The Crimson Crown (11 page)

As he walked, he berated himself, sorry he’d lost his temper and spoken so plainly. Once something was said, it couldn’t be unsaid. How could he forget that?

He hadn’t spilled it all, but with what he’d given her, Fiona might figure it out. And if she did, she might tell her father. Or she might not, since she was so far into her own schemes.

If he heard back from her, it might keep Raisa safe for a little while, even if Fiona meant to renegotiate later on—after he hushed the queen. But if she didn’t contact him—

He had ten minutes to find the meeting room. He hadn’t meant to arrive at the last minute, but now there was no avoiding it.

He clattered down the stairs two at a time, and turned down the first-floor hallway. He could no longer hear voices funneling down the corridor.

The hallway emptied into a large foyer, two stories tall. Massive walnut doors stood opposite the front door. They were shut tight.

A nervous-looking servant in sword-and-flame High Wizard livery hurried forward to intercept Han. “I’m sorry, my lord, but the council is now in session and cannot be interrupted.” He motioned to a salon off the main foyer. “If you would care to wait in there, I will bring you refreshment. Some wine, perhaps?”

“The council is already in session?” Han glanced up at the massive clock on the mantel in the salon. “Already? Isn’t it early?”

The servant nodded. “Everyone had arrived, so Lord Bayar called the meeting to order.”

“If the council is meeting, I should be in there,” Han said. “I’m Hanson Alister, the queen’s representative.”

The servant blanched. “Lord Alister? But Lord Bayar said that you were not coming.” He raised both hands as if he thought Han might strike him dead on the spot.

“What is your name?” Han asked the trembling man.

“H—Hammersmith, my lord,” the servant said. “I assure you, had I known that—”

“Don’t worry, Hammersmith.” Han patted the man on the shoulder, nearly giving him a seizure. “You’re not in any trouble. Lord Bayar didn’t know my plans had changed, that’s all. I’ll just go on in.”

“B—b—but, the door, sir. It’s magicked. Anyone who enters risks—”

“I believe I might have the key,” Han said. “Let’s just see.”

Taking hold of his amulet, he used Crow’s charm to reveal the magic overlaying the door. It was familiar; Crow had taught him the countercharm at Oden’s Ford.

“I can handle this.” Han disabled the charm and stood aside. “Would you announce me, please?”

Hammersmith approached the door as one might a dud firework. Gingerly, he tugged it open a crack, sweat pebbling his forehead. Then smiled back at Han when nothing exploded.

Throwing the doors wide, he stepped forward and called out in a carrying voice, “Lord Hanson Alister, representing Her Majesty, Queen Raisa
ana
’Marianna.”

Han walked through the doorway. Heads turned all around the room.

It was a plush space, for sure. One entire wall was glass, overlooking the Vale and the city of Fellsmarch. Banners of the wizard houses hung on the other three walls.

The scene was oddly festive yet funereal. Fancy food and drink were laid out on a sideboard, and ornate chairs with carved arms ringed a massive walnut table. Black candles sputtered in candelabras the length of the table, and those seated around the perimeter wore grim, solemn expressions. Black ribbons decorated their amulets.

Two chairs stood vacant. One was wrapped with black crepe. For one wild moment, Han thought perhaps this memorial was for him, that his death had already been announced.

But then he recalled that nobody here would mourn him, except, perhaps, Abelard.

Lord Bayar sat on a slightly raised dais at one end of the table, a stack of documents in front of him. When he laid eyes on Han, his dark brows drew together in surprise and annoyance.

I wasn’t supposed to make it here, Han thought. So where was the ambush meant to happen? Somewhere along the road? or before I even left town?

Dean Abelard sat to Lord Bayar’s right, looking glum. When she saw Han, she straightened, shifting her eyes to Bayar as if to capture his reaction. Then she sat back in her chair, her fingers beating a triumphant staccato on the table.

Guess she wasn’t all that confident in me, Han thought.

Micah Bayar sat across the table from her, to his father’s left, eyeing Han with an expression of resigned contempt.
He
didn’t look surprised. Either he hadn’t known about the plan to ambush Han, or he’d anticipated that Han would somehow evade it.

Adam Gryphon occupied the seat nearest the door, a bemused expression on his face. Han’s former teacher seemed thinner and paler than Han remembered, as if the northern climate didn’t agree with him.

