The flames exploded upward, nearly to the ceiling. They were trapped.
If Gerard Montaigne couldn’t torture her at leisure, he’d burn her alive right now.
“Lady of the Battlefield, help me!” Raisa cried, ramming her staff into the burning cordwood, trying to open space around her and Mellony.
As if in answer to her prayers, someone swarmed across the ceiling of the cathedral, swinging from one fixture to another, finding handholds where none existed. He dangled over their heads, arrows pinging all around him, then dropped to the floor next to Raisa.
It was Han Alister.
Raisa stared at him, stunned speechless. His aster-blue eyes shown out from a face blackened by bruises and soot, his fair hair glittering in the firelight. Dressed all in black, silhouetted against flame, he looked rather like a demon, raised from the dead, trading for souls on the other side.
“But—but you—you’re—dead,” she whispered to herself, touching the ring on her finger like a talisman.
“You’re on fire,” he said, and pulled her tightly against him, lifting her slightly, his hands pressing into the small of her back, her head under his chin.
It took Raisa a moment to realize that he meant literally on fire. She smelled burning wool as he smothered her smoldering jacket against his chest. She could feel his heart beating wildly even through the metal between them.
“Raisa,” he murmured, his voice catching. “Tell me you’re all right.” She felt the familiar sting of his magic, more faint and frail than usual.
“I’m all right,” she stammered. “I have Dancer’s armor on.”
He pulled away and held her at arm’s length, his hands under her elbows, his expression as raw and hungry as she’d ever seen it.
“Why is it always fire?” he asked nobody in particular, his voice hoarse and strange.
Raisa shook her head, speechless, while a thousand questions stumbled through her mind.
“Cut your sister loose,” he said. “I’ll keep the flame away.” Releasing hold of her, he turned, his hand on his amulet, sweeping his arm in a broad arc, driving back the flames that licked hungrily at the kindling under their feet. If it caught, they were done for.
Raisa kicked viciously at the cordwood piled around Mellony, hissing as flame burned through her trousers and scorched her skin. Mellony’s head drooped, and she slumped against the pillar. Raisa thought at first she’d gone unconscious, but her lips still moved in prayer.
Every breath Raisa took seemed to suck flame into her lungs. She hacked at the ropes, swearing. The fibers would not yield under her blade.
The ropes must be magicked, she thought, close to tears. She glanced over at Han, but he had his hands full keeping the outer circle of flames at bay.
Mellony’s cloak caught and smoldered, and Raisa frantically beat out the flame.
Mellony opened her eyes suddenly. “Cut my throat and go,” she said, her voice hollow and hopeless. “Cut my throat. I don’t want to burn to death.”
“No,” Raisa growled. “I’m getting out of here, and I’m taking you with me.”
Someone burst through the wall of flame, a tall, angular figure layered in protective magic. He hit the floor, nearly sliding into the flames on the other side.
Micah Bayar rolled to his feet with his usual grace and grabbed Raisa’s arm. “Come on,” he said, tugging at her. “I’ll shield both of us. Let’s go before Alister runs out of flash.”
Raisa stared at him. You’re despicable. You lied to me. You told me Han was dead.
Micah looked back at her defiantly, a little desperately, as if he knew just what she was thinking.
“Please come,” he pleaded. “I’ll come back for Mellony once I get you out.”
“No.” Raisa shook her head. “I won’t leave Mellony to burn,” she said. “The ropes are magicked and I can’t cut them. You get her loose.”
Micah’s lips tightened in frustration, but he let go of Raisa and took hold of the ropes binding Mellony to the pillar. He spoke one charm after another. Nothing happened.
Swearing, he closed his hands over the knots. Finally, grudgingly, the knots unthreaded themselves, the ropes slithering to the floor like snakes.
Mellony slumped forward, and Micah caught her, lifting her.
“Take her,” Raisa said.
“I’ll be back.” Wrapping them both in a shroud of magic, Micah disappeared into the flames.
“Mellony’s free. Let’s go,” Raisa said, stepping up beside Han. He was still furiously fighting back the flames, but he looked drained, almost haggard, his gestures increasingly disorganized.
