The Gray Wolf Throne

by Chima, Cinda Williams

  Han had heard there were dragons in Carthis, but he wasn’t sure if Sarie was joking or not. Though they shouldn’t have been there, he was just so glad to see them it was hard to speak his mind. A weight of guilt slid off his shoulders, a small piece of the load that he’d been carrying around.

  “Cat says you’re a jinxflinger,” Sarie said, appraising him with narrowed eyes. “I always knew there was something flash about you and those cuffs.” She touched her wrists.

  “Are you back in the game, then?” Han asked Sarie and Flinn. “You two going to form your own crew, or go with somebody else?”

  Sarie and Flinn both looked at Cat, then back at Han, shifting uncomfortably.

  “I told them they could join with us,” Cat said.

  Han scowled at Cat. “That wasn’t your call to make,” he said.

  Cat’s face clouded up, promising the storm to follow. “You were the one said I should recruit some help.”

  “Not Sarie and Flinn. I don’t want them put at risk again on my account. Plus, you shouldn’t have brought them here. Nobody can know where I’m staying. It’s not safe.” He turned to Sarie and Flinn. “I have a crew, but they keep their distance and work through Cat. Cat and Dancer are already in it. You’re not.”

  Now Sarie scowled back. “You think we’re not, after they done Sweets and Jonas and Jed? Sweets was just a lytling. I know you lost your family, but we got scores to settle too.”

  “It’s not just scores for me,” Han said. “I’m in this for other reasons. Reasons that got nothing to do with you.”

  Sarie and Flinn looked at each other, then back at Han.

  “You always had plans,” Sarie said. “Bigger than Ragmarket, bigger than Southbridge, bigger than any other streetlord. We want shares. We want to help.”

  “You don’t want shares in this. It’s a lack-witted, harebrained scheme. A fool’s quest. A lost cause before I even start.” It never ceased to amaze Han how people were so keen to throw away their lives by joining up with him.

  Though maybe if he told them he meant to marry a queen, they’d realize how lack-witted he really was. And stay away.

  “Then why you doing it, then?” Sarie asked, all suspicious.

  “It’s just something I got to do. I don’t have a choice,” Han said. “You do.”

  Sarie’s eyes narrowed, her face pinking up the way it did when she got angry.

  She doesn’t believe me, Han thought. She thinks I want to keep her out of my crew.

  “Look,” Flinn said. “Hear me out. We was all in Cat’s crib the day the demons come. Me and Sarie and Flinn and Sweets, Jonas, and Jed. Sarie and I was in the back room, and when we heard them smash their way in, we slid into the stash space under the floor.”

  Flinn looked up at Han, his eyes dark and haunted. “The demons tortured them. They kept asking where you was. We lay under there and heard the others screaming and screaming until they died, but they never give us up. We never even tried to help them. We ran instead. Now every time I close my eyes I see Sweets and I hear him screaming. That’s why we come back. We couldn’t get away from it, no matter how far away we ran.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Han said. “There’s nothing you could have done against wizards.”

  “Maybe,” Flinn said. “But blades is quicker than jinxes. You would’ve tried. We could’ve tried. And you can fight wizards, being one yourself. We want in. We can be the blades, and the runners, and the pairs of eyes.”

  Han wavered. He did need allies. He could use the help. He had a job for Cat that would take her away from Dancer. He needed somebody to gather information and keep an eye on the doings in Ragmarket.

  But once again he’d be putting his friends in danger in order to advance his own schemes.

  “I hear you’re working for the Princess Raisa,” Sarie said, changing strategies. “Cat says the Rebecca that sprung us from Southbridge Guardhouse was the Princess Raisa in disguise. I don’t forget them that help me.”

  “Anyway, me and Sarie already decided, before we knew you was still alive,” Flinn said. “We plan to get a crew together and hush the High Wizard and as many others as we can manage.”

  “None is what you can manage,” Han muttered. “Don’t you get it? You’re outmatched. The only ones’ll be down on the bricks is you.”

  “Then give us a job we can manage,” Sarie said, leaning forward so her nose was inches from Han’s.

