The Exiled Queen

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Well, I — ah — followed you from there to here,” he said.

  “You were following me?”

  He raised both hands, looking around the crowded street as if worried about being overheard. “I’ll explain. When we talk.”

  Raisa imagined going back to her dormitory and the prying eyes of the Gray Wolves. Not to mention the possibility of encountering Amon Byrne.

  Likely no one would return there for hours. Still, there was no guarantee. “I want to talk to you too, but we can’t go back to Grindell.”

  To Raisa’s surprise, Cuffs asked no questions. “We could go to my place, and use the common room there,” he suggested. “I stay at Hampton Hall, across the bridge.”

  “Hampton? I don’t know that dormitory. Which quad is it on?”

  He cleared his throat but kept his eyes fixed on her face, as if he didn’t want to miss anything. “Mystwerk House.”

  “Mystwerk! But that’s — the school for wizards.” Her head ached from the banging against the wall. Maybe she’d misunderstood.

  “A lot has happened,” Cuffs said. Fishing under his cloak he pulled out a glittering jewel on a chain—a serpent carved from green translucent stone. He closed his hand over it. The stone glowed through his fingers, taking on power.

  Raisa took an involuntary step back. “You’re a wizard?”

  He nodded, almost apologetically, and quickly tucked the amulet away again.

  “But—but—how can that be?” Her voice rose, and Cuffs flapped his hands, trying to shush her. “Who sent you here?” Raisa demanded. “Did you come here to find me?”

  “No,” he said. “Like I said, I came here to go to school. It’s — complicated. I’ll explain, but”—he looked around again—“not in the middle of the street, all right?”

  “Well, I can’t go to Hampton,” she blurted, undone by this revelation. “I don’t want anyone at Mystwerk to see me with you.”

  He flinched, his expression closing tight, and she realized he’d taken it the wrong way: he thought she was ashamed to be seen with him.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, touching his arm. “I mean—is there someplace we could go where we could talk in private?” she said. “Just the two of us?”

  He raised his eyebrows, studying her face as if to read her meaning in it. “Well, I got a place in the library over on the Mystwerk quad,” he said. “It’s kind of hard to get to, but it’s private, anyway.”

  “In the library?” That seemed safe enough. “But isn’t the library closed?”

  “Not to me.” He smiled the wicked smile that had charmed her from the start. “But we got to trust each other. I got to trust you won’t tell anybody about it. And you — well, you’ll see.”

  In order to get there, they’d have to cross forbidden Bridge Street.

  Maybe it’s time to take a risk, she repeated to herself. She looked about, and the wolves were nowhere to be seen.

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.” Cuffs watched silently as she pulled her hood over her hair and wound her scarf over her face, though the rain had dwindled.

  Bridge Street was filled with revelers, many drinking on the street, raising their cups to the return of the sun. Music poured from doorways, and feathered puppets cavorted in impromptu balcony performances. Raisa gazed around, wide-eyed. There was Hanalea the Warrior, all in creamy white, slaying the red-plumaged Demon King.

  Cuffs took Raisa’s hand and plowed through the mob, breaking trail for her. Raisa felt the hot sting of wizard power through his fingers.

  This is a dream, she thought. A solstice dream. They said what you dreamed on solstice always came true.

  “Hey, Alister!” someone called from a tavern porch. “Who’s the girlie? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Cuffs shook his head and kept going. And then they were off the bridge on the Mystwerk side, the second time she’d crossed the river since the day she’d arrived. Last time it had led to heartbreak. This time — who knew?

  Ahead, Raisa could see the bulk of Mystwerk Tower, its illuminated clock showing ten of the night. Two hours until fireworks. Covered galleries connected the buildings and crisscrossed the quad, protecting students from the torrential southern rains.

  At the end of the bridge Cuffs turned down a side street, then a narrower alley. Raisa’s apprehension spiraled. We got to trust each other, he’d said. What if she’d escaped from one jam only to walk into another?

  One side of the alley was a wall of rough stone. Cuffs paused long enough to tie the hem of his cloak around his hips so it wouldn’t tangle his legs. He directed Raisa to do the same. Then he skinned up the side of the building like a cat, disappearing onto the roof.