“Micah will come back for you,” he said, not looking at her. “Go with him. I’ll follow.”
“Let’s go now,” Raisa said.
He didn’t answer, and suspicion kindled in her. “You don’t have enough flash left to get through, do you?” she said. “You’re not confident you can put up a shield.”
“I can get myself through, just not both of us,” Han said. “Once I know you’re safe, I promise I’ll come.” He was usually a fine liar. It was evidence of his weariness that she could see right through this one.
Micah reappeared, his magical boundaries already fraying under the assault of the flame.
“Go with Micah,” Han repeated. “I’ll follow.”
“No,” Raisa said. “Micah, take Han now and come back for me.”
“Bayar!” Han said, his voice edged. “Make her go with you, all right? You’ve done it before. Don’t go all squeamish on me now.”
Micah looked from Han to Raisa, then struck like a snake, scooping Raisa into his arms and pressing her against him. She kicked and struggled, then felt the buzz of magic against her skin, immobilizing her.
I’m no longer wearing Hanalea’s ring, she realized. Micah’s wearing it. And I’m wearing his. She looked down at her hand, then up in time to see Han’s eyes follow hers, tightening in pain.
No. Oh, no. Han must think that Micah and I…
Micah draped his cloak over her face, and they plunged through the wall of flame. Heat seared her skin, brilliance beat against her eyelids. She held her breath to avoid sucking in flame, and then they were through, and she was gasping in great lungfuls of relatively cooler air.
Micah strode on, away from the torrent of flame that encircled Han Alister. He walked on, down the nave, as if he meant to walk right out of the temple, but came face-to-face with Nightwalker.
“Put her down, jinxflinger,” Nightwalker said. “We’ve cleared the temple, but the entire army of Arden is outside, and we need you on the doors.”
Micah seemed reluctant to let go even then, as if he knew it would be the last time he’d hold Raisa in his arms. Finally, grudgingly, he set her down on her feet and disabled the charm.
She ripped free of his grasp. “Go back after Han,” she ordered, her voice low and furious. “Do it. Now. I won’t let him burn.”
“He said he’d come on his own,” Micah said. “You heard him.”
“He doesn’t have enough flash left to come through,” Raisa said. “He’s been fighting back wizard flame, keeping me and Mellony alive.”
“Well, I don’t have enough flash left to go in and come out again, and bring another person,” Micah said. “Alister knows that. That’s why he sent me out with you.”
“You’re lying,” Raisa said, her mouth metallic with despair. “You despicable, lying, snake of a wizard.”
“It’s true,” Micah said, extending his hands, fingers spread pleadingly.
“I won’t be needing this.” Raisa tugged at Micah’s ring, wrenched it off her finger, and threw it at him. He ducked, and it hit the floor, rolling out of sight.
“Raisa,” Micah whispered, his face sheet-white. “Please.”
She opened her palm. “Give me back my ring,” she said.
For a moment, she thought he would refuse. Then he slid her wolf ring off his finger and pressed it into her hand. “I’ll go. I’ll get h
im out.” Micah swiveled away, disappearing into the chaos.
Cat Tyburn appeared out of nowhere. “Where’s Cuffs?” she asked, looking around. “I thought he’d be with you.”
Raisa shook her head mutely, pointing at the inferno toward the front of the church.
Just then a shout came up from those protecting the doors. Raisa looked up, half expecting to see the Ardenine Army pouring in; but what she saw instead was…water.
Water?
It had found its way under the massive wooden door, and through the tiny openings and imperfections in the door and the stonework. It advanced across the stone floor like a dark stain. Raisa heard shouts and screams and cries for help from outside the temple, layered over the sound of rushing water.
Where had it come from and how did it get here? We are blocks from the river.
“Get away from the door!” Amon shouted, and the defenders scattered in all directions.
He’s alive, Raisa thought, looking for Amon amid the tangle of people.
The door was literally bulging now, bowing inward under the weight of water. Water spilled over the stone sills of the windows, splashing onto the floor. The windows were high, so the water must have already risen against the sides of the cathedral.
