“I’m coming down,” Raisa said loudly, turning and feeling for the first rung with her extended foot.
“Just wait a minute, all right?” He disappeared from sight, but she could hear him moving around down there, see torchlight reflecting off the damp walls.
He reappeared at the foot of the ladder, looking up at her, a big smear of dirt on his right cheekbone. “It’s clear. A few rats is all. Come on down, but be careful.”
That was easier said than done. The rungs were far apart, difficult to manage by someone her size in the best of circumstances, nearly impossible in her dress. Her silk slippers gave her no purchase on the metal rungs. She hitched her skirt up above her knees, clutching it in one hand and holding on to the ladder with the other, wondering what kind of sight she presented to Amon below.
She was halfway down when she lost her single-handed grip on the slippery metal ladder, teetered a moment, arms flailing, then fell screaming through space.
She landed with a whump in Amon’s arms. He staggered back a few steps, and for a moment she thought they’d both go down, but he regained his balance and ended leaning against the wall, breathing hard, cradling her close against the damp wool of his uniform jacket. She could hear his heart hammering next to her ear.
“Hanalea’s bloody bones!” he swore, his face inches from hers, his gray eyes dark and roiled as the Indio Ocean in winter, his face chalk white. “Are you crazy, Raisa? Do you want to kill yourself?”
“Of course not,” she said fiercely, her fright making her snappish. “I just slipped is all. Put me down.”
But he seemed bent on lecturing her at close range. “You never listen. You always have to have your way, even if it means breaking your bloody neck.”
“I do not always have to have my way,” she said.
“Yeah? What about the time you just had to ride that flat-lander stallion? What was his name? Deathwish? Devilspawn? You had to climb the fence to mount him, and his back was so broad your legs stuck straight out, but nothing would do but you had to give him a try.” He snorted. “That was the world’s shortest ride.”
She’d forgotten about Amon’s annoying habit of repeating old stories she’d rather forget. Raisa struggled and kicked, trying to get free. He was definitely a lot stronger than she remembered. Even though she was smaller, she’d always been able to hold her own through force of personality, if nothing else.
“You never think about the mess you’d leave behind,” Amon said. “If you bust your head and I’m in any way involved, my da won’t leave enough of me for the crows to find.”
“What happened to ‘If you please, Your Highness’ and ‘With your permission, Your Highness’?” Raisa demanded. “For the last time, put me down, or I’ll call the Guard.”
Amon blinked at her, and she couldn’t help noticing he had really thick eyelashes smudging the gray of his eyes. Carefully, he set her down on her feet and took a step back. “My apologies, Your Highness,” he said, his face gone blank and hard. “Shall I go, then?”
And just that quick, her anger was gone, replaced by remorse. Her cheeks flamed. How could they possibly be friends if she kept pulling rank on him?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, putting her hand on his arm. “Thank you for saving my life.”
He continued to stare straight ahead. “My duty, Your Highness, as a member of the Queen’s Guard.”
“Will you stop?” Raisa said desperately. “I said I was sorry.”
“No apology is necessary, Your Highness,” Amon said, looking down at her hand on his sleeve. “Now, if there’s nothing else…?”
“Please don’t go, Amon,” Raisa said, releasing his arm and staring at her ruined slippers. “I could really use a friend, even if I don’t deserve one.” She cleared her throat. “Do you think that’s possible?”
There was a long pause. Then Amon put two fingers under her chin, and she lifted her head and looked at him, and the movement sent tears spilling down her face. He was leaning down toward her, his face was very close, and before she knew what she was doing, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.
Maybe he was thinking about kissing too, because he pressed his hands against her waist, lifting her tightly against him so her feet nearly left the ground. He returned the kiss with surprising skill and intensity. His lips were a bit rough and wind-burned, but in a good way, and Raisa wasn’t ready to stop when he broke it off and backed away, gray eyes wide with alarm.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he gasped, reddening, raising his hands, palms out. “Forgive me. I…I didn’t mean…”
“Call me Raisa,” Raisa said, moving toward him again, reaching for him.
