The Exiled Queen

by Cinda Williams Chima

  But Micah won’t be sitting idle, either, Han thought. Could he stand to walk around with that constant prickle between his shoulder blades?

  He’d rather have a chat with Micah in a back alley and ease his own mind.

  Dancer’s voice cut into Han’s thoughts. “I’m back from breakfast,” he called from the doorway. “I brought something for you.”

  Han looked up in time to catch the napkin-wrapped bundle Dancer tossed at him. Pulling back a corner, he saw that it contained a biscuit with cheese and ham tucked inside. “Thank you,” Han said, taking a big bite.

  “I saw Cat in the dining hall,” Dancer said.

  “How was she?” Han asked, hoping a night’s sleep had improved her mood.

  “Well,” Dancer said, “she still looked kind of witch-fixed. That Annamaya from last night was there. She’ll take her to her classes and help her get her books together.”

  After they’d left the tavern the night before, they’d walked Cat back to the Temple School. By then she seemed to have run out of arguments. It worried Han, since he’d never known it to happen before. They left her standing at the door, arms wrapped around herself as if she hoped she could fold up and disappear.

  Han hated to leave her there, but he’d already done enough walking around to know that there was no way to make a living on the down low within the walls of the academy. The provost guards were everywhere, the common spaces were brightly lit, and there’d be no cheap places to throw down for the night. It would be like trying to run a canting crew out of the castle close.

  She had to make it work.

  The bells in Mystwerk Tower sounded once. It was time to be on their way.

  Han slid his book into his carry bag and rooted through it one more time. It contained the books of charms Elena had given him, a thick book of charms by someone named Kinley he’d got from Blevins, a sheaf of clean paper, and his writing box. At Southbridge Temple he’d never brought any books to class, because he didn’t own any. Nor paper, pencils, or ink, save those supplied by Jemson once he got there.

  At Southbridge, none but Jemson cared if he showed up or not.

  He’d had no problem holding his own. The other students came from the streets too. They talked like he did—using the flash patter street slang they’d all grown up with.

  This was different. His classmates would have been raised in families of blueblood charmcasters. They’d been exposed to spellwork since they were lytlings. They would have had training before they were even allowed to have amulets, and access to whole libraries of charmcraft.

  “We’re going to be late!” Dancer broke into Han’s fog of worry. Dancer had put on his school robes and slung his carry bag over one shoulder.

  “Coming.” Han pulled his red robe over his head, poking his arms through the sleeves and pulling it down so it covered his clothing. He liked having the robe on—it made him feel more like he belonged.

  They descended the stairs, Han hiking up the hem of his robe to keep from getting his feet tangled in it. It would take some getting used to.

  It was a fresh, clean morning, still peculiarly warm, but with less humidity than before. Sunlight slanted across the lawns, sparkling on the dew-spangled grass. Students crowded the walkways in their multicolored robes, still yawning and blinking away sleep. Han finished his biscuit as they walked.

  The classroom was on the second floor of Mystwerk Hall, overlooking the Tamron River. Stone risers were arranged in a semicircle around a raised central podium. When Han and Dancer arrived, students were settling into their seats, fishing books and papers out of their carry bags. There were fifteen students in all, arranged like candies in a box, all in the same red wrappers.

  Han paused in the doorway, scanning the room. He spotted Bayar and the Mander brothers in the back row, left side, bunched together like sour grapes.

  Micah was sprawled in his seat, hands braced against the table in front of him, head tilted back, black eyes fixed on Han, his falcon amulet prominently displayed on the outside of his robe.

  Well, Han thought, at least they were all here instead of tossing his room for the jinxpiece he’d taken from them.

  If they looked, there’d be nothing to find. Han had a thief’s chariness about leaving money in his room, so he carried his purse on his person. The jinxpiece hung around his neck, and his books were in his carry bag.

  Han smiled, nodded, and waved at Micah, all but blowing him a kiss. He found himself a seat to the right, in the second row, where he could keep an eye on Micah. Dancer settled into the empty seat beside him.