One other wizard completed the circle, a plump, nervous-looking man in blueblood finery.

“Alister,” Lord Bayar said. “It is customary for council members to arrive a few minutes early, so that we can begin on time. When you didn’t come, I assumed that you’d had second thoughts about your ability to represent the queen in this forum.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Han said, making his way around the table to the sideboard. He piled a small plate with cheese and fruit and poured himself some cider, though there was wine on offer. Since he wasn’t expected to be there, he guessed it was safe to eat.

Han carried his plate to a seat opposite Adam Gryphon while the rest of the council stared at him with a mixture of perplexity and affront. “I’m looking forward to learning more about wizard politics,” Han said, popping a grape into his mouth.

Gryphon and Abelard fought back smiles.

“There are four issues on the agenda, Alister,” the High Wizard said. “The recent killings of wizards in the uplands, the murders of the gifted in the city, the replacement of Lord deVilliers on the council, and the election of a new High Wizard to serve alongside our newly crowned queen.” He paused as if waiting for Han to catch up.

Lord deVilliers? Han thought. Why would Lord deVilliers need replacing?

“Item one,” Lord Bayar said. “This is what we know now. Four wizards were killed by copperhead savages in a skirmish near Marisa Pines Camp. Along with Lord deVilliers, they murdered three students from the academy. One was Dolph’s nephew.”

Bloody bones, Han thought. So the older wizard killed on Hanalea was deVilliers—the council member Abelard had named as an ally. No wonder she looks so woesome. Her face was as hard and chalky as the cliffs along the Indio.

“Lord deVilliers will be sorely missed.” Bayar gestured toward the vacant black-draped chair. “The Demonai have admitted responsibility. They claim the wizards were killed on clan lands, in the act of abducting copperhead children. Though the children were retrieved, supposedly one was injured during the incident.”

“One
was
injured,” Han said. “She is recovering. A six-year-old girl.”

“Who told you that?” Bayar rolled his eyes.

“Nobody told me. I was there.”

“
You
were there?” Abelard glared at him as if he should have cleared it with her. “What for?”

“I had business at Marisa Pines Camp,” Han said, deciding to keep his role in the chase to himself. “I saw the girl. Her name is Skips Stones.”

If Han thought the use of her name would engender any compassion in this crowd, he was wrong.

“Well, I don’t believe it,” the plump, worried-looking wizard said. He was dressed in velvet and lace, wearing an amulet big as a temple incense burner. “Wizards targeting children? Surely Randolph would not have been involved in any such enterprise.”

“Ordinarily, I would agree with you, Lord Mander,” Abelard said, “but tempers are high among our young wizards, especially those who don’t have legacy flash to draw upon. Several enrolled Mystwerk House students have not been able to secure amulets. Dolph’s nephew Jeremy was one. He would have come to the academy this fall.”

She paused, tilting her head back and looking down her nose at the High Wizard. “But perhaps the scarcity of amulets is not an issue for the Bayars. Which might explain why this council has not pushed the copperheads harder on this.”

Lord Bayar shrugged, ignoring the dig. “I have sent a strong message to Lord Averill that these regrettable incidents will continue as long as the Demonai interdict the sale of amulets to the gifted.”

“A strong message?” Abelard said. “I’m sure that’s keeping them up at night.” She snorted. “Let’s move on to item two. The murders in the capital are a more pressing issue. Some in the assembly believe drastic action is needed. That’s one reason I came home.” She sat back, resting the heels of her hands on the table. “Nearly a dozen wizards dead, Gavan. The council should act. It’s obvious who is responsible. Who would have more reason to kill wizards and steal their amulets than the Demonai?”

“Isn’t it possible that somebody else is doing it and trying to throw the blame on them?” Han said, into Abelard’s scowl.

“Isn’t it possible
you
are trying to deflect blame from your friends, the Demonai?” Micah said, his black eyes fixed on Han. “Everyone knows that you are an apologist for the copperheads. One would think you were representing
them
, and not Her Majesty.”

“An interesting point,” Lord Bayar said, nodding. “Taking it a step further, Alister
is
an expert of sorts on street murders. And most of the dead
were
found in Ragmarket.”

