Amon had carried the Waterwalker staff Dimitri had given Raisa all the way from Oden’s Ford. They resumed practice with it, three times a week, in the barracks yard. It was a good workout but, more important, it was the only alone time she had with Amon these days. It allowed them private conversations, away from listeners in the palace walls.
Four days after she announced her appointment of Han to the Wizard’s Council, Raisa walked back from the stables at dusk after a long ride across the Vale with Reid Demonai and an entourage of guards. She was flushed and sweaty, muscles loose, the tension dissipated by hours in the saddle. She and Nightwalker had parted with a kiss at the stable door.
He wanted more than that, of course. Expected more by now. She just wished she could conjure up a little more enthusiasm.
Talia Abbott and Trey Archer were on guard outside her room. Raisa paused in front of her door and smiled at Talia. “How is Sergeant Greenholt settling in?” she asked. Pearlie Greenholt, Talia’s Ardenine girlfriend, was new to the Fells. The former weapons master at Wien House, she’d been named sergeant under the new Captain Byrne.
“She likes it well enough, Your Highness,” Talia said with studied politeness. “Thank you for asking.”
Raisa raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Talia snickered. “She says it’s too bloody cold up here and she’s tired of walking on a slant all the time. Plus she misses the fresh fruits and greens we had year ’round at the Ford. Says all the turnips and cabbage give her the farts.”
Raisa laughed, knowing Pearlie would be mortified if she knew what secrets Talia was sharing with the queen of the Fells. But Talia, at least, was short on formality.
Back in Raisa’s room, her bath waited on its burner, steaming in the chilly air, but Magret was nowhere to be seen. She must be down with one of her headaches, Raisa thought. She ordered a light supper sent up, and wearily stripped off her riding breeches, jacket, and underclothes. As she sank into the hot water, her thoughts returned to the question that had been deviling her since she lost her temper with her advisers.
Had she made the right decision in putting Han Alister on the Wizard Council?
Would Han be able to help her on the council, or would he be shunned as the outsider he was? Or worse, murdered for his arrogance? Averill had made it clear he disapproved. It was what Han had wanted, but…
She must have fallen asleep. She woke to a hard rap on the door, and assumed it was supper arriving. Climbing from her bath, she toweled off and shrugged into her dressing gown. She walked into the sitting room, but when the sound repeated, she realized it came from the inside door to Han’s suite.
She put her lips to the door. “What do you want?” she said.
“I believe we have an appointment, Your Highness,” Han said through the door.
Appointment? Oh. Right. It was time for their rescheduled tutoring session.
Blood and bones. She wasn’t ready to face another evening with a cold, distant Han Alister. It was just too painful.
“This isn’t a good time, after all,” Raisa said, looking down at bare toes peeking out from under her dressing gown. “Could we meet later in the week?”
“I need to talk to you. Now,” he said brusquely. After a pause, he added, “We had a bargain, right?”
Raisa sighed. “Yes,” she said. “We did.” She unlocked the door and yanked it open. Han brushed past her into the room, not seeming to notice her state of dress.
She noticed his. Her tailors had been busy. He wore a blue silk coat that matched his eyes, and black trousers made to fit.
Maybe I should ask them to dress him in a burlap, she thought. He’d be easier to resist.
He walked to the window, rested his hands on the stone sill, and looked out over the city. Han’s back was board straight, feet slightly apart, shoulders square and tense.
He’s angry, Raisa thought. What now?
“I’ve ordered supper,” she said. “Have you eaten? We can talk while we eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” he said, still staring out the window.
“Look,” Raisa said, goaded beyond endurance. “There’s no point in meeting if you’re going to—”
“I hear I have a castle on the Firehole River,” Han said to the window. “And a title.”