  In the academy overall, the majority of students were flatlanders. From what Han could tell without the clue of clothing, most in this class were northerners. There were three olive-skinned charmcasters, likely mixed-bloods from Bruinswallow or the Southern Islands. Two were very pale, their hair almost white—they might be from the Northern Islands, where wizards had originated. Some had hair streaked with wizard red.

  None from Arden, of course. And none but Dancer carried clan blood.

  Han touched his own pale hair, perhaps a gift from Alger Waterlow.

  Like Micah, the other students wore their amulets on the outside of their robes—like a gang mark display. It was their one chance for making show. The jinxpieces varied widely. Some were huge and ornate, like jewel-encrusted incense burners from the temple—worth a fortune in materials alone. Others were small and plain—silver and gold in simple shapes, often images from the natural world. Some mimicked animals and plants, and looked almost alive—glowing with elegant clan craftsmanship. Many were probably heirlooms, handed down through families of charmcasters, recharged by clan artists for this new generation.

  When he’d worked the streets, Han had dealt in bagged flash, the street name for magical pieces like these. He’d pinch them from careless shop owners or lift them from houses. Fortunately, he’d never tried to take one directly off a wizard. He now realized that it would have been easier to yank out a tooth and slide away unnoticed.

  The magical element of a jinxpiece was called flash. At first Han had assumed that the fancier the amulet, the more flash it had—the more powerful it was. In his dealings with fences he’d found out that wasn’t always true. The materials they were made of had more to do with the wealth of the wizard than the power of the piece.

  Han pulled his serpent amulet free and let it rest on the front of his robe. It was more than a thousand years old, and only middling showy, but it was likely the most powerful piece of flash in the room.

  Dancer exposed his amulet also, the Lone Hunter he’d borrowed from Han. Han wondered if the amulet Elena had made for him was permanent or temporary. That would be worrisome—the knowledge that his amulet would eventually lose power. He was beginning to understand why wizards were unhappy with the clans’ power over them.

  Han looked over at Micah whispering with his cousins. It made him twitchy. Han wasn’t used to sharing territory with an enemy. You drove him out, or he drove you out. You hushed him, or he hushed you, and life went on. For one of you.

  The side door opened, and a wizard in a wheeled chair rolled into the room. Though the sleeves of his robe were decorated with master’s bars, he looked to be only three or four years older than the newling students. He had cinnamon hair, pale skin, and a bitter expression, as if he expected to be disappointed.

  When he reached the base of the podium he swung forward two arm canes and levered himself out of the chair.

  The foam of voices gradually settled into an awkward silence as the master struggled up the steps to the lectern and spread a sheaf of papers and a battered-looking book atop it. His amulet glittered in the sunlight cascading through the windows, a large quartz crystal shaped into a castle keep.

  He didn’t call the roll, but his gaze whispered over the assembled students, resting on Han and Dancer for a long moment.

  “You are—ah—Dancer and Alister, I presume,” he said, looking down and sorting through his papers. �
�I am Master Gryphon. I have the perilous and unfulfilling task of teaching spellcasting to newlings. How fortunate we are that this year’s newling class is so — exceptionally diverse. I feel quite — in context.”

  Han stared at the master, unsure whether they’d just been insulted or if he was poking fun at himself.

  Gryphon raised his eyes from his papers. They were a startling blue-green color, and when Han met his gaze, cold trickled down his spine. Despite the master’s unhealthy pallor, it was a handsome face, a poor match for the graceless body.

  “Proficient Hadron tells me that the two of you traveled through Arden to come here. Arden is a dangerous place for anyone these days, but especially for charmcasters. Which raises the question: are you two stupid, unschooled, or merely foolhardy?”

  Well. That was an insult for sure. Han couldn’t help looking at Micah, who gazed up at the ceiling, a faint smile curving his mouth.

  Han kept his street face on. “I’ve had better ideas,” he said, shrugging.