  The thing was, Han understood. In Ragmarket or Southbridge, you needed a crew and a gang lord with a plan and a reputation to survive. No matter what he or she asked of you, it was better than being on your own.

  After a brief charged silence, Dancer spoke.

  “This might help,” he said. He held up a beaten copper pendant, inscribed with Han’s Demon King gang sign—a vertical line with a zigzag across. “It’s a talisman, similar to the ones the Demonai wear. It will make them less noticeable to charmcasters, and less vulnerable to charms. It should protect them from anything other than a direct hit. I can make one for each of you.”

  “All right,” Han said, giving in. “I’ll tell you the same as I told Cat—you can’t be having side jobs if you pledge to me. If you decide to leave, you tell me first and keep shut after. Until then, you do as I say. You can’t be picking and choosing the jobs you do. My street name is the Demon King. You use that name even when you think you’re free of snitches. You tell nobody where this place is; you don’t come here without good reason. You’ll meet up with the rest of the crew elsewhere.”

  “How will we get in touch with you?” Sarie asked.

  “You go through Cat, or leave messages under the sign at the market. I’ll do the same. You’ll have a place to sleep and plenty to eat and some jingle in your pockets, but nobody’s getting rich on shares. If you can’t live with that, walk away now.”

  They didn’t. Instead, they went down on their knees and spoke the oath, using blood and spit to finish it.

  “What do you want us to do?” Sarie asked, as soon as she was on her feet again.

  “You know Ragmarket and everybody that lives here,” Han said. “Somebody’s trying to murder the princess—the Briar Rose—and he’s likely to be hiring again, since he just lost three assassins.”

  Their eyes went big. “Blood of the demon!” Flinn said. “Who’d want to kill her? Folk in Ragmarket and Southbridge talk like the Briar Rose is a saint.”

  “Them that are hiring are unlikely to be from our neighborhood,” Han said dryly. “But they may hire here, all the same. It’ll help that people like her. Talk to them you know are in the business. See if you can find out who’s looking for shoulder-tappers and bravos. They’ll be looking for quality and willing to pay a rum price.”

  Flinn and Sarie nodded.

  “But be sharp on it and keep it on the hush. We’re likely up against the same as did Velvet and the others.”

  “That’s it?” Sarie looked disappointed.

  “One thing more,” Han said. “See what folks are saying about some dead charmcasters got their throats cut and been left in Ragmarket. See if anybody’s put the word out they’re buying amulets.” He nodded toward Dancer. “And mind you, watch Dancer’s back. He’s gifted, and there’s some that might have reason to hush him.”

  “I’ve got Dancer’s back,” Cat said, putting her hands on his shoulders.

  Sarie and Flinn stared at the two of them, as if unwilling to accept the evidence of their eyes. “You’re walking out with a copperhead?” Sarie said finally.

  “You got a problem with that?” Cat said, eyes narrowed.

  They shook their heads.

  Dancer set his work aside and rubbed his eyes. “The way I see it, the sooner we get all this settled, the sooner I can leave the city.”

  Cat scowled. “Just give it time. You’ll like it once you get used to it.”

  Cat and Dancer together is like a fish taking up with a bird, Han thought. Neither can live in the other’s turf.

 
“I have a different job for you, Cat,” Han said. “And I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

  C H A P T E R T H I R T Y-O N E

  STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

  When Raisa entered the sick ward in Healer’s Hall, her usual clutch of guards in tow, the apprentice on duty nearly passed out from fright. Then she dropped to her knees, her forehead nearly touching the floor.

  Raisa gestured for her to rise. “Where can I find your patient Talia Abbott?” she said. “She would have come in three days ago.”

  Trembling, the apprentice pointed to the other end of the hall. “Last bed on the left,” she squeaked. “By the window.” She fled out the door.

  Leaving her guard at the door, Raisa walked the length of the ward between rows of narrow pallets as the stench of ripe slop jars smacked her in the face. Those patients that were able pushed up on their elbows, staring. A low mutter of voices washed to the other end of the room, and back again.