“Please…Raisa.” He gripped her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “I don’t know what I…We can’t do this.”
Raisa blinked at him. “It’s just a kiss,” she said, feeling rather hurt. “I’ve been kissed before.”
There was Micah, of course, and then there’d been dark-eyed, intense Reid Nightwalker Demonai, one of the warriors at Demonai Camp. Mush-mouthed Wil Mathis, Keith Klemath (not Kip), and probably one or two others.
“It should never have happened. I’m a soldier, and I’m in the Queen’s Guard. If my father—”
“Oh bother your father,” Raisa grumbled. “He doesn’t have to know everything.”
“He knows things. I don’t know how. And I would know it.” Awkwardly, Amon groped in his pocket, produced a handkerchief, and handed it to her.
Raisa knew the kissing was over. For the time being, anyway.
“When I saw you at dinner, you looked like a princess,” he said, graciously averting his eyes from her tear-blotched face. “I mean, I always knew that, but you seemed different than I remembered. Kind of…remote. Not what I expected.”
“You looked different too,” Raisa said, blotting her eyes. “I didn’t even recognize you until Mother called your name.” She managed a damp smile. “You…you’re very handsome, you know. You must have lots of sweethearts.” She couldn’t help thinking he’d had some practice kissing since she’d last seen him.
He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “There’s not much time for sweethearts at Oden’s Ford,” he said.
“Magret says I’m willful and spoiled. My mother says I’m stubborn. I do try to get my own way, but I think it’s because I’ll never get my way on anything that matters.” She looked up at him. “I won’t get to choose where I live, or who I marry, or even who my friends are. My time will never be my own.” She blew her nose, feeling bad about Amon’s handkerchief. “It’s not that I don’t want to be queen, I do. I guess I don’t want to be my mother.”
“Then don’t be,” Amon said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“But most girls would love to be her,” Raisa said, glancing around guiltily, as if someone might overhear them in the dank tunnel. “And I don’t know how to be anything different. I don’t want to be at the mercy of advisers. But how do you find things out? Other than how to play the lute or embroider, I mean. At least I know how to ride a horse and get along in the woods and shoot a bow from my time in Demonai. My father’s got me well on the way to being a trader. But that and embroidery’s not enough to be a good queen.”
“Well, I’m no scholar,” Amon said, leaning against the wall, seeming reassured that Raisa wouldn’t attack him again. “But there are people in Fellsmarch who know things. The speakers in the temple, for instance. There’s a huge library there.”
“I guess,” Raisa said. “It’s just such an ordeal to even go there. Sometimes I’d like to be invisible.” She twitched irritably. “I don’t even know what’s going on in the world. My mother’s advisers either tell her what she wants to hear, or they’re promoting their own agendas. People say she listens to them too much.”
People being her grandmother Elena, among others.
“Now who’s the cynic?” Amon said. “Maybe you need to find yourself some honest eyes and ears.” He
yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“Oh!” Raisa said, stricken. “I’m sorry. You said you have to get up.” Half an hour into reform, she was being as self-centered and inconsiderate as always. She tried to ignore the voice in her head that said, That’s what queens do.
“Come on, let’s go.” Seizing one of the torches, she led the way down the tunnel, trying to ignore the rustlings of rats and the reflected eyes of the creatures that stared down at her from the imperfections in the walls and scattered ahead of her at each turning.
Amon had no trouble keeping up, with his long legs. “How did this passageway get here?” he asked. “And who else knows about it?”
Raisa swiped a cobweb from her face. “I found it after I came back from Demonai,” she said. “It’s really old. I don’t know who made it, and I don’t think anybody knows about it. I haven’t told anyone but you.”
At last they reached the roughly circular stone chamber that meant the end of their journey.
“Here we are,” Raisa said, setting the torch into a bracket by the door. She slid back the panel and pushed aside the wardrobe she’d positioned in front of the entrance.
