The Seven Realms- The Complete Series

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Byrne clapped him on the back. “Let’s go on to the castle, Lord Demonai,” Byrne said, grinning. “I want to see Gavan Bayar’s face when we arrive alive.”

  The two men turned away. Raisa dug her heels into the mare’s sides, and they clattered out of the stable yard and onto the Way, leading their two spare horses. When they passed out of the city gates, Raisa turned and looked back at Fellsmarch Castle glittering in the morning sun. She was leaving it behind again, sooner than she’d thought possible.

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - F I V E

  THE END

  OF DAYS

  When Han returned to the stable after visiting the markets, Mari’s fever was high again. It seemed to burn the flesh off her—her face had grown noticeably drawn and thin just since he’d been home, and her skin had turned a sickly yellow. He’d seen it before. It was never a good sign.

  So he went to see the healer in Catgut Alley and made him come, promising to pay him double his price in a day or two. The man came, all sweaty and shifty-eyed, no doubt aware of Cuffs’s bloodthirsty reputation and worried about the cost of failure. The healer fed Mari foul-smelling brews and burned an unidentified incense that released stinky yellow fumes into the room. After an hour in his presence, Han concluded he was a grifter, but Mam insisted Mari looked better afterward, and breathed easier.

  The next morning, in desperation, Han left the city and walked all the way up Marisa Pines Trail, meaning to bring Willo back with him to tend Mari. When he arrived in camp, he learned she’d gone up Althea Mountain to midwife a birth. Bird was out with the Demonais, and Dancer had gone with Willo, so overall it was a wasted trip. Han slept a few hours in the Matriarch Lodge, then returned to Fellsmarch, leaving word for Willo to come as soon as possible.

  Back in the city, he went straight to Southbridge Market, to Taz’s shop. Though it was late in the day, Han knew the dealer slept in the back so as not to leave his valuable inventory unguarded. Han needed money fast, and it wouldn’t be long before the Guard was onto him again and he’d have to leave town for good.

  When Han peered through the shop windows, he saw the dealer standing behind his desk, furiously stuffing papers into a leather satchel. Almost like he was packing to leave.

  Taz upset his cup of tea when the bell over the door announced Han’s entry into the shop. When the dealer looked up and saw Han, he cracked an uneasy smile.

  “Cuffs! There you are!” The big man madly blotted at the papers on his desk with a rag. “Where have you been? I found a buyer for the carving you showed me. He’s most anxious to see it.” Taz always called them “carvings” or “art pieces.” He never acknowledged the fact that they were both magical and illegal.

  “Really?” Han said. Was it his imagination, or did the dealer seem unusually nervous? “He’s met my minimum price, then?”

  “Yes, yes. He’s good for it, though he wants to see the piece himself, of course. Do you have it on you?” Taz squinted at Han as if he might see it glowing through his clothes.

  Han shook his head. “No, but I can go get it.” He turned toward the door.

  “No, no,” Taz said hastily. “As a matter of fact, the buyer is on his way here now. Serendipitous, isn’t it? That you’re here, and he’s coming?” He wet his lips.

  Han was confused. “But it does no good if I don’t have the amulet,” he said.

  “My client is most anxious to meet you,” Taz said. “He has some questions about the piece. I’ll collect my commission, and you can take him to get it.”

  “I’d rather do business here.” Han knew well the risks of selling swag in back alleys. “I can be home and back in no time.”

  “It was at home all along, then?”

  Something in Taz’s voice set off alarm bells in Han’s head. He hadn’t lived so long by ignoring his instincts.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded. “Why do you ask?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” the dealer said, mopping sweat from his brow with the rag he’d used to wipe off the desk. “I just wondered where you’d hidden it is all.”

  Before Taz could move or say another word, Han had him pressed against the wall with a knife at his throat. “What did you tell the buyer, Taz?” Han asked softly.

  “N-nothing. I…just described the piece, and he said it sounded like something he’d want to buy. That’s all. I swear by the blood and bones of our sainted queens.”

  “Did you tell him where I live?” Han demanded.

  “I never did, I swear it,” Taz babbled. “He found out some other way.”

