The Crimson Crown (17 page)

“I can keep an eye on him at Kendall House,” Amon growled. “And it’s safer for you.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Raisa said. “Like it or not, he’s protection against the Bayars.”

“Not if he’s roaming Ragmarket, killing wizards,” Amon said bluntly. “Your Majesty, forgive me, but have you lost your mind?” He turned toward her and gripped her elbows, harder than he likely intended. “Do you really mean to leave him where he is? Has all this been a waste of my breath and lost sleep for both of us?”

“Amon. We don’t have proof that Han is responsible,” Raisa said, beating down the voices in her head.

“We don’t
need
proof,” Amon said. “We’re not passing sentence on him. We’re just taking reasonable precautions. As any
reasonable
person would understand.”

“All his life, Han has been accused of crimes he didn’t commit,” Raisa said. “He’s an easy target because of his past.”

“He’s a likely
suspect
because of his past,” Amon countered, his dark brows drawn together over thundercloud eyes.

“I made him some promises when he agreed to take this job,” Raisa said. “One was that he’d have quarters next to mine, and easy access so he could better protect me.”

“Right. And when assassins broke into your apartments, he was nowhere near.”

Raisa bit her tongue. She’d promised Han she wouldn’t reveal his role in that episode. How he had saved her life. “I either have to dismiss him from his post as bodyguard, or leave him where he is,” she said. “The safest thing is to leave him be, but keep a close watch on him.”

Amon stood, towering over Raisa. “I wish you were as considerate of me in helping me to do my job as you are of Alister,” he said.

“What else do you want?” Raisa asked, standing up. “Short of dismissing Alister based on rather tenuous circumstantial evidence?”

“I’m going to put a crowd around you,” Amon said, his voice low and furious. “And keep Alister under constant surveillance. I want your father to assign Demonai to work with the Guard, to counterbalance the risk.”

“Done,” Raisa said, thinking that the Demonai would be overjoyed to offer her protection against wizards. Especially one Demonai in particular. But would any of the Demonai bow his or her proud head to Amon Byrne? “I’ll talk to my father about it. We’ll want to handpick them.”

She looked up at Amon, but his face was in shadow. “Thank you, Amon. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

Later that night, lying in bed, she couldn’t sleep, even though she was bone-weary. She’d tucked the piper carving under the clothing in her deepest drawer.

She thought of Han Alister, on the other side of a thin door. Wondered if he was lying awake, too.

She trusted Amon Byrne, but she couldn’t trust him to know the truth—that she’d recognized the symbols painted on the bodies. She’d seen it before—on the talismans that Han’s Ragmarket crew wore.

She’d recognized the piper carving immediately. The last time she’d seen it, it hung around Han Alister’s neck, next to his amulets.

Perhaps Raisa was as much a fool as Hanalea had been, when she’d trusted the Demon King.

She was in love with Han Alister, and it just might cost her her life.

Han slid his hand into the niche under the market clock and pulled out a crumpled note.
She’s coming. Darkman’s hour.
It was unsigned.

He looked up at the clock. If he didn’t hustle, he’d be late. Only, being late to this meeting wasn’t all bad.

He threaded his way through familiar streets, taking his time, comfortable in his shabby glamour. He detoured into Pinbury, had a word with two of his eyes and ears, name of Gimp and Scuttle. They were as deferential as streetrats can be, calling him Lord Alister and peering at him out of the corners of their eyes. No, my Lord Alister. Nothing new to report.

He descended into the Bottoms, headed for the meeting place, mentally pounding himself for his actions two nights before.

Han knew street rules. Never run from a bluejacket unless you know you can get clean away. Running looks guilty. Running draws attention when you want to be overlooked.

He shouldn’t have run at all.

His eyes and ears had alerted him to the bodies in the alley. He’d been examining the two dead wizards, looking for vestiges of magic, trying to sort out what might have happened. One thing he knew—the flash-and-staff mark said that whoever had hushed the wizards was someone who knew what Han’s gang sign was—and was trying to blame it on him.

Then the bluejacket patrol surprised him. Instinct took over, despite a lifetime of street training, and he’d run.

Han
would
have gotten clean away if he hadn’t had the bad luck to run into Hallie and Mick—two bluejackets who would recognize him if they got a good look.

