Lucius’s face slumped into a fleshy puddle of pain. “They were her only children. It was as if she refused to have any but Waterlow’s. Their daughter, Alyssa, established the new line of queens. Fortunately, she displayed no sign of wizardry, though it is said the gift of prophecy that runs in Hanalea’s line may come from Waterlow.”
“You’re saying the line of queens descends from the blood of the Demon King?” Han whispered.
“It does,” Elena said, almost defensively. “His blood may be tainted, but the pure blood of Hanalea is much stronger.” She paused, biting her lower lip. “We had no choice. Alyssa was her only issue. Since then, the demon’s blood has been diluted many times.”
Well. No wonder that story was kept quiet. If it was true. The dynasty of queens was founded on a lie.
“What about the boy?” Han asked.
Lucius laughed softly. “The boy was a problem, because there was no doubt he was gifted. Word went out to the few who knew about it that the baby died shortly after birth and was buried in an unmarked grave. But I happen to know that the baby lived.”
“Why would they let it live?” Han asked. After everything the demon had done, weren’t they worried that the son would go bad too?
“The Demonai warriors meant to kill him. They handed him to a clan matriarch and told her to drop him off a high cliff. It was seen as a great honor for the matriarch, at the time.”
Instinctively, Han glanced at Elena. She was leaning forward, her face set in hard, defiant lines.
Lucius turned back toward Han as if he could sense his location in the room. “But Hanalea intervened. Dressed as a trader, she came to the matriarch and offered a trade. She offered to give up her child forever in exchange for sparing his life.”
An image suddenly came to Han—of a marble statue in the Southbridge Temple garden. It was an old piece, worn down by weather. Jemson said it was made around the time of the Breaking, and had been carried there from somewhere else. It was an image of Hanalea in trader garb—an unusual presentation. The warrior queen cradled a baby in one arm and wielded a sword in the other, fending off an unseen attacker. It was called, Hanalea Defending the Children. It never occurred to Han that the scene was more than symbolic, that it might depict a real event.
Lucius continued his story. “The clan couldn’t say no to Hanalea, especially after all she’d done, all she’d been through. Yet the matriarch did not wish to turn the boy loose in the world, to grow up unsupervised. So a very small, very secret council was convened to determine what to do.”
Thoughts swirled through Han’s head. Here it was, another story that contradicted everything he’d heard before. Who knew what to believe anymore? He looked at Dancer to assess his reaction. His friend sat, transfixed, absently toying with the fringes on his leggings. Dancer had never heard Lucius tell a story, had never seen how he could draw a person in.
“How do you know all this?” Han asked, meaning, Where’d you get this story? Did you find it at the bottom of a bottle of product?
“I was the one that married Hanalea after Alger died,” Lucius said.
“You?” Han said it louder than he intended. He looked around the circle and saw the truth in every face, as if he and Dancer were the only ones not in on this particular secret.
This old man who bathed once a month at best had been married to a queen? And not just a queen, the queen who’d saved the world. A legendary beauty preserved in countless statues, etchings, and paintings.
“That’s impossible,” Han said flatly. “No offense, Lucius, but, I mean, come on—you’d be a thousand years old.”
“Aye, I am over a thousant, though I quit counting a long time ago,” Lucius said, smiling, revealing his intermittent teeth. “Look at me close, and you’ll see the mark of every one of those years. I was a wizard once. Alger Waterlow’s best friend. I was blinded in the Breaking, and my gift was burned right out of me.”
His voice changed, and he sounded like a blueblood. “The council that wrote the Nǽming chose me to carry the memory of those times, to remind Hanalea of it, in case her memory faded. I was cursed with the truth and the compulsion to tell it. That’s what keeps me alive. This way, no matter how much everyone wants to forget, there’s someone who remembers everything, clear as if it were yesterday.”
Han couldn’t help thinking that he wouldn’t choose a scruffy old drunk for the job, if it was that important. Well spoken or not, who’d listen to him?