  Some of the patients stretched their arms toward Raisa as she passed by. “Queen Raisa!” they cried. “It’s the Lady herself. The Briar Rose! Touch us! Heal us!”

  “I’m no healer,” Raisa said, gripping hands on either side. “But I wish all of you a swift recovery.”

  She found Talia lying on a cot at the far end, propped against the wall, her neck swathed in snowy bandages. A chalk and tablet lay atop the covers at her side.

  Pearlie sat in a chair next to the bed, her head bent over a book she’d been reading aloud to Talia. She looked up when Raisa approached, then jackknifed to her feet, cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

  “Your Highness!” Cradling the book in one arm, she saluted, her fist against her chest.

  “Sit,” Raisa said. “Please, continue reading. I just wanted to see for myself how Talia was doing.”

  “Oh, no, Your Highness, please, you have a seat,” Pearlie said, gesturing to the chair she’d just vacated. “I’ll get another.” She sprinted away.

  Raisa sat down next to the bed. Touching her fingers to her own throat, she said, “How is your voice? Any improvement?”

  Talia shook her head and scribbled something on her tablet, holding it up so Raisa could see. Resting it. Hoping.

  Raisa was full of questions, but she hated to ask any because then Talia would have to answer. “I brought you a book,” she said, extending it toward Talia. “It’s one of the Spinner romances you like. I hope you’ve not read it.”

  Talia scanned the cover, then shook her head again, smiling.

  Now Pearlie was back with a second chair that she placed on Talia’s other side.

  Raisa took Talia’s hand. “Do you mind if I ask Pearlie a few questions so you don’t have to write so much?”

  Talia rested the tablet on the bed and nodded her head.

  “What do the healers have to say about Talia’s injuries?” Raisa asked.

  “The assassin crushed Talia’s voice box and injured her voice cords,” Pearlie said, speaking Common with her musical Ardenine accent. “Lord Vega’s apprentice treated her the first day. The wound is closed, at least. The swelling’s gone down, so she can breathe better and it’s less painful.” She looked at Talia for corroboration, and Talia nodded. “It’s still hard for her to eat and drink. Sometimes it slides down the wrong way, and she coughs, and it hurts.”

  Something Pearlie said caught Raisa’s ear. “His apprentice? Lord Vega didn’t treat her himself?”

  Pearlie shook her head. “No, ma’am, Lord Vega only sees to the nobility and those that come from Gray Lady. He has ’prentices from Oden’s Ford over the summer, and they see to most everyone else.” Turning her face away from Talia, she blotted at her eyes with her sleeve.

  “Vega didn’t examine her at all?”

  Pearlie hesitated. “No, ma’am. Lila Hammond was the one that saw to Talia; she works hard, and she means well, but she’s just a first year.” She touched Talia’s hand. “You’re never going to get better if you don’t eat more.”

  A flurry of footsteps in the hallway drew Raisa’s attention. Harriman Vega, the wizard in charge of the healing halls, swept in, trailing apprentices behind him like a ship with a white wake.

  “Your Highness! I wish you had let me know you were coming,” he said. “I would have been happy to attend you in your rooms, if you had—”

  “It was my intention that this visit be informal,” Raisa said, thinking, Nothing’s informal anymore. “I don’t need treatment, but there’s someone here who does.” She nodded toward Talia.

  Vega’s disinterested gaze swept over Talia. “I don’t know what the girl has told you, but she has been treated, Your Highness,” he said. “She would have been evaluated when she arrived.” He gestured toward the linen wrappings around Talia’s neck. “Her wound has been dressed. Obviously.”

  “But there is more to be done,” Raisa said. “She has not recovered her voice, and she has difficulty swallowing. Wouldn’t you follow up in such a situation?”

  Vega waved his hand dismissively. “If the matter were brought to my attention, perhaps. But we have hundreds of patients. We must accept that sometimes these injuries result in…permanent disabilities.”