“Where are we?” Amon asked, mystified.
“You’ll see,” Raisa said, picking her way through a minefield of shoes and boots, pushing aside fluffy dresses on racks.
Her bedroom was chilly and dark, the fire dying in the hearth, her nightgown still laid out on the bed.
Amon emerged from the closet behind her and glanced about. His eyes widened and he looked a little panicked. “Raisa…is this your bedroom?”
“Yes,” Raisa said in an offhand fashion. She crossed to the hearth and poked at the fire, laying on another log.
“Blood of the demon,” Amon swore. “There’s a secret passage in the walls leading to your bedroom? That doesn’t worry you?”
She looked up at him. “No. Why should it?” In truth, it hadn’t. She’d been focused on the convenience of having a means to come and go without passing under the eyes of everyone in the busy palace corridors.
“Somebody made this,” Amon said. “Who else might know about it?”
“This apartment has been shut up for hundreds of years,” Raisa said. “Maybe a thousand. You should have seen the way it looked before we cleaned it up. Someone made it, but whoever it was would’ve died a long time ago.”
Amon was examining the sliding panel, running his hands over the wood molding surrounding it. “You should have it boarded it up, Raisa. Close it off permanently.”
“You worry too much,” Raisa said. “I’ve been here three months and no monsters have come through.”
“I’m serious. I’m going to talk to my father about it.”
“You will not,” Raisa said. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
He tilted his head, frowning. “I don’t remember promising anything.”
“Anyway,” she went on, “I’ll see if there’s a way to put a lock on it. That should do.” She crossed to the small pantry, suddenly reluctant to see him go. “Do you want anything else to eat?”
He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I’d better go. We don’t want anyone to find me here.”
Raisa shook her head. “I guess not,” she said. She felt conflicted, confused. On the one hand, she mourned the Amon she’d known in childhood, a friendship that would never be the same. On the other, she felt a thrill of possibility, a breathless fascination with this new Amon and anything he might do or say.
She walked him to the door and they stepped out into the hallway.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said. “I’m really tired of southern food.” He paused, cleared his throat. “Don’t forget about the tunnel.”
“Sorry I kept you out so late,” Raisa said, committing to nothing. “But I’m really glad you’re home.” Putting her hand on his arm to steady herself, Raisa went up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
“So this is where you’ve been all evening,” someone said in a voice as cold as a demon’s kiss.
Raisa jerked away from Amon and turned, knowing as she did so it was the wrong thing—the guilty thing—to do.
It was Micah Bayar, dark eyes glittering in the light from the sconces. A strong odor of wine said he’d been drinking.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, knowing the best defense is a good offense. “Skulking about the queen’s tower in the middle of the night?”
“I might ask this soldier the same question,” Micah said. “He seems rather…out of place.”
“Her Highness asked me to escort her back to her rooms,” Amon said, stumbling onto the excuse that she and Micah always used. “I was just leaving.”
“I see that,” Micah said. “I thought you had a headache,” he said to Raisa.
“I did,” she replied. She turned to Amon. “Good night and thank you, Corporal Byrne.”
She turned to enter her room, but Micah grabbed her arm, the loosed power in his grip stinging her flesh. “Hold on,” he said. “Don’t rush off. I need to understand something.”
Raisa tried to pull free. “Micah, I’m really tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
“I think we should talk about this now,” Micah said, glaring at Amon. “While we’re all here together.”
“Let go!” Raisa said, trying to peel away his fingers with her free hand.
Suddenly Amon’s sword was in his hand and pointed at Micah.
“Sul’Bayar,” Amon said. “The princess heir has asked you to let go of her. I suggest you do so.”
Micah blinked, then looked down at his hand on Raisa’s arm as if surprised to see it there. He let go and took a step back. “Raisa, listen, I didn’t mean…”
“You listen,” Raisa snapped. “You don’t own me. I don’t think I need to be interrogated if I want to spend some time with a friend. I don’t owe you any explanations.”