With a massive crack, the door gave, bursting inward, releasing a torrent of water into the sanctuary, sluicing all the way forward to the altar. Those inside the cathedral scrambled for higher ground.
“Come,” Nightwalker said, taking Raisa’s hand. “We’d better climb.”
“It’s the Dyrnnewater,” Raisa said, planting her feet as the water rose to her knees. “The Dyrnnewater has come into the cathedral.”
“Hayden!” Cat crowed in delight, pointing. “Hayden’s calling the river.”
Raisa saw Fire Dancer, waist-deep in the Dyrnnewater, atop the Naming font to the left of the altar. He stood, eyes closed, both hands gripping his amulet, his lips moving silently, like a water god from out of the stories.
Fire Dancer. Where had he come from? Calling the river? What did that mean?
The wall of wizard flame surrounding Han Alister hissed and complained, resisting the assault of the water. Steam rose to the roof, collecting there.
Raisa splashed forward, ignoring Nightwalker’s shouted warnings. The water was at her waist now, roaring into the crypts, sweeping candlesticks off the altar. Sweeping flames away.
But when Raisa reached the pillar where Mellony had been bound, water rippled around it. Micah Bayar’s sleek black head broke through the surface. He looked around, flinging water, then dove under again.
The flames were finally out, but Han Alister was nowhere to be seen.
Raisa walked around the pillar in ever-widening circles, diving repeatedly under the water, searching with her hands. Micah stayed under as long as he could, and gasped for breath each time he surfaced.
Both Nightwalker and Amon were there, then. “Your Majesty,” Amon said. “Raisa. The water is rising. You need to get to higher ground.”
“Han is here somewhere. I’m not leaving without finding him.”
“Han!” Amon frowned. “But I thought you said that Alister was—”
“Maybe he’s already left,” Nightwalker interrupted. Raisa shook her head. “No. He’s here. I know he’s here.”
Just then her questing foot encountered something more yielding than stone. A body.
“Help me,” she said breathlessly, and dove, taking fistfuls of fabric and lifting, pushing off with her feet. The charred, sodden fabric came away in her hands. She dove again, sliding her hands underneath the body. Desperation lent her strength, and this time she pushed the limp deadweight up until it broke the water’s surface.
Amon and Micah each took one of Han’s arms, helping Raisa lift his head and shoulders free of the water. His eyes were closed, the lids bluish against his pale face, splotched with bruises, his hair plastered strawlike against his head. Raisa tilted Han’s head forward so water ran out of his mouth. “He’s not breathing,” she said in a panic.
Cat and Dancer wrestled Han up and onto the altar, out of the water. Coming at him from behind, Dancer wrapped his arms around Han’s middle and squeezed. Water poured out of Han’s mouth, and he coughed weakly. Then spewed a string of vile curses and tried to struggle free.
Raisa shivered, giddy with relief. She grabbed Han’s hands and held them tightly, as if he might get away. The burn of magic was faint, but it was there. She threaded his hand under his coat so he could reach his amulet. His fingers closed tightly around it, and it brightened in response to his touch.
“The water should be receding,” Dancer said. “I sent the river back.”
Amon nodded. “Thanks to Fire Dancer, what remains of the Ardenine Army is in disarray. Much of their siege equipment has been washed away. The stripers have all but disappeared.”
They heard shouting and thundering hooves, the unmistakable war cries of the Demonai.
“That will be Averill Lightfoot,” Dancer said, with a weary smile. “They’ve broken through.”
C H A P T E R F I F T Y - S I X
A REMATCH
Gerard Montaigne’s invasion of the Fells had turned into something of a rout. The Ardenine Army took the road south through the mountains, losing soldiers all along the way. With Dancer’s encouragement, the land itself turned against them, pelting them with snow and rain, mud and swollen rivers. If they slept on the ground, they developed boils and rashes. Ledges gave way beneath their feet, and fords and crossing places disappeared.
Most of the mercenaries went with them, as did the native-born Klemaths. Southern prisoners muttered scare-stories about the glitter-haired High Wizard, who often appeared in the midst of the highlander forces, sending terrible spells against them, disregarding his own safety. Sometimes all Han had to do was show himself, and the southerners would turn and flee.
