Kitabı oku: «The Crimson Crown», sayfa 3

CHAPTER FOUR
FAMILY MATTERS

Han Alister stood in Mystwerk Tower in the dreamworld of Aediion, dressed in blueblood togs. “Come talk to me, Crow,” he called, tapping his foot. “I’m here on my own this time, and I need your help.”

Desperation had brought Han back here. He’d scarcely slept for two days—ever since his meeting with Abelard. If nothing changed, he stood to lose everything.

He waited. The great bells loomed overhead, voiceless.

“If it makes a difference, you’ve convinced me you’re Alger Waterlow.”

No response.

“I’ve been named to the Wizard Council,” Han said. “We’re meeting next week. Without your help, I’m unlikely to survive my first meeting.”

That must have struck a nerve. The air began to ripple. Crow appeared before Han, wearing his usual scowl, his conjured blueblood clothes tattered by magical turmoil.

“Thank you for coming,” Han said, and he meant it.

“Why should I trust you?” Crow folded his arms. “After you show up with a Bayar tricked out as a copperhead.”

“Hayden Fire Dancer is my best friend. And he’s as much an enemy of the Bayars as you are.”

“Hah! When the money’s on the table, he’ll turn on you. He carries tainted blood. Just like the Gray Wolf line.”

Han took a deep breath. It was time to show his hand, for better or worse. “Well, I carry your blood, like it or not, and I’ve been paying for it all my life.”

“You?” Crow looked Han up and down. “Related to me? Impossible.”

“Is it?” Han held Crow’s gaze, lifting his chin in defiance.

“I never had children,” Crow said. “My bloodline died with me, to everyone’s immense relief. Oh, I could have fathered a byblow child here or there, but there’s no way you would—”

“You conceived two children with Hanalea,” Han said. “Twins.”

“You’re mistaken. We weren’t married that long before she betrayed me to the Bayars. I suppose she married Kinley Bayar after.” His face twisted in revulsion. “So the Gray Wolf/Bayar line can wither and die as far as I’m concerned.”

“Lucius Fr—Lucas Fraser says different. He said Hanalea was already with child when you were taken. She had twins, Alister and Alyssa. Kinley Bayar was killed in the Breaking, and Hanalea married Lucas. The paternity of the twins was a deep, dark secret. Everyone assumed Lucas was the father, but Lucas and Hanalea never had children of their own.”

“Lucas?” Crow tilted his head, disgust fading to confusion and then anger. “Hanalea married Lucas? Impossible. They would never—”

“The clan elders say the same, and they’d have no reason to lie about it.”

“Wouldn’t they?” Crow sneered. “Lying is like breathing to them. And to you too, it seems.” His image shifted, expanding upward until he towered over Han, a pillar of flame and blistering heat. “Get out!” he roared, like the Redeemer on the Day of Judgment. “I’d rather be alone for another thousand years than listen to this!”

Han staggered backward, throwing up his arms to protect his face. His brain might tell him Crow couldn’t hurt him in Aediion, but his instincts said different.

He cast about for something, anything, that would prove his point. A memory came back to him, an image from childhood of a statue in Southbridge Temple, one of the few that had survived from the time of the Breaking. Quickly, he sculpted it in the air. It was Hanalea in trader garb, wielding a sword, a little boy on one hip, a small girl clinging to her skirts. The sculpture was weathered in places, the marble chipped and stained, but it still glowed with an incandescent beauty.

Momentarily, Crow flared up even brighter, so that Han had to shield his eyes, then dwindled to the size of a man. He stared at Han’s conjure-piece, extended a hand as if to touch it. “Hana?” he whispered. “And—and—”

Even after a thousand years, the resemblance between the girl child and Crow was remarkable. The boy more closely mirrored his mother.

“They call it Hanalea Saving the Children,” Han said. “It stands in Southbridge Temple in Fellsmarch. It must’ve been hidden away, else it would have been smashed to bits years ago.”