Amon stowed away his sword. “Your Highness, it’s late and we’re all tired. Why don’t you go on to bed, and we’ll both be on our way, all right?”
Raisa swallowed hard and stepped into the shelter of the doorway. Amon planted a hand on Micah’s shoulder and propelled him down the corridor. But the look Micah fired at Raisa over his shoulder said this wasn’t the end of it.
C H A P T E R E I G H T
LESSONS
TO BE
LEARNED
“Mari, hurry up or we’ll be late!” Han said. He could hear the clamor of temple bells throughout the city, marking the half hour. “And pull a comb through your hair, will you? It looks like a rat’s nest.”
“But I don’t want to go to school,” Mari grumbled, lacing up her shoes. “Can’t we go see Lucius? He’s teaching me to fish.”
“It’s raining out. Besides, Mam doesn’t like you to visit Lucius,” Han said. “She thinks he’s a bad influence.”
“Mam doesn’t like you to visit Lucius,” Mari countered, struggling to disentangle the snarls in her hair. “And you still go.”
“When you’re old as me, you can aggravate Mam on your own,” he said, thinking Mari was too smart for her own good. Plus, she had a mouth that would get her into trouble. He should know.
He took the comb from Mari and used that and his fingers to put her hair in order.
“Mam won’t know, anyway,” Mari persisted, flinching when he pulled too hard. “She won’t be back from the castle ’til late.”
“Just shut it, Mari,” Han said unsympathetically. “If you can’t read and write and do figures, you’ll get cheated all your life. And how are you going to learn anything else?”
“Mam can’t read and write, and she has a job working for the queen,” Mari argued.
“That’s why she wants you to go to school,” Han said.
It had been two weeks since Han brought the amulet home, and their lives had settled into a different cadence. Mam had a new job in the laundry at Fellsmarch Castle. It was reliable money, but she had to leave long before dawn to walk the length of t
he town across multiple bridges to get there. She never got home before dark, either, so they were on their own for supper. But at least there was supper to be had.
It had become Han’s job to take Mari to and from school, which made it hard for him to work his route for Lucius. Once or twice he’d taken her with him on his rounds. Today he meant to leave off Mari, stop in at The Keg and Crown and several other Southbridge taverns, and get to and from Lucius’s place before Mari was done at school. It was a risk—the Southies might be laying for him, but it had to be done.
Han dampened a rag in the basin to scrub off Mari’s face, so the speakers at the temple wouldn’t think she was neglected. He couldn’t do much about her clothes, but she wasn’t the only one who shopped from the rag bin.
“Let’s go.”
It was still dark in the narrow streets and alleyways of Ragmarket. It had rained hard overnight—Han had awoken to water dripping on his face through the leaking roof. There were puddles everywhere and the gutters ran full, but the rain had diminished to an irritating drizzle. Han pulled Mari under the shelter of his too-large coat, and they staggered along like some poorly designed four-legged animal.
“I don’t see why it has to be so early,” Mari said. “They’ve got the whole day to have school.”
Han pulled her out of the way of a bakery cart that splashed muddy water up to their knees. “This way the ’prentices can get schooling and still get to work,” he said.
Southbridge Temple anchored the far end of South Bridge. Han often thought that whoever built Fellsmarch Castle might’ve had a hand in Southbridge Temple. Its soaring towers pricked the sky and reminded a person that there was a world beyond Ragmarket and Southbridge, even if you couldn’t get to it.
The stone facing around the door was carved with leaves and vines and flowers. Gargoyles launched themselves from every side of the building, and the downspouts were capped with fantastical creatures that must’ve died in the Breaking, because you never saw them these days.
The temple close housed libraries and dormitories for the dedicates—gardens and kitchens as well. It was by no means a cloister, however, since it welcomed in the citizens of the surrounding neighborhoods, feeding their minds along with their bodies.
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