  Surprise flickered across the master’s face as some of the other students snickered. Then Gryphon’s gaze dropped to Han’s amulet, and his eyes widened. He looked up into Han’s face, studying him with a fierce intensity.

  “Interesting that you would choose such a dangerous road, Alister,” he said finally. “It seems that you are not afraid of the dark.”

  Han suspected he was not talking about the road through Arden at all.

  “Well,” Han said, meeting that blue-green gaze, “sometimes there’s no choice.”

  “There is always a choice,” Gryphon said. Flipping open a thick book, he said, “Speaking of journeys, I asked you to read from Kinley, the twelfth chapter, where he discusses the challenges of traveling in Aediion. Kinley instructs us that —”

  The door to the classroom opened, and two more students filed in. Han stared, along with everyone else. It was Fiona Bayar and lovelorn Wil, who’d chased him and Dancer across the border into Delphi.

  They looked travel-battered and cranky, so Han assumed they’d come directly to class after ditching their baggage at their dormitories. Wil’s face was bronzed by the sun, but Fiona was pale as ever, as if the sun wouldn’t presume to penetrate her icy skin. She’d taken her hair out of the braid, and it billowed in long waves past her shoulders.

  She wore traveling clothes: a roughspun sweater, corded jacket, and canvas breeches that showed off her long legs. No student robes.

  Fiona ran her chilly gaze over the room. When her eyes settled on Master Gryphon, they widened in surprise. “Adam!” she cried, as if the entire class weren’t looking on. Turning to Wil, she said, “Look, Wil, it’s Adam Gryphon, of all people.”

  Blood of the demon, Han thought. My spellcasting teacher is pals with the Bayars. It’s no wonder my feet are in the flame.

  Striding forward, Fiona extended her hand toward Master Gryphon as if she expected him to kiss it. “Father told me you’d entered orders, but I had no idea...”

  Master Gryphon had turned a deep raspberry red color, an amazing transformation. He made no move to take her hand, but seized the podium in a white-knuckled grip. “It’s Master Gryphon, Newling Bayar,” he said. “And though I am on faculty at Mystwerk House, do note that I’ve not taken vows, nor do I intend to.”

  Fiona pulled back her hand, realizing that there was no kiss in the offing. “Really? I must have heard wrong. It did seem like a good option for someone in your — situation.”

  “A good outcome for a cripple, you mean?” Master Gryphon said softly. “Perhaps so. How fortunate that you and Newling Mathis made it here safely. Next time, please wear appropriate attire to class. Now, take your seats so that we can proceed with our lesson. This constant influx of students has put us behind.”

  That acid tongue is sweeter now, Han thought.

  Fiona flung her hair back over her shoulders and turned toward the risers to look for a seat. Her gaze fell on Han and Dancer in the second row. She froze, going even paler than before. “Alister,” she whispered. “I don’t believe it.”

  Wil took her elbow. “Come on, Fiona,” he said.

  Fiona didn’t move. “What are you doing here?” Leaning forward, she extended trembling hands toward Han as if she were itching to close them around his throat.

  Han rested his hands on the table in front of him, forcing himself not to make any defensive moves. “Your brother can fill you in,” he said, jerking his head toward Micah. “Now, d’you mind? If you come to class late, the least you can do is sit and shut it. I came here to learn something.” He tapped the cover of his book and raised his eyebrows.

  Fiona continued to stare at Han as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Wil tugged at her arm. “Let’s sit,” he said quietly.

  Fiona finally allowed Wil to tow her to a seat in the back row.

  She had barely settled into her seat, when Gryphon barked, “Alister! What does Kinley tell us about the risks and benefits of traveling in Aediion?”

  Welcome back the acid-tongued master.

  Han swallowed hard, sweat popping out all over. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “No?” Gryphon sighed. “That is disappointing. Then, define Aediion for us.”

  “I’m sorry. I — ah — I’ve not done the reading.” Han admitted. Instead, he’d been busy laying charms of protection around his room.

  Somebody snickered. Out of the corner of his eye, Han could see Micah’s smirk of amusement. He could feel Fiona’s eyes boring into him like hot pokers.