  “Hey!” she whispered, looking up, blinking against the mist. “What are you...?”

  He leaned over the edge, extending his hands. “Here. Give me your hands.”

  She stretched her arms up, standing on tiptoes, trying to extend her small height. Gripping her about the wrists, he yanked her into the air and set her onto the roof beside him, keeping hold of her wrists. Power rippled into her like a potent drink.

  “You can let go of me now,” she whispered, setting her heels and trying to pull free of his grip.

  “Careful,” he whispered. “It’s slick from the rain.” He tugged her away from the edge and released his hold. “Promise you won’t fall and break your neck?”

  She nodded mutely, rubbing her elbows.

  He looked south, over a sea of connected roofs. “We can walk the galleries to the library, but you got to walk soft, all right?”

  She followed him as he trotted confidently to a gallery roof that led to the next building. He ducked down as they crossed the gallery, so as not to be spotted from below, and she mimicked his posture. They crossed the roofline of the next building. Slate tiles rattled under their feet, and Raisa’s heart pinged in her chest, but it was still windy, and no doubt that small noise was lost.

  On the far side of the roof, Cuffs leaped nimbly down to the gallery roof below, amazingly soundless. He turned and opened his arms to receive her. “Jump.”

  She jumped, and he caught her, taking a step back, crushing her to his chest, her face mashed against his wet shoulder. Again she felt the heat of wizardry—his cloak was practically steaming, smelling of hot, damp wool. He slid his hand between them, into his neckline, and the heat subsided somewhat.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I still get leaky sometimes if I don’t draw it off.”

  On hands and knees, they climbed a steep gable on the far side of the gallery. She began to slide on the wet slate, and he caught her arm to steady her. Raisa looked around when they reached the peak, trying to regain her bearings. They were atop one wing of what must have been the library.

  “Down here.” He leaped down into the space between two angled rooflines, where they would be hidden from view from the street. Raisa slid down the slope on her rump, landing with a splash at the bottom. By now she was soaked to the skin.

  “Demon’s blood,” she grumbled, struggling to her feet.

  A small leaded-glass window pierced the sloped roof. Cuffs forced it open. “I’ll go first.” He slid through the window feetfirst, and she heard the soft thud of his landing. She looked through the window and saw him standing just below, looking up at her, light and rain splattering down on him. “Come ahead.”

  She slid over the sill, and he caught her arms, steadying her as she hit the floor.

  Cuffs dug in his pocket, produced a candle, and kindled it with his fingers. He let it burn a moment, then dripped wax onto a tin plate. Sticking the candle upright in the wax, he set it on a table.

  The room was lined with bookshelves, silvered with dust. The table, however, had been wiped clean. It was stacked with paper, a pot of ink and a quill, and books with markers stuck in at various places. On one wall there was a small fireplace grate with a stack of wood next to it. Blankets lay tangled in a corner, with a feather pillow on top.<
br />
  He sleeps rowdy, she thought, remembering the night they’d spent in Ragmarket. It seemed too intimate a thing to know about him.

  So much had happened since. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  “You’re right, this is hard to get to,” she said.

  “It an’t so bad when it’s not raining,” he said. “When the library’s open, I use the stairs.”

  “You must not have guests very often.”

  “You’re the first.”

  Cuffs peeled off his cloak and hung it on a hook next to the fireplace. He ran his hands over the wool, and it sizzled dry under his touch. Then he loaded wood onto the grate and kindled it with a gesture and a word.

  He’s showing off, Raisa thought. Performing wizard tricks. He kept reaching into his shirt and breathing out charms. Where had he learned to do charmcasting?

  Mystwerk. Of course.

  Cuffs stood and turned back toward her, seeming not to know what to do next.

  “Haven’t we done this before?” Raisa stripped off her cloak, limp and heavy with water. “Remember? In Ragmarket. You abducted me from Southbridge Temple and dragged me through the rain.”

  “It seems to rain a lot wherever you are,” he said.