  Raisa gripped the arms of her chair, biting back the first response that came to mind. “Sometimes we must accept it, but only after every avenue has been explored. This soldier was injured when she stood between me and an assassin. She deserves better.” She gestured, taking in the other residents of the ward. “How many of these patients might recover with more intensive treatment?”

  Lord Vega threw up his hands. “I do not know, Your Highness, but we have limited resources, as you know, and—”

  “I understand that, Lord Vega,” Raisa said, rising and putting a hand on his arm. “But I mean to change that. I’m asking you to take personal responsibility for Private Abbott’s treatment and recovery. Her health is a priority for me. More importantly, I’m asking that you establish a system of follow-up for those with more serious injuries.” Seeing Vega’s horrified expression, she added, “I do not mean that you must heal them all personally—I realize the physical impossibility of that—but you must use your extensive knowledge and experience to direct their care.”

  Lord Vega inclined his head. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he said, puffing up like a peacock.

  “If our high magic resources are limited, then perhaps we should integrate some clan healers into the service in the healing halls,” Raisa said, bracing herself for the reaction she anticipated.

  “Copperheads?” Lord Vega’s eyes narrowed. “I hardly think we are so desperate as to resort to backwoods sorcery, Your Highness. And I will tell you right now, there’s not a wizard in the Vale would dare submit to a copperhead healer or take one of their potions, for fear of being poisoned.”

  “That may be, at least at first,” Raisa said. “But there are many in the Vale who swear by clan remedies. I know some in the nobility who have also benefitted from their herbals and poultices. I have personal experience with clan medicines, and I know they work.”

  From Vega’s expression, Raisa might have been suggesting that they use blood sacrifice in order to steal souls. Something the clans were often accused of.

  She sighed. One step at a time, she thought.

  “We’ll continue our discussions on that,” she said. “In the meantime, let’s begin by reinforcing our current system. It’s one thing to offer stellar care to the nobility. But imagine a healing service where every citizen receives premier treatment. Your reputation will spread throughout the Seven Realms. Students from the academy will clamor to apprentice with you. Faculty will travel here to observe your methods.”

  “That’s a possibility, I suppose,” Vega said, straightening his wizard stoles and flicking imaginary dust from his robes. “Although, in all honesty, we have had no difficulty securing—”

  “That additional support will make it easier for us to leverage your expertise,” Raisa said, looking into the wizard’s face. “We will als
o recruit more fully trained healers to assist you. This healing service is critical for the well-being of everyone in the City of Light. It has been neglected for too long.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Vega said, nodding, looking mollified. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Thank you, Lord Vega,” Raisa said. “I am prepared to be dazzled.” She smiled, and the healer preened under her approval.

  “One more thing,” Raisa said, as if she’d just thought of it. “Sergeant Greenholt is to have unlimited visiting privileges with Private Abbott when she is off duty.”

  “I will arrange it,” Vega said. He looked down at Talia as if seeing her for the first time. “Hammond and I will be back to re-evaluate you when she returns from supper.”

  Talia and Pearlie stared at Raisa, wide-eyed, as the healer sailed away.

  “I’ll say one thing,” Pearlie said, “you sure know how to sugar up the poison.”

  “That’s what this job is all about most of the time,” Raisa said, making a face. She rose. “Pearlie, you keep me apprised of how Talia is progressing. I’ll be back to visit in a few days.”

  Is there anything in this queendom that is working well? Raisa thought as she left the healing halls. Is there anything that doesn’t need attention? There are not enough hours in the day.

  Raisa was walking back to the palace through the gardens, trailing her usual wake of guards, when someone stepped out of the shadows next to the path. Raisa took a step back, hearing swords whispering free all around her.

  It was Micah Bayar.

  “Micah. It’s not a good idea to surprise me like that,” Raisa said. She fingered her dagger, reflexively glancing down to make sure the Gray Wolf ring was in place on her finger. “What do you want?”

  “I would like to speak with you, Raisa, that’s all,” Micah said, holding his hands out at his sides to show they were empty. He ran his eyes over her escorts, who were bristling with weapons. “In private.”

  “That’s not going to be possible,” Raisa said. “I’m sure you understand.”