“What are you suggesting, Gavan?” Abelard said, her eyes glittering.

“Perhaps young Alister knows more than he lets on,” Bayar said. “It seems likely that he still has contacts in the festering slums he came from. And, after all, the murders commenced when he returned to the Fells.” He paused. “A coincidence, perhaps.”

A murmur ran around the table.

I’m not here ten minutes, and I’m already accused of murder, Han thought. By the biggest murderer of all.

“If you have some kind of evidence, then I suggest you put it on the black and white,” Han said. “Or hire a knight of the post to swear to it. You must have a dozen professional liars on retainer.”

Bayar blinked at him, as if bewildered by the tangle of slang and court speech. “Rest assured, we will identify those responsible and see them punished. In the meantime, it’s inappropriate for a member of this council to maintain ties to the copperheads, given the history between us and them. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“I am here as the queen’s representative,” Han said. “Queen Raisa has to rule over everyone—clans, Valefolk, and wizards. She wants to bring people together—not tear them apart.”

“Is that so?” Micah said, his posture stiff and hostile. “We don’t really know what
your
agenda is. Even though you’ve managed to strong-arm the queen into appointing you to this council, that’s no guarantee that you represent her interests.”

“Look,” Han said. “You’ve been to the down-realms recently. You’ve seen what’s going on. We’ve both met Gerard Montaigne.” He locked gazes with Micah. “I don’t know about you, but he made an impression on me. We need to present a united front.”

Micah just stared at Han, expressionless. “Then the clans should lift their interdiction. We need amulets if we are to protect ourselves against potential invaders.”

That’s always your solution, Han thought. More weapons.

“I’ve been to the camps in the Spirits,” Han went on. “The clans are strong, and they are determined. Get into a war with them, and it’ll last forever. Trade will shut down completely, and you won’t be able to get out of the Vale without catching a backful of arrows. But if the Spirit clans and wizards would collaborate, there’s nobody could stop us.” Han looked around the table, and the message returned from every face was,
As if that would ever happen.
“
Or
we can go on squabbling with each other until we’re weak enough that somebody like Montaigne can pick us off. And you know what they do to wizards in the south.”

Abelard frowned at Han, as if thinking that her pretty-boy puppet had gone rogue.

Triumph glinted in Gavan Bayar’s blue eyes. “I think we’ve heard enough of this kind of talk. At best, the copperheads are jumped-up tradesmen who are skilled with their hands. At worst, they are barely civilized savages who present a grave danger to the society we have built.”

He sighed, straightening his sleeves. “In a perfect world, they would supply the flash we need without question—grateful for the trade and the protection we offer to the realm. In the world we have, the best thing that could happen is we would find another source of amulets and the copperheads would be exterminated.” He paused, driving his point home. “In my opinion, any wizard who fraternizes with copperheads is suspect.”

A murmur of agreement ran around the table.

“Really?” Han said. “Is that why the council forbids congress between wizards and the Spirit clans?”

“That’s one reason,” Gavan Bayar said, his mouth twisting as if the very idea were disgusting. “The other is the possibility of producing a mixed-blood child who is gifted. That would be a disaster. I know you spend a lot of time in the camps, Alister. While bedding a savage might suit someone of your proclivities, I encourage you to satisfy your appetites elsewhere.”

Han met the High Wizard’s eyes, held his gaze for a long moment, and smiled his hard street smile. “Sounds like good advice,” he said, “for all of us.”

Bayar’s eyes narrowed, fixing on Han for a long moment before he changed the subject. “Item three. We have contacted Randolph’s daughter, Mordra deVilliers, who remained in Oden’s Ford this summer. She will assume her father’s place on the council. She is on her way back, but is not expected for a few weeks, depending on conditions in the flatlands.”

Han brightened. He guessed Mordra wouldn’t have much use for the Bayars, since Micah and Fiona had treated her like gutter scummer at Oden’s Ford.

Still, Mordra could be hard to take. Whatever she thought tended to come right out of her mouth, like when she’d lectured Han on manners at the Dean’s Dinner. Han had kept his thoughts to himself, so they’d got on well, from her perspective, maybe.

“Unfortunately,” Lord Bayar said, “we have pressing business—business that cannot wait until Proficient deVilliers arrives. The selection of a High Wizard.”