“Hana. And our children.” Tears streamed down Crow’s face. “The likeness … the likeness is … uncanny.” He stood, arms outstretched like an acolyte before an altar of hope, his eyes focused inward, as if he were reviewing events from a different angle. “Lucas. With Hanalea,” he whispered. “Why would he do that? Why would she do that?”

“I know it’s hard to believe that Lucas is still around, after a thousand years,” Han said.

“That was my doing.” Crow pressed his hands against his forehead as though he could push his memories into a different order. “Lucas feared dying, especially at the end, when we knew we had lost. He said if I helped him cheat death, he’d tell the truth about what had happened. I tried to talk him out of it. It was a charm I’d never attempted before. Apparently, it worked.”

“Apparently,” Han said.

“All right,” Crow said, blotting his eyes. “Assuming this isn’t some kind of cruel joke—what happened to them? The twins, I mean.”

“Alyssa founded the new line of queens. But Alister was gifted. He was sent away.”

“The Bayars didn’t kill him?” Crow touched the little boy’s head, stroked the marble curls.

“The Bayars never knew about him. The Demonai wanted to kill him, but Hanalea intervened.” Han gestured toward the statue. “As you can see.”

Crow’s expression mingled dawning hope and skepticism. “So, the Gray Wolf line—the queens—carry my blood, too?”

Han nodded. “Just a trace, after a thousand years. But the Bayars never married in again.”

Crow paced back and forth, going all shimmery, the way he did when he was agitated. Then he paused, swinging around to face Han. “What about Alister’s line? Where do you come in?”

“They say I’m your only gifted descendant. It’s not something I’d go out of my way to claim if it wasn’t true. It’s bought me a whole lot of trouble. Everything that’s happened to me, good or bad, is the result of mistakes you made a thousand years ago.”

Now Crow studied Han with an almost proprietary air, his brilliant blue eyes narrowed in appraisal. “There is a resemblance, now that you mention it. Lucas was the one who told you about this? He knows who you are?”

Han nodded. “He’s known all along, I guess. He’s helped me out at times. But he never told me the truth, not until the Demonai decided to cash in, about a year ago.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell you?” Crow looked mystified.

“I don’t know. Likely, he didn’t think it would help me any, to be tied to someone like you. These days, they call you the Demon King. Supposedly, you kidnapped Hanalea and carried her off to your dungeon, then tortured her because she refused you.”

“What?” Crow thrust his head forward. “That’s a lie. Who said that?”

“Everyone. You nearly destroyed the world. Hanalea saved the day by killing you.”

“If I could destroy the world, don’t you think I could fight off the queen of the Fells?” Crow snorted. “It’s true what they say, then—history is written by the victors.”

In spite of everything—or maybe because of everything—Han believed him. He couldn’t help liking his arrogant, sarcastic, brilliant peacock of an ancestor. Enough lies had been told about Han in his lifetime—why not the man they called the Demon King? It was in plenty of people’s interests to demonize him.

“They call her Hanalea the Warrior,” Han said. “After she destroyed you, she negotiated a peace that’s lasted for a thousand years. She’s like a saint.”

“Hanalea a saint and me a demon?” Crow rolled his eyes. “If Lucas has been defending me for a thousand years, it hasn’t been very effective.”

Han laughed. “He’s no longer gifted,” he said. “Lucas, I mean. He said that was the price he’d paid for living forever.”

Crow rubbed his chin. “Likely all of his flash is consumed with keeping him alive. That’s a heavy price to pay, for one born gifted. It’s not a bargain I would make.”

“It paid off for him, though. As a wizard, he couldn’t have married Hanalea after the Breaking,” Han said. “We live under a set of new rules and restrictions, called the Nǽming.” Well, not so new. But new to Crow, once called Alger Waterlow. Enacted because of him.

Betrayed by the woman he loved, tortured by his enemies, imprisoned in an amulet for a thousand years, demonized by history. Waterlow had never seen his children, never even known he had any. No wonder he was bitter.