“Oh. Yes,” Raisa said, in a rush. “I meant to tell you, but I haven’t seen you since I worked out the details. Ravengard, it’s called. The castle is good sized, stone and timber, though in need of repairs. There’s quite a bit of property with it, good hunting and pasturage. A few outbuildings. Not so good for farming, but—”
“Don’t you think it would have been a good idea to tell me?” Han said, swinging around to face her. “It’s the talk of the court. I’m the last to know about it.”
“I meant to tell you,” Raisa said. “It just slipped my mind. I didn’t realize word was out.” But of course it was. Rumors spread at court like the night itches in Ragmarket. “I thought you’d be happy. To have a home, I mean,” she added lamely. She’d hoped that property and a title would help bridge the chasm between them.
“And maybe I would be, if it was done differently.” He shook his head. “Don’t you get it? It makes me look a fool that I didn’t even know about it. Like you were gifting a favorite instead of meeting an obligation.”
Raisa winced, biting her lip. “I was tired of Lord Bayar calling you ‘Alister,’ and ‘the thief,’ so I thought I’d give you a title.”
“Do you think that will stop him?” Han snorted. “Alister and thief don’t bother me so much. At least they’re accurate. It’s when they call me your doxy that I object.” His voice shook, and it seemed to take a moment to master himself. He was all sharp corners and frayed edges tonight.
Raisa blinked at him, but he swung away again, scowling into the fireplace.
His anger confused her. She hadn’t thought of him as someone who would be overworried about gossip.
Maybe even the rumor that they were lovers repulsed him.
She came up behind him and touched him on the elbow. He flinched but didn’t turn around.
“People will talk at court,” Raisa said. “There’s no way to stop them.”
He said nothing.
“They’re talking about me as well,” she said. “It’s my reputation too.”
“You think I’m worried about my bloody reputation?” Han finally turned and looked at her. “If they think you favor me, if they think I’m your pretty-boy plaything, they’ll come after both of us. The only thing that stands between me and them is fear and respect. I’ve got to make show.”
“We’re not in Southbridge anymore,” Raisa said. “It’s not like you’re muscling into another gang’s territory.”
“No?” Han raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you think. Walking into the Wizard Council house will be a lot like walking into Southbridge after midnight wearing Ragger colors and carrying a sack full of gold.”
“You’re the one that demanded a room next to mine,” Raisa retorted. “You’re the one that asked to be on the council. What did you think would happen?”
“The thing is, you can’t be waving me like a red flag in front of the Wizard Council.” He gripped her arms and looked down at her. “Listen. For both our sakes, you have to act like you hate me. Like you don’t want me here at all.”
“I hate you?” Raisa rolled her eyes, exquisitely aware of his hot fingers on her upper arms. “Well, that makes sense. That’s why I gave you the room next to mine and named you to the Wizard Council.”
“Let them think you’re doing it against your will,” Han said. “Maybe you’re doing it under pressure from Dean Abelard. They already think I’m crewing for her. Or maybe I’m blackmailing you. If they think you don’t really want me on the council, they won’t guess I’m your pair of eyes.”
“I don’t want people to think I can be bullied,” Raisa countered.
“Better that than they think we’re allies,” Han said. “We got to
amuse them for a while until I get my game going. After that it won’t matter.”
What is your game? Raisa thought. Are we really allies? What are you really after? Revenge on the Bayars? Is it all about that?
“It’s a little late to convince them we’re enemies, don’t you think?” Raisa said. “After the Queen’s Council meeting and all.”
Han laughed, but it had a bitter edge. “Nah, they’ll go for it. Despite the rumors, bluebloods don’t want to believe you could be allies with a streetrat. It turns their stomachs. They’d be happy to know different.”
We’re not all like that, Raisa wanted to say. But knew it would do no good.
“But that still puts you at risk,” Raisa said. “If people think you’re my enemy, it’ll be open season on you. Everyone—even my friends—will be out to get you.”
