The Gray Wolf Throne

by Chima, Cinda Williams

  Ahead, Raisa could see the glittering towers of Fellsmarch Castle poking above the buildings, a sight that tugged at her heart. So much had happened since she’d last seen them. She pounded down regret like bread dough before its second rising. Learn from it, she thought, but don’t waste energy on what cannot be changed.

  And it was good to be home. She looked about, drinking in the details she’d missed for so long—the twisting side streets, the steps built into the alleys that climbed the slopes in the outer city, the northern accents clamoring around her, and, yes, the stink of cabbage cooking and wood fires and the filth that ran in the gutters.

  She took a deep breath and let it out, allowing her shoulders to slump a bit in relief, already looking forward to a hot bath and good northern food. As she did so, she caught a flicker of movement on the roof of a building ahead. A dark silhouette rose into view, its motion fluid and sinuous. It stilled itself, taking careful aim. Instinct caused her to shift sideways and down, to present a narrower target. She opened her mouth to shout a warning.

  Amon swore and lunged toward her as something like a fist slammed into her right chest, nearly unseating her and bringing tears to her eyes.

  Bedlam ensued. Before Raisa knew what was happening, Amon had scooped her from her saddle, cradling her close and leaning over her so that his body covered hers.

  “Make way!” he roared, in a hoarse, unfamiliar voice, urging his horse into a gallop, willing to ride down any fool who didn’t get out of his path.

  Bricks and tiles flew as a blast of wizard flash hit the roof where the archer had been. It was Han Alister, discouraging any second attempts.

  “Mellony!” Raisa gasped. “See to my sister’s safety.”

  She saw flickers of blue to either side, breathed in the acrid scent of wizard flame, heard shouted orders and the twang of longbows. They thundered into the broader, straighter streets near the castle, through the gate that led into the castle close.

  Still, Amon did not slow. Raisa could smell the moat and hear the hollow rattle of hooves over wood as they crossed the drawbridge at a dead run. They passed under the portcullis and into the interior courtyard of Fellsmarch Castle.

  The portcullis slammed down behind them.

  She was home.

  She raised her head, twisting around so she could see. The courtyard was packed with blue-jacketed guards and rearing horses. To her relief, she saw Mellony, still astride her pony, led by Mick Bricker. She looked pale as parchment, but apparently unhurt.

  Han and his friend Fire Dancer planted themselves in the arch leading to the drawbridge, gripping their amulets like they might have to fight off raging hordes of assassins.

  “Call a healer!” Amon bellowed, right into Raisa’s ear. “The princess heir’s been shot.”

  Raisa ran her fingers over the plate armor just below her collarbone. It was badly dented and pierced partway through, but had held against the assassin’s arrow, if that’s what it was. The missile must have fallen away in the street.

  Raisa attempted to squirm free of Amon’s grip. “Really, Amon, I don’t think I’m—”

  A familiar voice broke into her protest. “Captain Byrne! Give her to me!”

  It was Magret Gray, who’d already dismounted and shed her rain-drenched cloak. Magret opened her arms and Amon lowered Raisa down into them. Raisa looked up into Magret’s familiar face, streaming with tears, etched with new lines of pain.

  Were they new, or had she just never noticed?

  Magret’s hair was grayer than before, caught into its customary thick braid that extended nearly to her waist. When Raisa was a toddler she used to cling to that braid and suck her thumb when she needed consoling.

  Mellony’s face came into view at Raisa’s elbow, tear-stained and terror-stricken. “Raisa,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t die too.”

  “I’m not planning on it, not any time soon,” Raisa said. “Magret. Please set me down. I’m fine, just bruised is all.”

  But Magret’s grip was as difficult to break as Amon’s.

  “Let’s get her into the keep,” Amon said. “Kiefer, I want a dozen guards on the door. Talia, get over to the Healer’s Hall and bring Lord Vega on the double. Mick and Hallie, take a triple and go out and see if you can track down the archers. But be careful.”

  Guards took off in all directions, an explosion of blue uniforms.

  “I’ll help,” Averill said, his eyes brilliant with anger. “I know the streets.”