  “No?” The master tch’d. “Here to learn, but not, apparently, ready to learn. Do you expect me to do all the work?”

  “No.” Han shook his head.

  “Do you expect me to shovel knowledge into the gaping maw of your untried mind?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, sir,” Han said.

  Gryphon leaned forward, speaking softly, but still loudly enough that everyone else could hear. “Are you certain you really belong here, Alister?”

  “Yes, sir,” Han said, meeting the master’s eyes defiantly.

  Gryphon paused, then, still glaring at Han, said, “Darnleigh? Risks and benefits?”

  “Aediion is the world of dreams,” said a solemn, brown-haired boy whose wizard stoles were finely embroidered with boars’ heads. “With proper training, support from a powerful amulet, and a close connection with another person, it is theoretically possible to communicate across distances. That’s the benefit.”

  “Theoretically, you say? Don’t you believe it?” Gryphon cocked his head.

  “It is uncommon enough that some scholars say it is only a myth; others say that this was common before the Breaking, but rarely heard of since.”

  “What are the risks that Kinley describes?” Gryphon prompted him.

  “Well, Aediion can be enticing,” Darnleigh said, “because a skilled charmcaster can shape it to his hopes and desires. It’s possible to get lost in it, and never return to the real world. Also, you can become trapped if your amulet runs out of stored power. Finally, Kinley says that if you are killed in the world of dreams, you die in real life.”

  “What could kill you in a dream, Stefan?” a pale-haired Northern Islander asked, rolling her eyes. “I’ve had a lot of nightmares, but I always wake up alive.”

  “Magic,” Darnleigh said, tapping his forefinger on the page. “Only magic can kill you in Aediion.”

  “What evidence does Kinley present?” Gryphon asked. “Why should we believe that he is telling the truth? Silverhair?”

  “We shouldn’t,” the Northern Islander scoffed. “Kinley repeats legends from centuries past without question. His books are full of mythological monsters, like watergators and dragons, that no one’s ever seen.”

  “Couldn’t they have once existed?” Gryphon said. “Perhaps they were destroyed in the Breaking. If so, is it possible that remnants of the high magic that was common before the Breaking persist in the hidden corners of
the world?”

  “There are no hidden corners these days,” Silverhair said. “No secrets anymore.”

  “Kinley used primary sources,” Darnleigh said. “His sketches are based on eyewitness reports. He even conducted his own experiments to verify what he heard.”

  “Experiments that no one has been able to duplicate in modern times,” Silverhair countered.

  “Perhaps the problem is the tools we use now,” Darnleigh said, touching his amulet. “These are much more limited in scope than the amulets of old magic. The copperheads refuse to provide us with the tools that we need. We’d have to buy old flash on the down-low market, or use heirloom pieces.”

  The debate heated up, swirling around Han, leaving him feeling ignorant and unread. His classmates would have heard these arguments since childhood. They shared a common anger and frustration that they’d missed the golden age of wizardry.

  Han pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead, feeling out of his depth. He’d heard nothing of Kinley on the streets of Ragmarket.

  Gryphon argued both sides of the question, refueling the discussion when it lagged. He didn’t pick on Han again. Maybe he figured his point had been made. The master also left the Bayars in peace. It seemed they’d be given plenty of time to study up.

  Gryphon didn’t call on Dancer either, ignoring his raised hand.

  Han fought down his anger. It was just a different kind of battle, one he’d have to learn to win. Since when had life ever been fair?

  Though Gryphon clearly knew his stuff, Han couldn’t help comparing him to Speaker Jemson. Jemson’s love of history cascaded over you until you were neck-deep and drunk with it. But he made sure all his students stayed afloat.

  You can’t control what Gryphon does, Han thought. What can you control?

  You can come to class prepared, he thought. No matter what.

  Gryphon allowed the debate to go on for a while longer, then raised both hands, palms out, to bring it to a halt. “All right, then, let’s try an experiment of our own,” he said. “Please turn to page 393.”