  “I was thinking it was you,” she said loftily, handing him her cloak. He wrung the extra water out of it and steamed it dry with his hands. Then hung it next to his own.

  It was easier, somehow, to spar with him than to let that loud silence between them build to a crescendo. It had occurred to her that if Cuffs Alister wasn’t trustworthy, coming here had been a really boneheaded move.

  Cuffs Alister was a wizard. A gang leader, a thief, a possible killer—and now a wizard. Had he shown any sign of it the last time they’d met?

  The blood rushed to her face as she recalled every time he’d touched her. He’d wrapped an arm around her and pressed her up against him, his knife at her throat. He’d picked her up and carried her, searched her for weapons, gripped her hand and yanked her across South Bridge. Her skin prickled and burned at the memory, but she couldn’t recall any sting of wizardry. Nothing like this.

  What about the murdered street runners? They’d been burned and tortured—by demons, some said. But what if it had been done by a wizard, the head of a rival gang?

  No. She refused to believe it.

  Melancholy gripped her, as if Cuffs Alister had been stolen from her a second time. First he was dead. Now he was magical—and therefore untouchable. The ground had shifted again, and the door of possibilities between them had been shut.

  What possibilities? You’d rather he was dead than a wizard?

  “Rebecca.”

  Startled, Raisa looked up at Cuffs. He flipped her a coin, and she caught it reflexively. It was a five-penny piece.

  “For your thoughts,” he said. But he didn’t smile.

  “Where are we, exactly?” she asked. Shivering, she extended her hands toward the fire. This was a step up from Cuffs’s lair in Ragmarket, at least.

  “We’re in the stacks, sixth floor, Bayar Library,” Cuffs said.

  “The Bayar library?” Raisa shivered, wrapping her hands around herself.

  Cuffs tilted his head, surveying her through narrowed eyes. “It’s all right. Nobody comes up here unless they’re keen to read crop records from a thousand years before the Breaking.”

  “So,” Raisa said, “this is your new hideout.”

  “Always got to have a crib,” he said. He seemed ill at ease, almost shy. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels, not meeting her eyes.

  “I thought I saw you,” Raisa said. “At the start of fall term. On horseback, near the stables on the Wien House side of the river.”

  “That was me,” he admitted. “I thought that was you.” He squinted at her. “Your hair is different,” he said, fingering his own.

  Raisa chose a book at random and pulled it from the bookcase. “I had no idea you were a wizard,” she said, thumbing through it — something about oats and barley.

  “I wasn’t. Not before.”

  “People are born wizards,” Raisa said. “I never heard of anyone turning into a wizard later on.” She jammed the book back onto the shelf.

  He just shrugged away the mystery. “Strange, huh? Please. Sit down.” He gestured at the single chair. “Do you want tea? Might warm you up.” He seemed to be working hard to be a gracious host, displaying his tattery manners.

  “Tea sounds good,” Raisa said. And then, unable to help herself, “How did you end up here?”

  Color stained his cheeks. “I go to school here, like I said,” he said, a little defensively.

  “How can you afford it?” Raisa blurted. She was immediately sorry, thinking the question sounded arrogant and nosy.

  He gazed at her for a long moment, as if debating how to answer. Then said, “I sold my wristplate. They went for a good price.” He held his wrists out for inspection. The silver cuffs were gone, though the skin underneath still looked raw and unweathered.

  This surprised her. The cuffs were his trademark. It seemed like he’d hang on to them.

  He must be really hungry for an education, she thought.

  He dug into a box in the corner and found a cup, spooned loose tea into it from a tin, heated a pitcher of water between his hands, and poured. He handed it to Raisa.

  “You’ve learned a lot of wizardry already,” Raisa said, sipping at her tea. It was a smoky, upland blend, and she felt a pang of homesickness. “I’m impressed. You must be a quick study.”

  Cuffs shrugged the compliment off. “I’ve been hard at it. It’s all I got to do here. And I have a — a tutor. Who’s helping me out.” He stopped abruptly and wet his lips.