  “No.” Amon shook his head. “Depending on who’s behind this, you might be a target yourself. I’d like to keep you close for now.”

  Averill opened his mouth to protest, but Nightwalker said, “I’ll go, Lightfoot. My warriors will be just outside the close and I know the streets as well as you do.”

  “The archer who shot me was on the roof of Kendall House,” Raisa told him. “The arrow might be lying in the street near where I was hit. That might tell us something.”

  Nightwalker nodded, his face grim and determined. “We’ll find them, Your Highness.” He slipped past Han and Dancer, disappearing through the archway into the growing dusk.

  Magret strode toward the keep, still carrying Raisa in her arms.

  “Magret. Set me down,” Raisa said, exasperated. “Please believe me when I say I’m just bruised. I’ve been shot before, and I know the difference.”

  At that, Han swung around to look at her, his mouth twitching with amusement and relief. It was the first genuine smile she’d seen on him in a long while, overlaying a face haggard with worry.

  “Byrne, we need to do a better job of protecting the queen,” he said. “Before we know it, she’ll be showing off old battle scars to her ladies whenever she’s in her cups. It won’t help our reputations any.”

  Amon nodded without smiling. “I agree. We need to do a better job, and we will.” He turned to Raisa. “Humor me, Your Highness,” he said, stubborn as ever. He nodded to Magret. “Take her inside.”

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y-S I X

  AGREEING TO DISAGREE

  There was no saying no to Magret Gray. The former nurse carried Raisa into one of the salons on the first floor of the palace. There she removed Raisa’s armor and padding, stripping her to her camisole, and put her down on her back on one of the couches, under a blanket. She pressed an icy cloth against the purpling bruise above Raisa’s right breast.

  The court healer, Harriman Vega, a wizard, arrived with four assistants. Han Alister followed them in and stood next to Raisa, arms crossed.

  Lord Vega scowled at Han. “Wait outside, please, while we examine Her Highness,” he said in a high, supercilious voice.

  Han shook his head. “I’m staying,” he said, immovable as stone. “After what’s happened, Captain Byrne isn’t in a trusting mood. I promised him I wouldn’t leave her side.”

  And he trusts you? Raisa thought. That’s different.

  Magret stood, hands on hips, giving Han a look of undiluted hostility.

  “Your Highness, please,” Lord Vega said. “Surely you don’t want this young man looking on while we—”

  “He stays,” Raisa said, with a sigh. I might as well get used to having no privacy at all, she thought.

  Still, her cheeks burned as Lord Vega undid the cord at her neckline and pulled down her camisole. The wizard healer tried to keep his body between Han and Raisa, but Han moved enough to make sure he could see the healer’s hands and hear what charms he spoke. His face was again as unreadable as one of the stone faces of Hanalea.

  Vega and his assistants all had to take a look.

  “As you can see,” the wizard said to his assistants, still trying to block Han’s view, “the arrow did not pierce the skin, so even if it were a poison daub, there is no danger to the queen’s life. The armor apparently stopped the projectile, although the force of the blow has caused considerable bruising.” He looked up at Raisa. “Was the arrow launched from close range?”

  She nodded. �
��I would guess no more than twenty feet.”

  “Then you are most fortunate you were wearing this armor, Your Highness,” Vega said, lifting Raisa’s breastplate and weighing it in his hands, peering at the dent made by the arrow. “It’s lightweight, but magicked to turn any but the strongest blows. I suppose it’s of copperhead make.”

  “It’s clanwork,” Raisa said. And it’s maybe wizardry too, she thought. I need to thank Fire Dancer for saving my life.

  “Observe,” Lord Vega said to his assistants. He laid his hands over the bruises and spoke a charm. Han leaned in close, cocking his head so he could hear, ignoring Vega’s glare.

  Within seconds, the ache in Raisa’s chest had eased somewhat and the purple swelling diminished.

  “Thank you, Lord Vega,” she said, rolling her shoulders to test her range of motion. “That is amazing. I hope you won’t have too many ill effects.”

  “It is my calling, Your Highness,” Vega said modestly. “There is a personal price to be paid, of course, but I would gladly sacrifice my health on your behalf.”

