The Crimson Crown (47 page)

“As are the copperheads,” Micah fired back, anger sparking in his black eyes. “We have not been idle, Raisa. Many of the gifted were surprised in their summer homes. Many have already died.”

“Including Han Alister,” Raisa snapped.

“I didn’t kill him,” Micah growled. “I wasn’t even there.”

“So how do you know what happened?”

Micah looked her in the eyes. “I don’t, exactly.”

“But you’re sure he’s dead. And you’re glad.”

Micah rolled his eyes. “Yes—on both counts. I can’t help how I feel. And he’d feel the same way about me if I were dead.”

“But you’re not.”

“Do you wish I
were
?” Micah’s voice shook, and he turned his face away, taking long, shuddering breaths.

Bones
, Raisa thought. She put her hand on his arm. “No. I don’t wish you were dead.”

“We’ve known each other all our lives,” Micah said. “I know what you’re up against, and you know what I’ve lived with. We’re survivors. We know how to be practical.”

There was a plea hidden in there—but for what?

His mouth twisted into a joyless smile. “I despise my father, but I have to admit, he gets things done. Soon we will be in a position to drive the southerners all the way to Bruinswallow.”

“Soon? How soon?” Raisa said. “After Karn and his thugs have knocked the walls down? I do hope they’ll send word to me in the dungeons of Ardenscourt.”

Micah scowled down at his hands for a long moment. Finally, he released an exasperated breath and looked up at her. “My father holds the Armory of the Gifted Kings.”

The armory? Han had said he knew where it was. That he was going to find it. Had he meant to take it from Gavan Bayar? Was that why he’d gone to Gray Lady?

“Raisa?” Micah said.

“What?”
she snapped.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? There’ll be no opposing him now. You’ll see the squabbles on the council die away as the other members rally behind him. The copperheads will be rendered impotent. Their monopoly on flashcraft will be irrelevant.”

“Have you actually seen it?” Raisa asked skeptically. “The armory?”

“I have proof.” Micah unfastened the buckle on the flap of the bag, lifted out a glittering object, and set it on the bench between them.

It was a crown, heavier even than the ceremonial coronation crown of the Gray Wolf queens, made of red gold and platinum, studded with fiery stones.

It glowed, illuminating the hard planes and angles of Micah’s face. Raisa reached for it, then hastily snatched her hands back.
Beware of Bayars bearing gifts.

“It won’t bite,” Micah said dryly. “There’s no flash in it.”

Raisa studied the crown. It was hauntingly familiar, though not immediately identifiable.

“What is this?” she asked, wrenching her gaze away to look up at Micah.

“A wizard would recognize it at once,” Micah said. “It’s the Crimson Crown—the Crown of the Gifted Kings. Lost for a thousand years—since the death of the Demon King. Until now.”

The story came back to her. All traces of wizard rule had been erased from the palace and the temples centuries ago. But the old paintings still enshrined the memory of the gifted kings.

In the ballroom at Aerie House, portraits of Bayar ancestors lined the walls. Those that had married into the Gray Wolf line had fancied themselves kings. In the paintings, some wore that crown, or displayed it in the background. Some of the portraits were coronation scenes, in which the captive Wolf queens crowned their gifted husbands.

She’d seen paintings of the Demon King, in a flaming rage, the Crimson Crown on his head. A pretender—as all of the gifted kings had been.

Hope kindled in Raisa’s heart. If it was true—if the Bayars had truly uncovered the armory—might it be possible to drive out the southerners? Could it pose a way out of this terrible dilemma?

Micah’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You won’t be able to stand against him, either.”

Raisa’s head came up with a jerk. “What are you saying?”

Micah didn’t elaborate, just gazed at her steadily.

Kindling hope coalesced into dread. There might be a future for the Fells, but she wouldn’t be a part of it. She might be the last of the Gray Wolf queens.

The crown sat between them, drawing Raisa’s eyes like a scrying glass.
This is the future
, it seemed to say.

“Now I
am
in a quandary,” Raisa said, struggling to control her voice. “Who shall I surrender to? Your father or Gerard Montaigne? I just don’t know how to choose between.”