Han cast about for something to say. “Lucas says Hanalea loved you. She never stopped loving you. He claims she wasn’t the one who betrayed you.”

“Oh, it was her, it had to be,” Crow murmured. “I assume she had her reasons.”

“Well. Maybe she knew she was with child,” Han said, wondering why he needed to stick up for Hanalea. It wasn’t as if he could undo a thousand-year-old crime. “If things were hopeless, maybe she did it in order to save them.”

“That’s the thing. They weren’t that hopeless,” Crow said. “We were under siege, but we could have held out indefinitely, had Hana not shown them how to get in. …” His voice trailed off, and he brushed a hand across his face as if to wipe the memory away. “Never mind. Nobody cares these days.”

“You’re wrong,” Han said. “What happened then drives what’s happening now. The Bayars still hope to marry into the Gray Wolf line.” He paused. “Remember that girlie I nearly killed myself saving? She’s Raisa ana’Marianna, now queen of the Fells. They’re hoping to marry her off to Micah.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed. “Well, we have to stop them.”

“You said you had something the Bayars wanted. Something they are desperate to get. Something you would use to ruin them.” Han raised his eyebrows encouragingly.

“Did I say that?” Crow shifted his gaze away. “Let’s talk about this Wizard Council meeting you mentioned. The one you’re unlikely to survive.”

He still doesn’t trust me, Han thought. Who can blame him?

“If I may ask, how did someone like you ever end up on the council?” Crow asked. “Assuming they haven’t retained a seat for the Waterlows.”

“The queen appointed me as her representative on the council,” Han said.

“The queen has a representative on the Wizard Council?” Crow looked dumfounded. “What for?”

“Things have changed,” Han said. “The queen’s in charge now.”

Crow muttered something about queens on the Wizards Council.

“They meet on Gray Lady,” Han said. “In the Wizard Council House. Lord Bayar doesn’t want me there. If I were him, I’d make sure I never made it to Gray Lady. I need another way in.”

“What about the tunnels?”

“Tunnels?”

“Gray Lady is riddled with tunnels, built during the Seven Realms War. They fell into disrepair during the Long Peace—until I restored them.”

“The Seven Realms War?” Han repeated. “The Long Peace? What’s that?”

Crow frowned. “Surely you’ve heard of the Seven Realms War, when the gifted came from the Northern Islands and freed the Fells. The Long Peace is when wizards ruled the Seven Realms. You didn’t study history in school?”

Oh. “These days, we call that the War of the Wizard Conquest,” Han explained. “The period of wizard rule is called the Great Captivity.”

“Ha. As I said, history is written by the victors. The truth is, the villains were less villainous, and the heroes less heroic, than you’ve been told.”

Han produced the map of Gray Lady he’d peached from the Bayar Library at Oden’s Ford the last time Crow possessed him. “Is this older map accurate, then?” He spread it out on the table, anchoring it with a lantern, then laid a modern map next to it—one Speaker Jemson had given him. He’d reproduced both of them in Aediion, the best he could from memory.

It was clear they were both of the same mountain, but there the resemblance ended. Crow’s was of an odd, antique style, hand-drawn and annotated. Where Jemson’s map was blank, Crow’s map showed a labyrinth of pathways and tunnels inside the mountain.

Crow studied the scrawled lines on the older map, tracing some of them with his forefinger, comparing it with Jemson’s. “It looks … different,” he said at last.

Finally, he stabbed his finger down onto Han’s map. “Here’s where you can get in. I think.” He looked up at Han. “During my brief reign, we used the tunnels to come and go from Gray Lady while it was under siege. Since blasting through solid rock is challenging even for wizards, I wouldn’t guess many changes have been made to the tunnels themselves. There’s an entrance on the south flank of Gray Lady. Once you’re in, you should be able to make your way unmolested almost all the way to the Council House.”