Then it struck him: maybe it was the burden of carrying a truth that no one wanted to hear that had made Lucius a scruffy old drunk.
A memory came back from that afternoon on the banks of Old Woman Creek—Lucius telling the story of Hanalea and Alger Waterlow.
She bent her knee for the greater good and married somebody she didn’t love. Meaning himself. Han shivered, feeling sorry for Lucius. But sorry went only so far.
“What’s all this got to do with me and Dancer?” Han asked, thinking of Bird, who’d be waiting impatiently outside, unless she’d already given up. The world was full of secrets, apparently, but maybe he didn’t need to know them all.
“You’ll see,” Elena said. There was no rushing a clan story. “As you can imagine, there was bitter disagreement about what to do with the demon’s gifted child, who might grow to be an extremely powerful wizard.
“The Demonai warriors still argued that the child should be killed, whatever Hanalea said. But the boy inherited something of Alger’s charm. There was something about the Waterlows—they had a way about them.”
Here it was again—people talking about the Demon King as if he were handsome, attractive, someone a queen could fall in love with. Instead of a heartless monster.
“In addition to Hanalea, it was Hanalea’s consort, Lucius Frowsley, who argued most persuasively for the boy’s life,” Elena said, looking at Lucius.
There’s no love between those two, Han thought.
“Because this child was brother to the princess heir, and a wizard, there was concern that he might align himself with the Wizard Council. He might even try to establish a line of blooded wizard kings, and prove a threat to the sitting queens,” Averill said.
“In the end, the elder council chose mercy. The decision was made to allow the boy to live, but to remove him from Hanalea’s care, to bind and control his magical gift so it wasn’t apparent. The boy’s ancestry was hidden from himself and everyone else in order to prevent them from using his line for their own ends. We’ve been watching over the boy’s descendants ever since, ensuring that they pose no threat to the queen.”
Averill shrugged. “Was that a good decision? It’s been a thousand years, but we still don’t know. But recent events have forced us to reconsider it. Given the threat from Arden, a protracted war between wizards and the clan might be the end of the realm.”
“For generations, our council of elders has tracked the descendants of the Demon King,” Elena said. “The magical trait has remained virulent when it manifests, but has appeared less and less often, perhaps moderated by those who married in. Right now, we know of only one living gifted descendant. A male child.”
“So…what? You’re going to hunt him down and kill him? Because of who his ancestor was?” Han asked. “Because he might join with the Wizard Council and somehow threaten the queen?”
Was that why they were here? Did they expect him and Dancer to help with that?
The question seemed to startle Averill. “Ah, no.” He looked over at Elena, who always seemed to take the tough questions.
“It occurred to the original council that there might be an advantage to a line of wizards, relations to the queen, who might support the throne in times of conflict. Particularly in a conflict with wizards,” Elena added delicately. “We’ve learned through bitter experience that green magic has its limitations.”
I’ll bet the Demonai warriors love that idea, Han thought.
“Therefore, we have required that each gifted descendant of the De
mon King be fostered in the camps,” Elena said, “so that we can teach them about clan ways and, we hope, bind their fortunes and hearts to our own. For generations we have done this. The secret passes through clan elders. We have never had to reveal it until now. That is why we have convened this council.” She gestured at the others in the lodge.
And then Han finally understood: a truth that should have been apparent all along, despite the circuitous ways of clan stories.
The mysterious gifted descendant was Dancer; it had to be. Fire Dancer. It was an apt name for the get of a wizard. Dancer was gifted, and now the magic that had lain hidden so long was pouring out.
Han glanced sideways at his friend, who seemed to be deep in his own thoughts, oblivious to Han’s epiphany. Had Dancer known? Had he ever suspected? Was he really Willo’s child, or had they only pretended so he could be housed with the matriarch, the wisest woman at Marisa Pines?