Noticing Raisa’s dreadful fascination with the Crimson Crown, Micah slid it back into his bag and set it aside.

“I know what drives my father,” Micah said. “The Bayar pride was wounded a thousand years ago, and he intends to reclaim the family honor. He wants to restore the line of gifted kings.” Micah paused, shaking back his mane of black hair. “And I want you.”

Their eyes met, and an ocean of silence flooded between them.

“What are you proposing?” Raisa said finally, her mouth gone dust dry. “That I hand your father the throne, and you and I retire to a love nest in the countryside? How long before he sends assassins after me? Or do you propose a series of trysts in the dungeons at Aerie House?”

Micah shook his head. “My father has some…baggage, as you know. His enemies have made much of the scandal surrounding my copperhead half brother.”

“So now you admit that it’s true,” Raisa said, seeking a point of offense.

“I cannot say what is true and what isn’t, and what extenuating circumstances might have come into play.” Micah’s jaw tightened. “My father is certainly capable of…of worse than that. I am just surprised the coldhearted bastard would take that kind of risk.” He smiled slightly, turning the signet ring on his finger. “Maybe my father and I are more alike than I realized. Driven by lust into bad decisions. Fiona, too, has allowed herself to…has gotten herself entangled where she shouldn’t have.”

He’s talking about Fiona and Han, Raisa thought bitterly.

“Sum up, Micah,” she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “I have long since run out of patience for riddles.”

Micah inclined his head. “I’ll speak plainly, then. My father intended to dispose of you and claim the throne himself. I talked him out of it.”

“That must have been a pretty piece of persuasion,” Raisa said, “even for you.”

“My father wants to establish a dynasty—one that will last for centuries. Control of the armory gives him tremendous power—but he understands its limitations. Alger Waterlow controlled the armory, and it didn’t save him.

“He will need every surviving wizard on his side, since he must handle the southerners without the help of the copperheads. He’ll need to win over the Vale-dwellers as well. That shouldn’t be difficult—they already despise the clans. But you are very popular with Valefolk, especially here in the city. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t care, but this is a vulnerable time for him as he consolidates his power.”

“And your father’s political machinations are important to me because…?”

“My father needs legitimacy, and he needs it now. He needs allies, and he needs them now. And so he has agreed to a marriage between us. You will remain on the throne, on the condition that I am crowned the next gifted king and our children inherit.”

Lightning flashed, followed by a crack of thunder. Large drops of rain splatted against the glasshouse—a few at first, building to a low roar. Raisa looked around the garden to see lupine eyes shining out of the darkness—gray and green and blue.

She shivered, grateful that the staccato pounding of the rain made conversation difficult. She fingered the moonstone-and-pearl ring Han had given her as a coronation gift. That and the hole in her heart were the only remnants of a star-crossed love.

What if she had agreed to marry Micah a year ago? How many people would still be alive? Her mother? Han Alister? The guards who had died defending her on Marisa Pines Pass? Trey Archer and Wode Mara? All of those people had died, and what had she gained by it? Now she was in a worse position than before.

When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that Micah had to lean close to hear it.

“And so…a year later…I am back where I started. Contemplating a forced marriage between us.” She looked up at Micah, blinking away tears. “Turning my back on my clan heritage.”

Micah had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I wish it were otherwise. I wish that you loved me.”

“This isn’t about love, Micah,” Raisa said. “This isn’t at all about love.”

“For your part, maybe.” He seemed to be casting about for what to say next, knowing she would disdain his usual flattery. “I am arrogant enough to hope that you will come to love me. And, for now, I am willing to do whatever it takes to have you.”

Something about the way he said it pinged a warning in Raisa’s head. She looked up sharply, but he was gazing down at his hands.

What does it matter? Raisa thought wearily. Why should I worry about what the future holds? Right now, I have very little future to look forward to. I’m a soldier on the eve of a battle I cannot win. Marry a wizard? I’ve already crossed that line. I was willing to, as long as it was Han Alister. Now he’s dead, and another wizard has stepped into his place, offering a fragile hope of survival.

A Fells ruled by wizards is better than a Fells ruled by Gerard Montaigne. If the line survives, we’ll find a way to regain power.

“All right, Micah,” she said. “Suppose I agree to marry you. Do you have some kind of plan for that?”