  Raisa couldn’t help glancing at Han, who’d nearly sacrificed his life on her behalf. And maybe regretted it now.

  Lord Vega and his minions also examined the healing wound in her back from the ambush in Marisa Pines Pass. At this rate, she’d collect as many scars as Han Alister.

  “May I ask how this was treated, Your Highness?” Lord Vega asked, running cool fingers over her upper back. This wizard was remarkably good at controlling any leakage of power, compared to Han and Micah, at least.

  Or maybe Han’s presence was keeping him on his best behavior.

  “I was treated at Marisa Pines Camp,” Raisa said, “by Willo Watersong, a clan healer.”

  “It’s mending well,” Vega said grudgingly, poking at it. “Though I don’t recommend that people seek treatment in the camps except in an emergency. It’s difficult to predict the effects of the herbals they use. Not only that, once the copperheads have meddled in an illness or injury, it can make it more difficult for an academy-trained wizard to diagnose and treat the problem.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Raisa said, sliding her arms back into her gown and retying the cord at her neck. Magret draped a thick shawl over her shoulders, as if to provide a little additional coverage.

  “Is there anything else? I think I’d like to rest now.” She looked pointedly at the door.

  “I’ll be back to examine you again in the morning,” Lord Vega said. He looked up at Magret. “You, there. If there should be any change in the queen’s condition, if you have any concern at all, don’t attempt to treat it yourself. Send a servant to the Healer’s Hall to fetch me.”

  “I will, my lord,” Magret said. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Lord Vega and his assistants swept from the room, stuffed full of their own importance.

  “What a pompous ass,” Magret said, when he was out of earshot. “’Course you can’t throw a rock without hitting a pompous ass of a wizard.”

  Raisa laughed as Han blinked at Magret in surprise. “Magret, meet Han Alister,” she said. “Han, this is my nurse, Magret Gray.”

  Magret’s eyes narrowed. “Alister!” Her eyes dropped to Han’s wrists, then flicked back up to his face. “The gang leader and murderer?”

  “Magret!” Raisa put up her hand. “Alister is—”

  “Used to be,” Han broke in, shrugging his shoulders. “You one of the Pearl Alley Grays?”

  Magret eyed him balefully, keeping her hands planted on her hips. “Used to be,” she said. “What is he doing here, Your Highness?” she asked, without taking her eyes off Han, as if he might make a move on her.

  “He’s going to be staying here in the palace,” Raisa said. “He’s…um…kind of a bodyguard.”

  “No,” Magret said. “He can’t be staying here in the palace. Not this one.” Her eyes fastened on the amulet that hung around Han’s neck, and she took a step back, raising her hands as if in defense. “He’s handsome enough, I’ll grant you that, but he’s a fiend, Your Highness. Truly, he is.”

  Raisa looked from Magret to Han. “What are you talking about? Do you know each other?”

  Han kept his eyes on Magret. “Maiden Gray,” he said softly, “I’m sorry about Velvet.”

  “Don’t call him that!” Magret shouted. “Don’t you call him that. His name was Theo. Theo Gray.”

  “I’m sorry about Theo,” Han amended.

  Velvet. Raisa recalled the boy in the velvet coat who’d been with Cat Tyburn the day Han had rescued her from the Raggers. The razorleaf user who’d meant to rob her.

  They’re all dead, Han had said. All of the Raggers except Cat.

  “I should have known you for a wizard,” Magret said. “That’s the only way to explain it, him taking to the streets like he done. He was a good boy before you lured him away from his family.”

  Unconsciously, Magret had slipped into the kind of street cant that Han used. Or had used.

  “Who was Vel—Theo—to you?” Raisa asked Magret.

  “He was my sister’s boy,” Magret said. “My nephew. My sister died of remitting fever. I raised him ’til he was four. Then he went with his father, who took him for a street mumper.”

  A memory came back to Raisa—playing at blocks with a boy her own age when she was three or four. A boy who somehow belonged to Magret, though she’d never married.

  “Then he falls in with Cuffs and his gang,” Magret went on. “Turned to slide-hand and razorleaf and shoplifting.”

  “He was starving,” Han said. “His da disappeared and he was mumping on his own, doing a little slide-hand and second-story work along with. He started up with the River Rats. He came to me later, after Southies took over their turf.”