Crow gazed down at the spiderweb map, eyes glittering, a muscle in his jaw working.

He’s hiding something, Han thought. In the dreamworld, you had to be careful or you’d wear your innermost thoughts splashed over your Aediion face.

“I constructed magical barriers during my residence, so the tunnels were well concealed. However, those who ambushed me came in that way.” Crow scrubbed both hands through his flaxy hair. “So there’s the chance that they are blockaded, guarded, or occupied.”

“That’s reassuring,” Han said, a chill rippling down his spine.

“But let’s be optimistic, shall we, and assume that the magical barricades are still in place. You’ll need the keys to open them. Let’s go over those now.”

The magical keys were a combination of gestures and spoken charms. Crow traced Han’s path on the map, noting the places where charms would be required to pass through.

“Here. Try this.” Crow spoke a series of charms, and layer after layer of magic went up, delicate as Tamric silk. Beautiful and deadly. “Now take it down.”

Han poked a magical hole in it, and the barrier erupted into flames.

“No, no, no,” Crow growled, squelching the flames with a gesture. “One layer at a time, Alister. Again.”

This time, Han teased the magical wall apart.

“This takes forever,” he complained when it was down.

“As it is meant to,” Crow said. “It will slow your enemies down, if it doesn’t kill them.”

After an hour’s work, Han’s head was crammed full and swimming. “How did you remember this stuff for a thousand years?” he asked.

“I’ve had little else to do but practice charms and dwell on the past,” Crow said. “It’s kept me from losing my tenuous hold on sanity.”

Eventually, Han managed to get through the sequence correctly. Twice more.

“What happens if I get one wrong?” Han asked.

“You will be reduced to ash,” Crow said bluntly. “So best study up. And keep to the path I’ve laid out for you. Do not stray into any side tunnels, or you’ll be sorry.” Crow set the maps aside as if that were all settled. “If you do make it to the meeting, what do you intend to do? I assume you have a goal in mind, or you wouldn’t have asked for the appointment to the council.”

“Lord Bayar is High Wizard now, but they’ll need to elect a new one for Queen Raisa,” Han said. “I want that job. Otherwise, likely Micah Bayar will get it—and maybe the queen as well.” He paused. “The problem is coming up with the votes.”

“That’s always the problem, isn’t it? Who’s on the council? Have you looked into that?”

Han nodded. “There’s six members, plus the High Wizard. As I said, one is appointed by the queen, and one is elected by the assembly, all of the gifted citizens of the Fells. Four are inherited spots, assigned to the most powerful wizard houses—the Bayars, the Abelards, the Kinley/deVilliers, and the Gryphon/Mathises.”

Crow grunted. “That’s virtually the same as it was a thousand years ago, when I tried to change it. Only, in my day, the king was in charge of the council.”

“Bayar’s had a placeholder on the council in the Bayar spot, waiting for his twins to turn eighteen. Now Micah’s taking that spot. Lord Bayar hoped the queen would pick Fiona as her representative, but Queen Raisa put me on instead.”

“What is your relationship with the queen?”

“Well.” How should he answer that question? “I’m her bodyguard.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“None of your business,” Han said, thinking there’d never been so many people poking into his personal life before.

“I don’t care if you are,” Crow said, “Just don’t fall in love with her.”

“I’m not here for advice on my love life,” Han said, thinking it was a little late for that, anyway. “Thanks just the same.”

“As your many-great-grandfather, I feel I should at least put my dismal experience at your disposal.” Crow laughed at Han’s scowl. “All right. Back to the council.”

“Adam Gryphon is on, now that Wil Mathis is dead,” Han said. “Gryphon was my teacher at Oden’s Ford.”

“Would he be willing to support you, do you think?” Crow asked.

Han shook his head. “Best I can tell, he hates me.”

“How does he feel about the Bayars?” Crow asked.

“I’ve never seen them together outside of class, but I think he’s sweet on Fiona Bayar.”