“Trust me, it’s even riskier if they think you and I are tight,” Han said. “That makes nobody happy. The Wizard Council begins to think about hushing both of us and putting Mellony on the throne. The clans’ll be all over me if they think there’s something between us. Your father is already jumpy because you put me on the council.”
“But you’ll be all alone,” she said. “You can’t fight everybody.”
“I’ll be alone?” He looked her up and down, his mouth quirking into a half smile. “Who’s more alone, you or me? I don’t have many friends, but at least I can count on those I have. Nobody’s cozying up to me in order to get ahead.”
Raisa took a quick breath, meaning to disagree. Then released it without speaking. He was right, of course.
Han smiled like he knew he’d scored a point. “I can take care of myself. I have some allies, and I’ll find some more; you’ll see.” He paused, searching her face, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her lips. “I’m really very personable when you get to know me,” he whispered.
Releasing his hold on one arm, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Raisa was acutely conscious of how close he was, the pale stubble on his cheeks, the memory of past kisses.
Coming up onto her toes, she reached up with her free hand and pulled his face down toward her. She kissed him with a kind of desperation, winding her fingers into his hair to prevent escape.
He put his hands on her shoulders as if he meant to push her away, but then slid them down onto her shoulder blades and lifted her up and into him. His lips seemed to sizzle against hers, sending a current all the way to her toes.
Once he got started, he couldn’t seem to stop. He kissed her lips, the corner of her mouth, the space beneath her chin and behind her ear, leaving heat behind wherever his lips touched her skin.
He was breathing hard, and she could feel his heart hammering under the silk.
“Sweet Hanalea,” she murmured, gripping his lapels, her own heart thudding painfully. “I have missed you so much.”
“Look,” he growled, swallowing hard. “This is not a good idea. I just…I’d better go before we…”
“Don’t go.” Desire sluiced through her, washing away all good intentions. She slid her hands to the back of his neck, drawing his head down again, stoppering his mouth with hers and crushing her body against his.
He scooped her up, carried her to the couch, and deposited her on it. Squeezing in next to her, he pulled her close. Raisa pulled his linen shirt free of his breeches, sliding her hands underneath. They lay together in a muddle of velvet and silk. Raisa’s fingers brushed Han’s muscled shoulders and back, down to the curve at the base of his spine, mapping the evidence of old hurts.
Han’s lips grazed her skin, giving her the flaming shivers, his caresses wilting what remained of her resistance.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, kissing a sensitive place behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to do this. It’s just…really hard to resist when you—”
A knock came at the door, and they jerked apart. It was the door to the corridor this time. Han rolled to his feet in a heartbeat, straightening his clothing and combing his fingers through his tousled hair.
Raisa sat up reluctantly. She couldn’t help thinking Han was used to quick getaways from interrupted trysts.
The tapping was repeated. “Your Highness?” a woman called. “May I bring your supper in?”
It took Raisa a moment to get her voice going. “Just leave it outside,” she said, her speech thick and strange.
After a moment’s hesitation, the woman said, “I can’t leave your supper in the corridor, Your Highness. You know it isn’t safe.”
“I’m not hungry,” Raisa murmured to Han, raising both hands to stay him when he turned toward the door to his quarters.
Han shook his head. “I’ll go,” he whispered, leaning so close that his warm breath tickled her skin. “I was right to start with. This isn’t a good idea, and it won’t happen again.” He moved silently to the connecting door. “Good night, Your Highness,” he mouthed. He stepped through and closed it behind him with a soft click.
Bones, Raisa thought, frustration like a stone in her middle. Nobody was acting like they were supposed to.
She stood, rearranged her gown, and waited for the blood to stop lurching through her veins. Outside the glow of the firelight, shadows shifted in the gloom, light reflecting off golden eyes and white teeth.
Of course, she said to herself miserably. A danger to the line. Everything I do or want is a danger to the line.
She stepped to the door, unlatched it, and took several paces back. “All right,” she called to the servants outside, her voice nearly normal. “You can bring it in.”