  “Who’s the buyer?” Han whispered, fear pricking him all over. “Who is it?”

  “A rich man. A wizard,” Taz squeaked. “You wouldn’t know him.”

  “Who?” Han pressed the tip of his knife into Taz’s skin.

  Just then the bell over the door sounded again. Startled, Han turned his head just as the door opened.

  A man stood in the doorway. His expensive clothes and arrogant carriage said he was a rich man. His long stoles and the amulet that hung from a chain around his neck said he was a wizard. His mane of silver hair was streaked with wizard color.

  Taz saw his chance, and took it. The dealer flung himself sideways, away from Han’s knife, and scrambled on hands and knees across the floor toward the back door. The wizard in the doorway extended a hand lazily, touched the amulet at his neck, and spoke a word.

  Flame exploded from his fingertips and engulfed Taz Mackney. The dealer’s body twitched and shuddered for a moment, then lay still, smoking. The stench of burning flesh stung Han’s nose, and he fought back the urge to vomit.

  “You must be Cuffs Alister,” the wizard said, spitting his name out like it tasted bad. “I’ve been looking for you for some time. You are amazingly evasive.”

  Han swallowed hard and tried to keep from looking at Taz. “I don’t even know you.” And I don’t want to either, he thought. Though there was something familiar about the wizard’s finely planed face and the falcons on his stole.

  “True,” the wizard said. “We’ve not met. But you have something I want. Something that was stolen from me.”

  “You’re mixing me up with someone else,” Han said. “I got nothing of yours.”

  “There was some confusion at first. I’d been told that a boy named Shiv stole the amulet. Imagine my distress when, after considerable persuasive effort on my part, and pain on his, I learned that Shiv, in fact, knew nothing. That I’d been misled.”

  Han’s heart stuttered. “You sent the demons,” he whispered. “The ones that killed the Southies.”

  The wizard examined his hands, shimmering with power. “Wizard assassins, actually, cloaked and glamoured up. Hysteria can be a useful tool in forcing a community to give up its own.”

  Why had this wizard gone after Shiv? What could he have done to draw the attention of this monster?

  And then the memory surfaced, like gas bubbling up through a mud pot—that day on Hanalea, the encounter with Micah Bayar when he’d taken the amulet. Bayar had asked Han who he was, and Han had told him, “They call me Shiv, streetlord of Southbridge.”

  It had been a thoughtless throwaway lie. Though some would see it as payback for years of bitter competition for a few nasty city blocks.

  He hadn’t meant it that way, had he?

  Horrified, Han recalled that last meeting with Shiv, the streetlord on his knees offering his allegiance, begging, Call them off.

  Han had walked away from him. And Shiv’s bloody, beaten, tortured body had been found two days later. Now Han knew that it was, after all, his fault—the dead Southies were dead because of his lie.

  Han judged the distance to the back door. There was no way to get there without being fried, same as Taz.

  “Who are you, anyway?” he asked, fighting off a growing suspicion.

  “I’m Gavan Bayar,” the stranger said. “Lord Bayar to you.”

  Bones, Han thought, struggling to keep his face a blank. Not just a wizard, but
the High Wizard, the most powerful in the Fells. Father of Micah Bayar.

  “Well,” Han said, swallowing dry spit, “there you go. I’d be a fool to steal something of yours.”

  The wizard nodded. “Exactly. And so I’ve been curious about you, thinking there may be more to you than meets the eye.” Bayar ran his eyes over Han, obviously unimpressed. “The late Mr. Mackney tells me you are—how did he say it—streetlord of the Ragger gang. You’re not a wizard, yet you are apparently able to handle an extremely powerful amulet without harm.” He sighed. “It’s unfortunate that my son chose to experiment with that particular piece.”

  He’s going to kill me, Han thought. Otherwise he wouldn’t be telling me all this.

  “Look,” Han said. “I’m just a street rat. I don’t know anything about magic. I tossed the thing into an alley right after I showed Taz. It kept sparking and I was afraid it would blow me to bits.” Han took two steps toward the door. “I can show you about where it was, if you want.” Once out in the street, he’d have a chance to break away.