“That’s unfortunate. She might persuade him to vote for her brother.”

Han’s mind wrestled with this possibility. Maybe there was an angle he could play.

“Who else?” Crow asked, breaking Han out of his reverie.

“Randolph deVilliers represents the Kinley House, and Bruno Mander was elected by the assembly. Mander will vote with the Bayars.” Lady Bayar was a Mander; it seemed the two families intermarried regularly.

“As I said. Some things never change.”

“Dean Abelard has had a placeholder on council too, since she’s dean of Mystwerk House at Oden’s Ford,” Han said. “But now she’s home, and she hates the Bayars.”

Crow nodded. “So deVilliers and Abelard are your best bets.”

“That’s still only three, counting me, and Abelard has her own plans,” Han said. “She means to go for High Wizard herself, so why would she support me?”

“Well, then,” Crow said. “Do you have leverage against any of the others?”

“After the first meeting, I’ll have a better idea of who the players are,” Han said.

“I’m not sure I should be giving anyone political advice,” Crow said. “But it’s easy to get so mired in the mud of day-to-day politics that you never get anywhere. It’s not enough to be against something or someone. What do you really want?”

“What do I really want?” Han looked Crow in the eye, took a deep breath, and said it aloud. “I’m going to marry the queen myself.”

Crow blinked at Han. His image brightened and solidified, and a brilliant smile broke across his face. He extended both hands toward Han, resting them on his shoulders, gazing fiercely into Han’s face.

“I believe you may be my descendant after all,” Crow breathed, his eyes alight with a feral joy.

CHAPTER FIVE
A HIGH COUNTRY MEETING

After speaking with Crow, Han spent most of the next day conferring with his eyes and ears, moving horses around, and laying plans for Raisa’s protection while he was gone to Gray Lady. He let Amon Byrne know of his plans, and gave Cat orders to stick close to the queen, since Lord Bayar would know Han was away.

That evening, he was on duty in Raisa’s chambers. He’d hoped for a chance to talk to her—they hadn’t spoken since that desperate dance at Marisa Pines. But she was embroiled in an endless meeting with Delphian officials over border security. Delphi was in a precarious position, sandwiched between the Fells and Arden, but the queendom couldn’t afford the wagon-loads of money the Delphians demanded.

Raisa looked tired, her eyes smudged by shadow, her shoulders rounded under the weight of multiple demands. As her hands skittered restlessly across the tabletop, Han noticed that she still wore his ring next to her running wolves.

The Delphians blustered and bullied, but Raisa stood her ground. The meeting dragged on. Han stood against the wall, seething, wishing he could throw them out the window. In the end, he had to leave for Ragmarket, where he’d meet up with Dancer to travel to Marisa Pines.

The next morning, Han and Dancer rode out of the city hours before the sun grazed the top of the eastern escarpment. It was good to be riding with Dancer again. Han could almost pretend that all of the tragedies and triumphs of the past year had never happened, that they were hunters in search of smaller, less dangerous game.

Their strategy was to travel to Gray Lady via Marisa Pines Camp, leaving a day early to avoid any possible ambushes. Also, Willo wanted to meet with them before the council meeting.

They climbed steadily through the darkness, their breath pluming out, their horses swimming through a gray ocean of mist. They’d been traveling for two hours when the sun crested Eastgate, spilling into the Vale below.

As the mist cleared, they passed through brilliant sunlight and cool shadow, between banks glazed with maiden’s kiss and starflowers. Tiny speedwell bloomed in the crevices, monkshood and larkspur in the creek beds. Spirea and columbine smudged the slopes in sunnier areas. Once, Dancer pointed out a half-grown fellsdeer fawn.

They paused at midday to rest the horses and eat a meal of biscuits and ham. When they passed the turnoff to Lucius Frowsley’s place, Han wished he could stop and tell the old man that his friend Alger Waterlow still lived, in Aediion. If that could be called living.

But their business was at Marisa Pines, and so they pressed on.