The door swung open, revealing a tall, broad woman in an ill-fitting blue uniform, carrying a tray covered in a napkin. Someone she didn’t know, Raisa realized. The soldier’s eyes swept the room quickly, then she stepped forward and to the side, revealing two men behind her, armed with swords.
They rushed toward Raisa as the woman dropped the tray onto the table with a clatter. She turned and bolted the door behind her, then scooped a brace of knives from under the napkin, one in each hand.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion, like a dream in which Raisa’s feet were fastened to the floor, her cries stuck in her throat. The two swordsmen came at her from either side, smiling because they knew that with the door bolted they’d have time to finish their work even if she called for help.
They would be on her before she could wrench open the door to Han’s suite, assuming it wasn’t locked. Raisa fled screaming into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She struggled to slide the bolt across, leaping back as blades splintered the wood of the door.
Dimitri’s staff stood propped in the corner of her room, and Raisa snatched it up, holding it horizontally across her body as the latch gave.
She smashed the end of her staff into the face of the first man through the door. It hit with a satisfying wet crunch, and he dropped his sword and went down like a rock, clutching at his face with both hands. Before Raisa could bring her staff back into position, the other two were inside.
The woman with the blades dropped her knives and picked up her fallen comrade’s sword. Again, they came at Raisa from two sides. Even given the length of the staff and her hard-earned skill with it, she couldn’t defend against both at once.
Raisa continued to shout for help, thrusting at first one assassin and then the other in order to stay out of the reach of their blades. Where was her guard? Talia and Trey should be right outside. Why weren’t they responding?
Then, beyond the assassins, Han materialized in the doorway, rimed with light, one hand on his amulet, the other extended, looking like the Demon King himself. He spoke a charm in a cold deadly voice.
The sound startled her attackers, and they started to turn.
Flame boiled through the doorway, engulfing the soldier in the lead. The man screamed and jittered in a macabre dance, batting at his burning skin.
The remaining assassin half turned, distracted by what had happened to her comrade, and Raisa took th
is opportunity to smash her staff into her throat, a killing blow Amon had taught her. The assassin crumpled in place, her head at an odd angle.
The terrible stench of burning flesh stung Raisa’s throat, penetrated her nose, and brought tears to her eyes. She shrank back against the wall, coughing violently. Her stomach threatened to evict its contents.
The flaming assassin lurched across her room to the window. Raisa didn’t know if he was thinking of escape or only hoping to quench the flames in the river below.
Han charged across the room after him. The traitorous guardsman crouched on the broad stone sill for a long moment, then launched himself through the open window and fell like a flaming star from her sight.
Raisa flattened herself against the wall, the tip of her staff drooping to the floor and banging against it as she shook uncontrollably. Han crossed the room to her, taking hold of her arms to keep her from toppling over. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking fiercely into her eyes. “Did they stick you? Even a minor scratch?”
She knew he was thinking of poison, and she shook her head mutely.
Han released her and stalked across the room. He bent over the two assassins on the floor of her bedchamber, pressing his fingers against their necks, looking for a pulse. He looked up, shaking his head. “Next time, try and leave somebody alive to question, all right?” he said.
“You should talk,” she retorted, a bit of her usual starch returning. “Setting people on fire like that, you…” She stopped abruptly, thinking of his mother and sister.
“Th—thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving my life yet again.”
“No,” he said suddenly, unfolding to his full height. “It was you. It was all you, understand? I was never here.”
Raisa stared at him, momentarily forgetting about throwing up. “What are you talking about?”
“It won’t help our plan if your enemies think I saved your life again,” Han said. “Stands to reason you’d be grateful, right?”
“Our plan?” Raisa stammered, unclear that they had one.
Han chewed his lower lip, thinking, the fingers of his right hand beating an uneven rhythm on his thigh. Then he picked up a lamp from the table, blew out the flame, and smashed it on the floor. Oil splattered everywhere.
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