  Bayar raised his hand to put a stop to the string of lies. “I’ve already sent the Guard after the amulet. In the meantime, I’ll take you back to the dungeons at Aerie House. I’ll want to know about your connection with the clans, and how much they know about the amulet. Soon it won’t matter, but right now, I’d prefer they know as little as possible about the magical items we have at our disposal. Once I’m satisfied I’ve wrung you out completely, I’ll kill you.” The wizard said it matter-of-factly. “You’ve caused me considerable trouble. I mean to take my time.”

  But Han had fastened on something Bayar had said earlier. “What do you mean, you sent the Guard after the amulet? You sent them where?”

  “Why, to your home. You live over a stable, I believe?” Bayar’s voice dripped contempt.

  Han’s insides turned to water. “It’s not there,” he said. “Call them off. I hid it somewhere else. I can show you.”

  “If you did, I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it,” Bayar said. “Now, my carriage is outside. It would be much more civilized if you came quietly, but I’ll use force if necessary.” Bayar smiled, his face as cold and hard as marble, and Han got the message—Han was nobody, a nothing, and he’d been a fool to go up against someone like Bayar, to steal an amulet from his son. Now he’d pay for it with his family and his life. He’d be whispered about throughout Southbridge and Ragmarket, an example to anyone who might think of crossing the Bayars in the future.

  He’s like every other rich, powerful person, Han thought. He does whatever he likes, makes his own rules, breaks the law whenever it suits him, and never spends a day in gaol. Shiv was dead because of him, and the eight Southies, and no doubt countless others. Shiv had been Han’s enemy, but still. He should count for more than that.

  And now, danger was heading straight for Mam and Mari. He had to get away.

  His knife was still in his hand. He shuffled forward, head down, the picture of surrender. As he passed by Bayar, he turned and plunged the blade into the wizard’s side just beneath the rib cage, ripping up and forward, metal scraping along bone.

  Warm blood welled over his knuckles. Bayar screamed and spun away, wrenching the knife from Han’s hand.

  Han threw himself toward the door. Behind him, Bayar gasped out a charm. Flame coalesced around Han’s shoulders, flowing down both arms, heating the cuffs on his wrists to scorching before dissipating. Once again, the cuffs had seemingly sucked up wizard magic.

  Outside, Han practically collided with a black carriage emblazoned with the emblem of a stooping falcon. Matched black horses snorted and tossed their heads, rolling their eyes.

  Han pounded his way through the market, twisting and turning around stalls and tents, leaping over smaller obstacles, pushing through crowds of people, running for the bridge.

  Southbridge and Ragmarket had never seemed farther apart. It was like one of those dreams when your feet are stuck in mud and you’re trying to run from a monster. Only in this case, there were monsters ahead and behind.

  When he crossed the bridge, he had to dodge around clots of soldiers. Some sort of search seemed to be going on, but they weren’t looking for him, because he was obviously on the run and no one stopped him.

  He was still a mile from Cobble Street when he saw the glow through the darkness ahead, the smudge of orange painting the lowering clouds. He sniffed the air. Something was burning, something big, shooting flames into the air.

  When he reached the end of Cobble Street he saw it—the stable was ablaze, completely engulfed by now. An inferno. The heat had driven the residents to the end of the street, where they stood in unhappy clumps, staring helplessly at the burning building.

  A ring of bluejackets surrounded the stable, keeping potential heroes away. Not that they could have got near it anyway. The heat from the flames scorched Han’s face from where he stood.

  Some of the bystanders had assembled a bucket brigade, pumping water from the Cobble Street well, a remarkable show of organization for that neighborhood. But all they could do was wet down the surrounding buildings to keep the flames from spreading.

  Han grabbed the arm of a gawker. “What happened?”

  “’Twas them—the bloody bluejackets.” He jerked his head at the soldiers guarding the burning stable. “Someone said they be searching for Cuffs Alister, though he an’t been seen around here for weeks. I heard he was dead. Anyways, they said he lived there, and buried his treasure there. They went into the building, searched the place from top to bottom, tossed the other buildings on the square, even dug up the ground. Then set fire to the place. It went up like tinder.”

