deserves to know that his line didn’t die with him. That could make all the difference. He can help you. He’ll want to help you. Believe me, you want him on your side.”

  The old man stood, grabbing up his bottle and cups. “Call Willo,” he said. “I’m
ready to go home.” And he refused to say anything more.

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y-O N E

  BACK IN AEDIION

  After Lucius left, Han asked Willo’s healer apprentices to keep any other visitors away. He warned them that he and Dancer would be using dangerous, unstable magic, and laid magical barriers around the perimeter to prevent their being interrupted. Then he and Dancer sat down on adjacent sleeping benches in the corner of the room.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Dancer said. “Lucius seemed to think that Alger Waterlow is capable of almost anything. He seems frightened of him, almost.”

  “In a way, it supports his story,” Han said. “If we can believe Lucius, Alger was powerful enough to conceal himself in an amulet for a thousand years.”

  “Why would anyone want to do that?” Dancer said.

  “Maybe if you were desperate for revenge,” Han said. “Or willing to do whatever it takes to win.” Like me, he added to himself.

  They sat in silence for a moment, each alone with his own thoughts.

  “Have you tried returning to Aediion?” Han asked. “Since that day in Gryphon’s class?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Dancer said, staring up at the ceiling. “I never saw much use in it, and after what happened to you the first time, I wasn’t eager to try it again.”

  “We should go,” Han said, after another long pause. “I can bring you along, or you can come on your own power.”

  “I’ll come on my own,” Dancer said. “That way I can leave on my own. Are you wearing your rowan talisman?” Dancer reached up and touched his own. He’d made one for himself after Han’s had prevented Crow from possessing him.

  Han nodded, opening his collar so Dancer could see. “Wait a few minutes before you follow me. I’ll give Crow a bit of warning that you’re coming.” Han didn’t know if that was a good or a bad idea, but it seemed only fair. “I don’t think it really matters where we meet, as far as Crow is concerned. He’s just always there, waiting. But let’s you and me meet in Mystwerk Tower.”

  What if Crow doesn’t show? Han thought. I’ll look like a fool.

  That was the least of his worries.

  He lay back, closing his eyes, and spoke the familiar words that would let him pass through the portal. And opened his eyes to Mystwerk Tower.

  Midnight. Moonlight shafted down from the windows, kindling the dust motes in the air.

  Crow sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Han, dressed all in black, eyes closed, head bowed, his flax hair the only brilliant thing about him. If Han didn’t know better, he’d have guessed he was either despondent or praying.

  Han reorganized his clothes, ridding himself of the clan garb he’d been wearing and arraying himself in elegant flare, down to the glittering rings on his fingers. It had become his way of honoring Crow, of meeting him on his own turf.

  Crow opened his eyes and blinked up at him. “Alister!” He scrambled to his feet, brushing at his somber clothing. Then glittered up a bit, sprouting rings and sequins and jewels, as if to present a more cheerful appearance. “You’re alive!” He looked eagerly into Han’s face, examining it for damage. “Are you…are you well? How are you feeling?”

  Han shrugged, surprised at Crow’s concern. “I’ll live.”

  “It’s true, then, that the Maker looks after fools,” Crow said, sounding more like his usual self. “You nearly killed yourself healing that girl. You stripped your amulet and yourself. I thought you were dead. Why did you do it?”

  Han didn’t know how to answer that question, in the past or present tense. “She was important to me. I had to try to save her.”

  “Did she live?” Crow asked. “Was all that sacrifice worth it?”

  “She’s alive,” Han said. “I haven’t decided whether it was worth it or not.”

  Crow laughed, and it was unexpectedly charming. “You’re learning, Alister. I told you not to go to war over a woman. Though you must be a foolhardy sort if you came back here.”

  “I’m still not convinced you’re telling the truth,” Han said. “I’ve asked someone to join us here. Someone I trust.”

  Crow’s smile faded, replaced by irritation. “No. Absolutely not. Our bargain was you come alone. No one else is supposed to know I even exist.”

  “Our bargain was you’d help me against the Bayars. Not treat me like a sweet mark. You’ve got no business squeaking about the rules now.”

  Crow began pacing back and forth. “I’m trying to protect you. The Bayars have been trying to pry me free of that amulet for a thousand years. If they find out that you can communicate with me, what do you think will happen to you? Do you look forward to hours of torture in the dungeon at Aerie House? I’ve been there, and, believe me, I have no desire to go back.”

  “When you meet my friend, you’ll realize there’s not much chance he’ll cackle to the Bayars,” Han said. “Or that they’d listen if he did. It’s too late anyway, I—” As if he’d called Dancer by speaking of him, the air between them thickened and rippled, and Dancer appeared, clad in fine ceremonial clan garb.