He hoped they hadn’t. He hoped they’d followed after him just because he looked suspicious. He’d had his cap on, pulled down over his hair, and they wouldn’t expect to see him there.

In the old days, he’d have gone to ground, laid low, set himself up in a secure crib with his seconds around him, or disappeared into his beloved mountains. But there was no sanctuary for him—not anymore. He was a moth, helplessly drawn to a flame that would char him to a cinder.

And so he waited—waited to be evicted from his quarters, waited to be tossed into gaol, waited for a showdown that never came.

He’d asked Raisa flat out for direction—did she want him to do whatever it took to get elected High Wizard. She hadn’t really responded, but the answer was clear.

He had to act now, before Gavan Bayar did, but his timing had to be dead on.

Han met Flinn in the common room of the Smiling Dog, a thieves’ academy and inn frequented by arch-rogues, fences, and affidavit men and women. And just now it was frequented by six of Han’s crew, including Flinn.

“She’s in the back room,” Flinn said, leaning in close. “Angry as a singed badger. Took her all over Southbridge and Ragmarket. Shook three footpads in Southbridge Market. We’re clean now.”

Han nodded. “Good. Bring the usual, enough for two, and two clanks of stingo.”

Flinn frowned, as if puzzled. “You mean to get her lushy first?”

Han shook his head. “I’m hungry, all right?” He waved Flinn away.

When Han entered the back room, Fiona spun to face him, her hand on her amulet. Despite the relentless heat, she was clad in black leather, head to toe, as if she’d armored up for the trip.

Han had dressed for the occasion, too, in plain wool breeches and cotton shirt, his clan-made boots his only extravagance. Ragmarket was the kind of place where it was best not to flaunt your wealth.

He hoped it would make it less likely that she would remember what he’d said about his lineage. For the thousandth time, he cursed himself for his run-on mouth. Han Alister, who was supposedly so good at keeping secrets.

“Welcome, Lady Bayar,” he said gravely. “I’m glad you could come on such short notice.” He motioned to a chair, and took the one opposite. “I’ve ordered dinner for us.”

Fiona shook her head, flinging back her pale hair and folding her arms. “I’d have to be starving to eat in this establishment.”

“The food’s actually good here,” Han said. “I’ll bet I can tempt you.” He smiled his best roguish smile. He took pleasure in meeting her on his own turf, for once. At least here Fiona was unlikely to want to take him upstairs.

Fiona studied him as if trying to read the subtext. Then plunked herself down in the vacant chair. “Was it really necessary to drag me through the filthy underbelly of the city?”

“You’ve had three coves trailing you since you left the castle close,” Han said. “Sarie had orders to shake them off before bringing you here. They were very good. It took a while.”

“Who would follow me?” Fiona muttered, wetting her lips, looking a little shaken. “And why?”

Han leaned back in his chair. “You sure you’re ready to play this game?”

That pricked her. “Don’t be so cocky, Alister,” she said. “After a seemingly quick start, I haven’t seen much from
you
lately.”

Flinn brought in the food and drink, giving Fiona the hard eye before he left. Han sliced up the bread and made himself a sandwich. “Want one?” he asked, waving it at her.

Fiona’s eyes followed the moving sandwich. “All right,” she conceded, and watched as he assembled it.

“What’s this?” she asked suspiciously, sniffing at the stingo. She took a cautious sip, and her eyes widened. “What
is
this?” she repeated, sputtering, but managing not to spew it over the table.

“Stingo,” Han said, handing over her sandwich. “It’s a little strong.”

She sipped again, better prepared this time, and set the tankard down. She picked up the sandwich and gave it a good look-over before she took a bite.

“Well,” Han said, “this is your meeting. What do you want?”

“I told you what I wanted at the Wizard Council House,” Fiona said. “You don’t seem to understand the urgency of this. Believe me, if we don’t act, Micah will be High Wizard
and
married to the queen.”

“Which will make it difficult for you to get what you want,” Han said, nodding. “Urgent for you, then. You’re that sure she’ll accept him?”

“Micah has always been able to seduce any girl he wants,” Fiona said bitterly. “Raisa is a bit more resistant than most, that’s all. She won’t hold out forever.”

“Well,” Han said, looking into Fiona’s frosty blue eyes. “You could kill Micah. Then your father wouldn’t have any choice but to support you.”