  Han gripped his arm tighter. “Did the Guard take anyone away? Did anyone get out?”

  The man pulled free, shaking his head. “Didn’t see no one, but I wasn’t here when it started. Don’t know if they was any people in there. You could hear the horses screaming something awful, kicking at the stalls. But even then it was too hot to get to ’em.”

  Han circled around and tried to come at the stable from the rear, but the bluejackets were thick, and he was again driven back by heat and flame. He wet his shirt at the pump and wrapped it around his head, determined to get past them or die trying.

  He was passing the mouth of Butcher’s Alley when someone stepped out in front of him.

  It was Cat, her face smudged in soot, a scorched Ragger scarf knotted around her neck. “It’s no good, Cuffs. They’re gone. You can’t help them. You’ll just get caught or burned to death yourself.”

  “I don’t care.” Han tried to dodge around her, but somebody grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms and relieving him of his knife.

  “Leave it, mate,” Flinn said over his shoulder.

  His own Raggers turning on him. “Let go of me, Flinn,” he said, struggling to free himself. “If it was your mam and sis, you’d go after them.”

  “I already tried,” Cat said, her voice breaking. She looked frantic, not like herself. “We all did. We even went over the roofs before the fire got too big. I’m so sorry, mate,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

  “I know where they’ll be,” Han said. “I can get to them. I know I can.” Mari would be lying on her pallet next to the hearth. Mam would be with her. Mam was smart. She’d have wrapped wet blankets around them both. They’d be scared, but…

  “I an’t going to let you kill yourself,” Cat said. “Been enough killing tonight.”

  Cat jerked her head toward the back of the alley, and the Raggers hauled him, kicking and protesting, swearing and throwing punches, away from the fire. They dragged him most of the way to the warehouse they used as headquarters before he finally quit struggling. Once there, they stuck him in a corner with Flinn and Jonas watching over him, while Cat and Sarie whispered in the other corner.

  Where’s Velvet? Han wondered distractedly.

  Han shivered and shuddered through the rest of the night, alternately freezing and sweating. He thought
it was shock, or rage, or maybe an aftermath of what Gavan Bayar had done to him with his magic; but by morning he realized he’d caught Mari’s fever.

  Let me die, he thought gratefully, giving himself up to it. He was out of his head for a while, hours or days, he wasn’t sure. When he woke, he saw Willo’s face looking down at him with an expression of such sorrow that he found he wanted to make her feel better. She cradled him in her arms and rocked him and fed him willow bark and matriarch’s tea, which was apparently good for summer fever, because it broke soon after.

  Somehow he’d ended up back at Southbridge Temple, in one of the little sleeping rooms that let out onto the courtyard. A week passed before he was able to get up, and by then Flinn reported that the bluejackets had lost interest in the remains of the stable and had moved on to whatever other murders they meant to commit.

  Cat and the Raggers had guarded the site, keeping nearby residents from claiming any spoils. Afraid of what he might find, but no longer worried about who might be watching, Han poked through the rubble of his former home until he found them—two bodies huddled close together amid the ruins of the chimney, one big, one small, too charred to recognize or to tell what had been done to them before they died.

  “The smoke would have put them to sleep, Hunts Alone,” Willo said. She’d scarcely left him alone for a minute these past seven days. “They probably didn’t feel much pain.”

  Probably. Probably. It wasn’t good enough.

  Han found Mam’s locket that was her mother’s, half melted from the heat, and Mari’s charred little book of stories, the one she’d wanted to read to him when he’d been in too big a hurry to listen. He tucked those into his carry bag. In midmorning, Willo walked to the market to buy food for the road. Han took that opportunity to pull the wrapped amulet from its hiding place in the blacksmith’s furnace and drop it into his bag as well. He’d sacrificed too much for the thing to leave it behind.

  Without a second glance at Cobble Street, he walked to Cat’s crib in the warehouse, where he knew she’d be during the day. Sarie and Flinn were playing nicks-and-bones. Sweets and Jonas were teasing a couple of stripey cats with bits of string. Cat’s mandolin leaned against the wall, but no Cat and no Velvet.