  Crow took two steps back, eyes wide, raising his arms in defense. Instinctively, Han stepped between Dancer and Crow. Dancer looked momentarily disoriented, then fixed his gaze on Crow.

  “You’re smaller than I expected,” Dancer said, cocking his head. “And no flaming eyes.”

  Crow grew fractionally larger and more brilliant, like a peacock displaying his plumage, or a streetlord making show. “A copperhead? You brought a copperhead here to meet me?” Crow lowered his arms slowly, staring at Dancer like he was a demon himself. “No,” he whispered, his brow furrowed. “That’s not right. You’re a wizard disguised as a copperhead.”

  Dancer fingered his talisman. “Of course I’m a wizard, or I wouldn’t be here. I’m also clan.”

  “Hayden Fire Dancer, meet Alger Waterlow,” Han said, rather formally.

  Crow seemed as edgy as a cat in Ragmarket. “There’s something about you,” he whispered, his eyes riveted on Dancer. “Something…hidden. Something dangerous. Something you don’t want anybody to see. Have we met before?”

  Dancer shook his head. “This is only my second time in Aediion.”

  “We have some questions to ask you, all right?” Han said, beginning to lose patience.

  “Questions?” Crow’s gaze flickered to Han. “What questions?”

  “You say you are Alger Waterlow, the last of the gifted kings. If so, then tell me where you used to meet Hanalea in secret, before you ran off together.”

  “That’s no one’s business but my own,” Crow said, pressing his lips together as if he never meant to open them again.

  “It’s our business if we’re going to partner up,” Han said.

  “Send the copperhead away,” Crow said. “I’ve no desire to partner with him. Then we’ll talk.”

  Han shook his head. “I want him here as witness. Otherwise, we’re both out of here.” It was street bravado. He couldn’t let Crow know how desperate he was for his help.

  Crow scowled and gave in. “Very well. Hanalea and I used to meet in the glass house at Fellsmarch Castle,” he said. “There was a passage through the walls from her chambers.”

  “Glasshouse?” Han said uncertainly. Lucius had said the conservatory.

  “The conservatory,” Crow said, waving his hand. “It’s like a glass garden.”

  Han struggled to keep his street face while his stomach lurched. Was it possible Crow was telling the truth?

  “All right, then,” Han said. “Sounds plausible. What did you give Hanalea as a handfast gift?”

  Crow’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?” he demanded. “Where is this coming from?”

  Han hesitated a moment. “Do you remember Lucius Frowsley?”

  Crow seemed lost. “Frowsley?” He shook his head. “I don’t really…” He looked up. “Do you mean Lucas?” he said. “Lucas Fraser? He was in school with me at Mystwerk. He was my best friend. But that
was a thousand years ago.”

  Han frowned. Had Lucius changed his name? “Maybe,” Han said. “It’s a long story, but he’s still alive. He gave me these questions. And the answers.”

  “Lucas,” Crow whispered, more to himself than to Han. “Is it possible? I’d nearly forgotten about…that. He was so eager to live forever, but I had no idea if—”

  “Just answer the question, will you?” Han said.

  Crow’s brilliant eyes fixed on Han. “I gave Hanalea a ring—moonstones and pearls and sapphires. And she gave me a gold ring, engraved with her name on the inside, so I’d always have her against my skin.” He laughed bitterly. “The Bayars took it from me, along with everything else.”

  “It’s really true, then,” Dancer said, his hand closing reflexively around his amulet. “You are the Demon King.”

  Crow turned toward Dancer. Then stumbled back a step as recognition flooded into his face and fired in his eyes.

  “Speaking of demons,” Crow said, his voice low and dangerous. “I believe you have a demon’s face.” Springing forward, he smashed into Dancer as he had done when he’d taken possession of Micah in Aediion. But again he bounced back, driven off by the rowan talisman.

  “You’re a filthy Bayar!” Crow cried, rolling to his feet, his image rippling and fraying like a flag in the wind. “Did you think I wouldn’t know you after all these years? Do you think I wouldn’t recognize that Aerie House stench?” His voice trembled, his face twisting in revulsion.

  Dancer just stood there as if frozen, saying nothing.

  “I told you how important it was to keep my existence a secret, especially from the Bayars,” Crow said to Han, his voice low and furious. “Now you’ve gambled away what little chance you had in the first place.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Han said, since Dancer still said nothing. “Use your eyes. Dancer’s no Bayar. He’s clan, raised at Marisa Pines. I’ve known him since we were lytlings.”

  “Kill him,” Crow said through clenched teeth. “Kill him now or we’ll all suffer the consequences.”

  “Why is it you’re always trying to goad me into killing somebody?” Han demanded.