Some called him the Demon King reborn, though most hesitated to name him at all. Everyone knew that naming a demon could call it down on you.
Meanwhile, Micah, Mordra, Gryphon, and Abelard wreaked their own kind of magical havoc on the retreating armies. Nightwalker, Bird, Shilo, and the other Demonai delighted in harassing the southern soldiers, picking them off at will.
Somehow, Marin Karn evaded all of the forces hunting him. Eventually, word came from their spies in the south that he was back in Ardenscourt. So far, he’d managed to avoid the usual Ardenine reward for failure.
Han meant to stay long enough to make sure the southerners were really and truly gone and Raisa’s hold on the throne was secure. And then he’d leave himself. He just wasn’t sure where he’d go. Maybe he’d follow Sarie’s and Flinn’s example and sail across the Indio. The desolation of Carthis might suit the desolation in his soul.
Then one day he returned to his tent near Marisa Pines Pass to find a fire in the grate and Raisa waiting for him.
She didn’t see him at first. She was staring moodily into the flames, her arms wrapped around her knees, an odd juxtaposition of waif and warrior in Dancer’s armor and made-to-measure clan boots.
He froze in the doorway, considering retreat, but just then she looked up and saw him, in all his grubby, weary, unshaven glory.
“There you are,” she said. And then, “You look terrible. You’ve lost weight.”
“Your Majesty,” Han said. “This is a surprise.”
She levered to her feet and padded toward him, silent as a Demonai. “I’ve sent for you several times, but you didn’t come.”
“I’ve…I’ve been busy,” Han said hoarsely.
“So I’ve heard.” Raisa stopped a foot away and stood looking up at him, her fists on her hips. “How could you leave like that—without speaking to me?”
Han didn’t want to answer that question, so he asked one of his own. “Did you really come out here by yourself?”
“You wouldn’t come to me, so I came to you,” Raisa said, her green eyes narrowed, her voice low and fierce. “We need t
o talk.” Reaching up, she took hold of his jacket front, pulling his head down to hers. She kissed him, long and slow, pressing up into him.
Han struggled not to react, but his weary body betrayed him. His arms went around her, and he kissed her back, intent on getting as much of her as he possibly could. It didn’t matter how far away he fled—he would never—could never—forget this.
Finally she pulled back, but kept hold of his lapels, like he might try to get away.
“So,” Han said, his tongue thick in his mouth, his breathing ragged and quick. “You’re walking out on Micah already? Most at least wait until they go to temple.” He paused, and when she said nothing, added, “When’s the big day?” A terrible possibility struck him. “You’re not already married.”
“You’re a fool if you think I’d ever marry Micah Bayar,” Raisa said, sounding a little breathless herself.
“Look,” Han said. “I overheard him tell his mother that he asked you to marry him and you agreed.” He tilted his head. “You’re saying that’s not true?”
“Well,” Raisa allowed. “That part is true.”
“Plus he was wearing your ring,” Han said. “And you were wearing his.”
Raisa let go his coat and held up her hand, inches from Han’s nose. The gold wolf ring was back on her forefinger, next to the pearl-and-moonstone ring Dancer had made, that Han had given her for her coronation. The Bayar ring was missing.
“Sorry,” Han said, after a moment. “I’m a little lost here. Are you saying that you and Micah are on the outs now?”
Raisa sighed. “Micah came to me at Fellsmarch Castle while we were penned up in there. He told me that you tried to murder his father on Gray Lady and that Bayar killed you.”
Han’s mind had ranged far ahead, but now it stumbled, then backtracked. “Micah told you I was dead? And you believed him?”
Raisa nodded, blinking back tears. “At the time, remember, you were wanted on suspicion of murder. I could see them taking advantage of that to get you out of the way.”
Han recalled what Micah had told the Wizard Council—that Han was dead—before he’d made his surprise appearance. And Magret Gray’s reaction when he’d appeared in Raisa’s bedchamber—calling him a demon spirit.
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