“You
are
as cold-blooded as they say,” Fiona said, in an admiring way. “That still doesn’t deal with the problem of Raisa.”

A problem you want me to solve for you, Han thought.

“Based on our last conversation, I thought by now you’d have killed the queen and named yourself king.” Fiona took a bite of sandwich and chewed.

“I’m not going to do your dirty work for a kiss and a promise,” Han said. “You want to work with me, you need to put in yourself.”

Fiona reached across the table and rested her hand on his arm. “I’ve told you that I find you attractive,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “I think we could be very—”

“I need your help with the Wizard Council,” Han said bluntly.

Fiona snatched back her hand, color staining her pale cheeks. “What?”

“I want to be High Wizard,” Han said.

“High Wizard?” Fiona said, drawing her pale brows together. “You’re aiming for king. Why would you want to be High Wizard?”

Han couldn’t very well say,
Because Queen Raisa and my dead ancestor the Demon King want it.
Or,
To thwart your father’s plans.

So he said, “To keep your brother from winning. Right now I’m next door to Queen Raisa in the palace. Right now I have easy access. If Micah becomes High Wizard, you can bet he’ll boot me out on my backside. Not to mention putting up all kinds of protections around her.” He paused. “Plus, do you really want him to have an excuse to spend all that time with her? Cozy meetings in her private suite and all that?”

Fiona scowled. “No, of course not. But I still don’t see why you haven’t acted already, if you have access to the queen.”

“I want to be king of everyone,” Han said, doing his best to be convincing. “Not just the Valefolk. That means I have to deal with the Wizard Council. Otherwise I’ll just end up fighting them off after the queen is gone. Especially
your
family,” he said pointedly.

“I understand your reasoning,” Fiona said, sipping at her stingo. “But I’m not on the council. There’s not much I can do to help you become High Wizard. It seems to me that my father has the votes to put Micah into office.”

“You’re not on the council, but you have influence over someone who is,” Han said. “Adam Gryphon.”

“Adam?” Fiona seemed totally confused. “What makes you think I have any—”

“He’s sweet on you, Fiona,” Han said. “You’re sort of betrothed. You could persuade him to vote my way.”

“I told you—Adam Gryphon is pathetic,” Fiona said. “He’s been mooning after me for years. As if I would ever even consider…” Fiona furrowed her brow, thinking.

Han took a bite of sandwich followed by a swig of stingo, trying to drown a twinge of guilt. He had nothing in particular against his old teacher, even though Gryphon had abused him often enough in class. The fact was, Han needed his vote and was unlikely to get it any other way. He just hated siccing Fiona on him, especially given the recent loss of his parents.

“What possible reason could I give for asking Adam to vote against my own brother?” Fiona said.

“Come on, Fiona, I’m sure you can come up with a reason on your own,” Han said. “Tell him you want to make
him
consort. Just don’t tell him it’s because you’re sweet on me, all right?” Han grinned to show he wasn’t exactly serious. Exactly.

“When do you expect it to happen?” Fiona said. “The vote, I mean?”

“We meet again in four days,” Han said. “Your father will want to get Micah voted in before Mordra deVilliers gets here. So we’ll likely vote at the next meeting.”

“You expect me to win over Adam Gryphon in four days?” Fiona grumbled.

“It shouldn’t be too hard. He’s not all that fond of Micah, you know,” Han said.

“Really? How does he feel about you?” Fiona asked, acidly.

Han shrugged. He honestly didn’t know.

“All right,” Fiona said. “I’ll convince him.” She examined her hands and sniffed. “I don’t anticipate any problem.”

“Good. Do it quick, all right? I need to hear back from you before the meeting so I know what to expect when it comes to a vote. Otherwise I might be sticking my neck out for nothing.” Han finished his sandwich, licking his fingers. “This is just the start of it, though. I need to know: How far are you willing to go to get what you want? To put wizards on the throne of the Fells. You and me, specifically.”

“I’ve already walked five miles through a festering slum,” Fiona said, “risking life and limb to get here.”

“You’ll have to do better than that. I do that much every day and twice on Sundays.”

Fiona’s voice rose. “I’ve
told
you that I…” She looked around, lowering her voice. “I’ve accepted that we have to rid ourselves of Queen Raisa and her sister.”