Well, if they meant to target Dancer, Han would have his back, though he couldn’t say what help he could provide to a wizard.
Han was so involved in his own thoughts that he didn’t quite follow when Elena began speaking again in the rich cadence of the matriarch.
“This council calls forward Hunts Alone, whose flatland name is Hanson Alister.”
There was a long moment of silence while Han waited for someone else to answer. “What?” he said stupidly. “What did you say?”
“It’s you, Hunts Alone,” Willo said, taking his hands in hers. “You are Waterlow’s only living gifted descendant.”
C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - S E V E N
GIFTED
“No!” Han said, pulling his hands free. “What are you talking about? I’m not gifted. You want Dancer.” He looked at Dancer for support, but his friend had the same look on his face as everyone else—mingled wariness and hope.
“But you are gifted,” Willo said. “Even at birth, you manifested so strongly that your mother nearly died in childbirth. I tended you both. I called in Elena Cennestre.”
Han shook his head, backing away until he came up against the sleeping bench. Elena came and stood in front of him. He felt cornered even though he towered over her.
“I made your bracelets,” she said, touching his silver cuffs. “They absorb magic—your own as well as any used against you. They protect you and also prevent you from using magic yourself, accidentally or on purpose. They keep you from giving off the aura of magic or storing it in an amulet. All of the gifted descendants of Waterlow have worn them, from that first child of Alger’s.” She paused, then added, “His name was Alister.”
Han lifted his arms and stared at his cuffs as if he’d never seen them before. He remembered when Gavan Bayar had jinxed him, and the flames seemed to flow into his cuffs and disappear. He recalled how the demon assassins in Southbridge had attacked him with magic, and it had seemed to roll off him. How despite Micah Bayar’s warning, he’d picked up the serpent amulet, feeling its sting but remaining otherwise unharmed. That same amulet had thrown the Southies against the wall.
Han Alister—streetlord of the Raggers, a wayward hustler with blood on his hands and a grudge in his heart and too many enemies to count—Han Alister was also a wizard who could shoot flame out of his fingers and fling jinxes and bend others to his will.
Han Alister was the descendant of a madman who had ravished a queen and broke the world. Or he was the final representative of a love that had defied convention, and those who paid the price for it.
Shiv’s words came back to him. What is it about you? People can’t stop talking about you. Telling stories. It’s all I hear about. Cuffs Alister this, Cuffs Alister that. It’s like you’re golden.
But Han didn’t come from royal blood. He was the son of a laundress and a soldier.
“Your grandfather wore the bracelets also,” Elena said, as if she’d read his mind. “He was fostered at Escarpment Camp.” She paused, and a flicker in her eyes said she was covering over a secret. “The gift did not manifest in your father. He died never knowing about his lineage.”
“What did you tell my mother?” Han found himself ask-ing. “Did she know what the cuffs were for?”
Elena shook her head. “We told her you had been possessed by a demon while still in the womb. That the cuffs would protect you. That she couldn’t tell you the truth because it would make you vulnerable to evil.” The matriarch said this with no trace of apology.
Han stared at her, horrified. It was no wonder Mam had always seemed convinced that he would fall prey to the siren call of the streets. Even when he left the life, she always questioned it, never believed he’d reformed. That lie had been a barrier between them. He recalled one of their last conversations. “You’re cursed, Han Alister,” she’d said, “and you’ll come to no good.”
“We arranged to foster you each summer at Marisa Pines,” Elena went on. “We paid your mother a small stipend.”
“So…you paid my mother to let you take me?” Han said, his voice cracking. “She didn’t…ask any questions?”
Wouldn’t Mam have wondered why the clan was interested in him?
Not if it brought in a little money. People with nothing don’t have the luxury of asking questions.
“Your mother hoped it would be good for you to get out of the city,” Willo said. “She hoped it would keep you out of the street life, that you might learn a fresh-air trade. That it might protect you from that early…damage.”