In late afternoon, while they were still a few miles from their destination, Han heard the thunder of horses approaching at a run. Han and Dancer exchanged glances, then moved off the trail to wait.

Four riders galloped toward them on tall flatland horses. Foam dripped from the horses’ mouths, but the riders spurred their mounts as if they were being chased by demons.

Three of them were young—younger than Han—one middle-aged. As Han and Dancer watched, one of the riders groped at his neckline, turned, and sent a blast of flame over his shoulder.

“Wizards? Here?” Han leaned forward in his saddle to get a better look.

Two of the riders had passengers slung across their saddles in front of them. Children, in clan garb, limp as rag dolls.

Five Demonai warriors galloped out of the trees, riding hard in pursuit. They stood up in their stirrups, raising their bows, but seemed hesitant to shoot with the children on board.

Dancer heeled his horse forward, riding straight into the wizards’ path. Han followed, blocking the trail.

The wizards reined in, their horses rearing and plunging at this sudden obstacle.

Now the Demonai bows sounded, and the unencumbered wizards dropped out of their saddles. The clan warriors formed a rough circle around the two still-mounted wizards.

One of the young wizards carrying a captive brought his horse to a crow-hopping stop. He was dressed in finely tailored riding clothes. He raised his hands away from his amulet. “Don’t shoot! I—”

A Demonai arrow pierced his throat. One warrior leapt lightly to the ground and seized hold of the horse’s bridle, while another lifted the child to the ground.

The remaining wizard—the middle-aged one—seeing what had happened to his companion, wrenched his horse’s head around, trying to ride off the trail and past Han and Dancer. Unfortunately for him, there was a drop-off on that side. Horse, rider, and child tumbled down a steep slope into a ravine.

Han dismounted and plunged down the slope after them.

The child had flown from the horse and landed in the rocky creek bed. The wizard was trying desperately to slide out from under his mount, which had fallen on top of him in the shallow water. Above Han, on the trail, a bow sounded. And another. Two arrows bristled the wizard’s chest, and he slid under the surface.

The child wasn’t moving. Han worked his hands under her, and carefully lifted her out of the creek. A girl of perhaps six years, she was bleeding from the head, and her arm hung at an impossible angle. She lay perfectly still, eyes open, tears leaking out on either side.

Han turned toward the slope, supporting her head and shoulders to prevent further injury. “I could use some help, here,” he called.

One of the Demonai slid down the slope toward him, landing a few feet away. She was a stocky warrior, her face streaked with Demonai symbols. She looked familiar to Han, but he couldn’t quite place her.

The warrior raised her longbow, aiming at Han. “Put the lytling down, jinxflinger.”

“Trailblazer!” Dancer shouted, from the trail above. “Put your bow away. That’s Hunts Alone. He’s trying to help.”

The warrior’s name jostled Han’s memory. She was Shilo Trailblazer Demonai. Han had recently seen her at Raisa’s coronation party at Marisa Pines.

Trailblazer glared at Han, then slid her bow into its sling. Between the two of them they managed to carry the little girl up to where the horses waited.

The other warriors had a small boy laid out on the ground. He looked like he might be a four-year.

“He’s not moving, but I can’t find a mark on him,” one of them said.

“They’ve been immobilized,” Dancer said. “Here, let me.” Placing his hand on the boy’s chest, he gripped his amulet with the other and disabled the charm.

The boy reached up and gripped Dancer’s braids. “Jinxflinger took me,” he said.

“I know,” Dancer said. “But you’re safe now.”

He already knows that word, Han thought. Jinxflinger. Are we ever going to get past this?

“Leave the girl immobilized until we can get her to Willo,” Han said, trickling a little power into the child to relieve the pain. “What happened?”

Trailblazer spat on the ground. “These four jinxflingers kidnapped two of our lytlings—Skips Stones and Fisher. I suppose they meant to trade them for amulets.” She smiled grimly. “Now they will have to explain themselves to the Breaker.”