Micah straightened, looking faintly stunned, as if he’d never expected her to say yes. Then he nodded. “I penetrated Klemath’s lines, using glamours. It’s more difficult now, with Montaigne’s mages, but I think I can get us both out. We’ll go to Gray Lady, since the armory is there. We will marry, followed by my coronation. That will bring all of the gifted in line.”

Once again, Raisa was seized by a prickling unease. She didn’t want to go to Gray Lady, where she would be under the Bayars’ control. Any negotiating power she had would be gone immediately. Micah was convincing, but who knew what Gavan Bayar had planned?

“We’ll govern from Gray Lady until we can retake the city,” Micah said, rushing past the marriage/coronation part. “Hopefully, the copperheads will realize that it is to their benefit to join us. Either way, with the armory at our disposal, we will—”

“Wait a minute, Micah.” Raisa raised both hands, palms out. “I have no reason to trust your father. How do I know he won’t renege once I am under his control?”

“I will make him keep his word,” Micah said, his voice low and deadly. “He’ll keep it or else.”

“I am not traveling to Gray Lady on that frail promise,” Raisa said, dropping her hands into her lap. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Then what do you propose?” Micah said, his voice edged with frustration.

“Go back to Gray Lady,” Raisa said. “Meet with the Spirit clans and enlist their help in organizing a counterattack. Show me what you can do.”

“The copperheads will never countenance a marriage between us,” Micah said. “You know that.”

“You don’t need to tell them that we plan to marry. They may not agree to help you, but I want you to try. With or without their help, use the armory to break through the siege and free the city. When you’ve done that, I will marry you, with or without the approval of the clans.”

She’d put Micah into a spot. He’d asked her to trust him. Either he had to admit that he didn’t trust her to follow through on her promise, or he could do as she said.

Micah scowled out at the rain-smeared glass, a muscle working in his jaw. “Raisa, please. I beg you. Come with me now. I’m afraid that if I leave you, I’ll never see you again.”

“No.”

He sighed and nodded, looking sideways at her. “All right. I need a token from you, something to prove to my family and the council of Wizards that we are betrothed. Something to show the copperheads that I am acting on your behalf.”

As Raisa cast about for something, Micah’s hand snaked out and closed on her wrist. “What about this ring?” he asked, touching the ring Han had given her.

“No!” she said, snatching her hand back. “Not that one.”

Micah stared at her, brows drawn together. Impulsively, Raisa tugged off the wolf ring, the talisman that had once been Hanalea’s. The one her grandmother Elena had given her.

“Use this one,” she said, extending it toward him. “It will be instantly recognizable. They’ll know I wouldn’t give it up except as a promise to you.”

He weighed it on his palm. “It’s getting warm,” he said, after a moment.

“It’s a talisman, remember. It reacts to high magic. You should be all right as long as you are wearing your amulet.”

Micah slid it onto his little finger. “Since we are betrothed, I think we should exchange rings,” he said abruptly. Slipping the falcon signet ring from his finger, he held it out to her.

“After what happened last time, do you really expect me to put that on?” Raisa said, folding her arms.

“Someday,” Micah said, “I hope you can find a way to forgive me. And then to trust me. And after that, maybe love me.” He smiled slightly. “It’s just a ring, Raisa. Nothing more. There’s no magic about it.”

Raisa looked at the ring, then up at Micah’s face. What did it matter, really? She took the ring and slid it onto her forefinger, where the wolf ring had been.

Micah leaned toward her, sliding his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him. “Now kiss me,” he said. “For luck.”

Han yearned for his amulet like a razorleaf user who’d missed a dose. Without it, he couldn’t even conjure light reliably. So he stayed just ahead of Bayar, using the faint light that flowed out ahead of his enemy, keeping him close enough to keep him coming on.

Sometimes too close. Once, Bayar rounded the corner and launched an immobilization charm at him, the glow from his amulet lighting the arrogant planes of Bayar’s face. Han flung himself sideways, plowing headfirst into a stone wall. He saw stars for a moment, but staggered backward, narrowly avoiding another strike. He turned and ran, keeping stone between them so that Bayar couldn’t get another clean shot.