Han felt under siege as he never had in the camps before. They had always been a place of safety, of refuge. And here it had all been just another game of slide-hand. Willo and Elena and the others were nothing more than grifters in clan garb.
He’d been made a fool of—stung like a loaded mark on the streets of Ragmarket.
“And so…you took me because you thought I might go insane and break the world like Alger Waterlow?” Han wanted to sound cold, matter-of-fact, indifferent, but he was having trouble keeping the tremor out of his voice.
“Alger Waterlow was not insane,” Lucius growled, startling Han, who’d forgotten he was there. He glared sightlessly around the lodge. “I don’t care what you all say.”
Ah, Han thought bitterly. I should be reassured because crazy Lucius Frowsley says my ancestor wasn’t crazy?
“Hunts Alone, you’ve been like a son to me,” Willo said. “Maybe it began as an obligation, but now…”
“You’re not my mother,” Han said, indulging a cold, mean place inside of him. “I had a mother, and she’s dead.”
Averill, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry. We know this is too much to take in all at once.”
“So what’s this all about?” Han said, anxious to get it over with, to get out of their presence so he could deal with it on his own. He was beginning to worry that his street face would fail him. “Why are you telling me this now, after all this time?”
“We believe that these are the most dangerous times since the Breaking,” Willo said. “Gavan Bayar represents a grave threat to the queen and the royal line. The power of the Wizard Council is growing, and they very nearly married one of their own to the princess heir.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Han asked.
“We have told you this because you have a choice,” Elena said. “We will leave the cuffs on, and you can continue much as you have been. If you would like to stay at Marisa Pines, Willo will teach you the art of healing.”
“What about Demonai Camp? Could I go there?” Han demanded, knowing he was testing Elena’s patience.
“That depends,” Elena said, looking over at Dancer, “on how well this secret can be kept. If you are known to be a wizard, your life will be in danger at Demonai, even if you wear the cuffs. Above all, no one must know whose blood you carry.”
Han looked into her hard warrior face and wondered, Does she mean the Demon King’s, or Hanalea’s?
“So the Demonai warriors don’t know about me?” Han asked, thinking of Bird. And R
eid Demonai.
Elena shook her head. “None except Lord Demonai and me. If you decided to keep the cuffs on, it’s best if they don’t.”
Han massaged his forehead. His cup of tea had gone cold. “You said I had a choice.”
Elena looked him in the eyes. “We will remove the cuffs, Hunts Alone, on the condition that you go to Mystwerk House at Oden’s Ford with Fire Dancer and learn to control and use this gift the Maker has given you. We will sponsor you, provide your amulet, and pay your master’s fees and board. When you complete the courses, you will come back here and use your skills on behalf of the clan and the true line of blooded queens.”
Han stared at her. “So wizards are all right as long as they’re working for you?”
Apparently so, he thought, since they all shrugged and looked away.
“Why me?” Han said. “Why not Dancer? He’s a wizard, and he’s not likely to go mad on you.” Just then he was rather taken with the notion of going mad, of breaking things. It seemed like a good out.
“If Gavan Bayar has been able to break the binding placed on him when he was elevated to High Wizard, he must have used old magic,” Averill said. “We’re worried about what else the Bayars have hidden away. If they have access to old amulets, they can use them to win other wizards to their side. We’ll need someone very powerful to oppose them. More powerful than Dancer.”
“What makes you think I’m so powerful?” Han asked. “I’ve never done anything magical.”
“I put the cuffs on you when you were just a baby,” Elena said. Her expression said it was an experience she wouldn’t care to repeat. “I know what you’re capable of.”
Lucius broke into a high wheezing laugh. “The thing is, ever’body knows what young Alger Waterlow could do, boy,” he said. “They’re hoping you take after your many-greats-grandpa. Except for the destroying the world part. They’re hoping to keep you on a tighter leash.”
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 40