  Raisa cast about for something else to say, eager to keep him talking about himself. “Listen, Cuffs. I was wondering if—”

  “I don’t go by that name down here,” he interrupted. “Since—you know—the cuffs are gone. My actual name’s Hanson Alister. Han.”

  A memory came back to Raisa—the scene in Father Jemson’s study, Cuffs Alister with his arm tight around her waist, his knife pressed to her throat, his heart thudding wildly against her back.

  Speaker Jemson saying, Hanson! You’re better than this! Let the girl go.

  Jemson had believed in Hanson Alister. Had his faith been misplaced?

  Raisa looked up to find Cuffs/Han waiting expectantly for the question she’d begun. It had flown out of her mind as she careened between her private thoughts and public speech.

  He must think I’m a real muddle head.

  “D-Does the school provide your amulets, or did you have to find one on your own?” she asked.

  “We bring our own,” he said. “I bought mine used off a trader before I came south.” It sounded like a well-rehearsed story. He made no move to display the amulet again.

  Raisa knew something about magical artifacts from working with her father. They fascinated her, that marriage of magic and metal and stone crafted into a bewitching whole. Most of them were gorgeous art pieces in and of themselves.

  “Could I see it again?” she asked.

  “Well, if you want,” he said, as if he didn’t really want to show it to her but couldn’t think of a reason not to. Fishing inside his neckline, he pulled it free and dangled it toward her. It spun before her eyes, glowing green and orange like a fire opal in sunlight.

  It was a finely crafted gemstone serpent with ruby eyes, its coils layered over gold. The serpent’s mouth was open, and it was so detailed that Raisa could see the drops of venom collected at the tips of its fangs.

  “Oh!” Impulsively, she reached for it, and Han yanked it back.

  “Better not touch it. It bites,” he said, sheltering it with his other hand.

  “What? Do you mean it... the snake...?”

  He shook his head. “It’s unpredictable. It’s charred a few curious fingers.”

  Raisa stared at the jinxpiece, teasing out a strand of memory. “I think
I’ve seen it before. Is it a reproduction of an old piece? From before the Breaking?”

  Han nodded. “So I’m told.” He slid the amulet back under his shirt. Then, as if to change the subject, he said, “What are you doing here? If I’m allowed to ask a question.”

  That sounded more like his old self.

  Raisa sneezed, swiping at her nose. The dusty room was getting to her. “Same as you. I’m going to school. I’m at Wien House.”

  “Wien House!” Han looked her up and down, skepticism and amusement softening his face. It made him look younger, more like the wild upstart boy she’d met at Southbridge Temple. “You going to be a bluejacket or Highlander or what?”

  “Well, no. Not really.” Raisa desperately tried to recall which stories she’d already told. She really needed to keep better track of her lies. “You see, my employer offered to send me here to school if I attended Wien House.”

  Han’s face went flat and hard, his eyes like chips of sapphire. “Lord Bayar, you mean?”

  Raisa practically choked on her tea. “What?”

  “Why would they send their tutor to Wien House? The Temple School — I’d get that.”

  Raisa was momentarily lost. Then it came back to her. She’d told Cuffs she worked for the Bayars that night in Ragmarket. Why did Han Cuffs Alister have to have such a damnably sharp memory?

  She slid a glance at Han. He stared at her, lips tight together, and his right hand had crept to the blade at his waist. Unconsciously, she thought.

  “Are you still working for the Bayars, Rebecca?” he asked, soft and even. Something in his voice made her shiver.

  “Well, no, not exactly. I’m — ah — trying to better myself,” Raisa said. “The commander of Lord Bayar’s personal guard thought I had potential. He was the one who paid my tuition. He said if I did well, then I’d have a chance to —” She trailed off. Han seemed distracted, lost in memory. “Why?” she asked. “Do you know the Bayars?”

  Han paused for a heartbeat, then said, “I’m in class with two of them. At Mystwerk. Micah and Fiona. Micah used to be in my dormitory.”

  Hanalea in chains, she thought. So they are here. All she needed was for Han to mention to the Bayars that he’d run into their old tutor Rebecca. Or suggest they all meet for a cider on Bridge Street.