“Who were they?” Han asked.

“They didn’t introduce themselves,” Trailblazer said, shrugging as if wizards were all the same anyway.

The younger ones might have been students at Mystwerk, made desperate by the Spirit clan embargo on amulets. Powerful amulets were more and more difficult to come by—even the temporary kind. When they could be found, they were incredibly expensive.

“Let’s get the lytlings back to Marisa Pines,” Dancer said. Han mounted up, and Dancer handed the injured girl to him while the Demonai looked on uneasily.

“We will escort you into camp,” Trailblazer said. “To make sure nothing happens to you. Tempers are running high.”

“Let’s go, then,” Han said, worried about the girl in his arms and eager to hear what Willo had to say about this new business. He nudged Ragger forward, scattering the warriors in his way.

As they neared camp, there were signs of troubled times. The usual greeting gaggle of lytlings and dogs was nowhere to be seen. Grim-faced sentries stood along the road that Han had traversed hundreds of times in his childhood. Some of them Han knew—by sight, anyway. The Demonai leaned down to explain the outcome of the chase. The sentries nodded to Han and Dancer as they passed, but kept their weapons in readiness.

Han and Dancer dismounted in front of the Matriarch Lodge. Willo’s apprentice, Bright Hand, met them at the door. Han handed Skips Stones off to him, disabling the immobilization charm.

Willo emerged from the back room. “Bring her here, Bright Hand. I have a bed ready.” She glanced at Han and Dancer. “Please, share our hearth and all that we have. There’s tea brewing.” Then she disappeared into the rear.

The smoky upland blend brought a rush of memories as Han sipped at it. Would he ever feel at home here again?

It was more than an hour before Willo ducked between the deerskin curtains hiding the back room. “Skips Stones is sleeping now. I’ve set the broken bones, and she was able to take some willow bark. She was alert and talking. I think she will be all right. I’ve sent Bright Hand to fetch more supplies. Come—we’ll sit with her.”

They followed Willo into the rear, where Willo had once healed Han from an arrow-point poison he’d taken for Raisa. Skips Stones lay on a sleeping bench next to the hearth, her thin chest rising and falling in a sleep cadence.

“Mother, how did this happen?” Dancer asked, looking down at the girl.

Willo rubbed the back of her neck. “Skips Stones and Fisher were fishing in the Dyrnnewater when they were taken. We’ve had wizards raid the outlying villages, looking for amulets, but this is the first time they’ve targeted children. Relations were tense and poisonous already. Now … I’m worried some of the warriors may retaliate against wizard targets.”

She sat down in a chair next to the bed and pulled her basket of needlework onto her lap. She threaded a needle, knotted the ends. “I hope you will be careful, both of you,” she said. “It’s a dangerous time for the gifted to be traveling in the Spirits.”

They murmured agreement, and an awkward silence coalesced around them.

Willo took a deep breath, released it slowly. “Hunts Alone, could you ward us against eavesdroppers, please?”

Han walked the perimeter of the room, laying privacy charms to keep them from being overheard, glad the Demonai outside couldn’t see what he was up to.

Willo rested her hands in her lap, her dark eyes following Han around the room. Dancer sat cross-legged on the hearth rug, facing her. When Han had finished, he came and sat next to Dancer.

Willo bent her head over her stitching. “Fire Dancer tells me you intend to travel to Gray Lady tomorrow, to attend your first Wizard Council meeting.”

“Yes,” Han said.

“I wanted to have this conversation before you went.” She paused and looked up at him. “Dancer has told you about his father.”

Han nodded.

“At first I was disappointed,” she said. “The more people who know a secret, the less likely it will remain hidden.” She smiled wistfully at Dancer. “I had hopes that you would not look like him. I had hopes that you were not gifted. I had hopes that you would find a vocation that would keep you in the mountains.” She paused, then added in a low, bitter voice, “I had hopes that wizards would stay in the flatlands, where they belong.”