  “He could’ve come to me,” Magret said. “He should have. But you charmed him. You—you—silver-tongued demon. He wouldn’t leave even when I begged him to.”

  “He was a leaf user by then,” Han said. “Not many are able to leave it. It isn’t your fault you couldn’t save him.”

  “You’re right, it isn’t my fault,” Magret said, drawing herself up, her voice dripping with scorn. “It’s your fault.”

  “Magret,” Raisa said gently. “Han’s been out of that for more than a year.”

  “My Theo was tortured and killed and burnt by wizardry,” Magret said, still glaring at Han. “You’re a jinxflinger. Don’t try and tell me you don’t know what happened to him.”

  “I won’t try and tell you that,” Han said, his blue eyes focused on Magret’s face. “I do know what happened to him. He was killed by wizards looking for me. So it was my fault, though it was never my intention.” He was making no excuses, not even attempting to defend himself.

  Magret stood, fists clenched at her sides, staring at him, her mouth dammed up as if to keep her words from spilling out.

  “If you want to know more, I know a girlie was his streetlord at the time,” Han said. “I’ll ask her to speak with you.”

  “I don’t want your help,” Magret said fiercely. “I don’t want to talk to any streetrats. I want you to leave so I can see to the Princess Raisa in peace.”

  They all jumped and turned when Amon Byrne rapped on the door frame. “Your Highness,” he said apologetically. “Sorry to disturb you, but the door was open, so…”

  “Come in, Amon,” Raisa said, relieved to have the tension in the room diluted. “I’m fine. Dancer’s armor saved my life. Have you found out anything?”

  Amon scanned the hallway, then carefully closed the door behind him and crossed to her side. He held up a crossbow bolt between his thumb and forefinger, the tip wrapped carefully in muslin. “Nightwalker found this. Bodkin-tipped, meant to pierce armor and kill. Common as weeds along a roadside. Except”—he waggled it in his hand—“it’s got a poison daub on the head. I’d like to have Willo look at it and see if she thinks it’s the same as was used before.”

  “Good idea,” Raisa said dryly. “It would be go
od to know if it’s the same people trying to kill me, or a whole different group.”

  “Seems like whoever it was took his one safe shot and ran,” Amon said. “Guards are still swarming through the city, the Demonai warriors too, but I’m not optimistic.”

  Raisa glanced at Magret. Her nurse was cutting her eyes toward Han and shaking her head, putting her finger to her lips.

  “Magret,” Raisa said wearily. “Like it or not, Han is here for my protection. He’s already saved my life once, maybe twice. We have to trust him. We need someone gifted, given what’s been happening with Lord Bayar and the Wizard Council.”

  “Speaking of the Bayars, Micah is outside,” Amon said. “He’s been waiting out there for more than an hour, and he won’t take no for an answer. He insists on seeing you and verifying that you are alive and well. Hayden Fire Dancer is keeping him company.” He smiled faintly, the first smile Raisa had seen on him in a while.

  “I’ll tell him no, and make it stick,” Magret growled, turning toward the door. “The conniving, scheming lowlife.” She seemed happy to have another wizard to direct her ire against.

  “No.” Raisa held up her hand to stop Magret. “Let him in. Maybe we can learn something from his reaction, see what he knows.”

  Han straightened, and he and Amon exchanged glances. Raisa studied them, frowning. Something had changed between them, some kind of barrier had fallen. They almost seemed like co-conspirators now. She wasn’t sure she liked that.

  “You’re not going to see him in your cami, Your Highness!” Magret said, looking scandalized.

  “Oh, let’s just get it over with,” Raisa growled.

  “All right. I’ll fetch him, Your Highness.” Amon left again.

  “I’m not going to receive him lying down like an invalid, either,” Raisa said. She slid off the bed, her bare feet thumping on the floor. Wrapping the blanket closely around her, she sat down in the chair next to the bed. Magret twitched the fleece up over Raisa’s shoulders, providing maximum coverage.

  Han stood behind her chair, his hands resting on the back to either side of her. Raisa’s skin prickled and pebbled at his nearness.