Cinda Chima - The Crimson Crown

He’s lying to me, Raisa thought. My father is lying to me, and he thinks it’s for my own good. They’d always been so close, and it broke her heart that he wouldn’t confide in her anymore.

And she couldn’t confide in him.

“I’m glad to hear that, Father,” she said. “I just want to remind you that Hunts Alone saved my life. That has to count for something. And, just like everyone else, I expect the Demonai to adhere to the rule of law.”

They began walking again, Raisa’s guard still trailing them. Averill glanced back at them, seeming eager to leave the subject of Han Alister. “As long as you remain single, the Wizard Council has hopes of marrying you to one of their own,” he said. “A wedding would take that option off the table. It might actually make you safer.”

Raisa knew where this was going. In a way, this was still about Han Alister.

“It might. Or, depending on whom I marry, it might make me less safe,” she said. “For instance, if I were to marry someone from the Spirit clans, the gifted might decide to assassinate me and try their luck with Mellony.” She paused. “Speaking of Mellony, I wish you would spend more time with her. She’s been lost since our mother died. She and Marianna were so close.”

“I know,” Averill said. “I think some time in the mountains would be healing for her. But Daylily resists my overtures. It’s almost like she blames me for Marianna’s death.”

“Keep trying,” Raisa said. “I’m worried about her.”

“I will,” Averill promised, then quickly returned to his favorite topic. “Now, back to the question of a marriage. I am hoping that you will seriously consider Reid Nightwalker. He’s a strong leader and a skilled warrior, well regarded in all of the camps. He’s of royal lineage through the clans, and my successor.”

“He’s headstrong, don’t you think?” Raisa said.

Averill laughed. “As I was, at that age. I think it’s that passion he has that attracts so many followers. And you like him, don’t you? There was a time, when you were at Demonai Camp, that—”

“I like him—most of the time,” Raisa admitted. There was a time I thought I loved him, she thought. What happened? Is it the comparison with Han? Or is it because Elena and Averill are pushing him on me? And, yet—they’ve known him all his life, and they would want the best for me, right?

“You think I should make a match like my mother’s, then?” Raisa said. That worked out well, she wanted to say. But didn’t. Instead, she squeezed her father’s arm to take some of the sting away.

Averill walked on a few more paces before he replied. “I know my marriage to Marianna wasn’t … everything it could have been,” he said at last. “But I genuinely loved your mother—you must know that. And I like to think that, in the absence of Lord Bayar, I could have won her love in spite of our age difference. And you and Daylily were worth any amount of pain.”

“So I’m to settle for pain and progeny?” Raisa said, trying for light, but her voice trembled. “In Nightwalker’s case, it would be me wondering whose bed he was sleeping in.”

“He will change his ways,” Averill said. “He really wants this, you know.”

“I know,” Raisa said. “I will seriously consider Nightwalker, but I can’t help wondering if he wants me, personally, or if he just wants to be married to the queen.”

“Does it matter?” Averill looked into her eyes. “One cannot be divided from the other.”

Raisa laughed. “Sometimes I don’t know if you are a cynic or a romantic.”

“Both,” Averill said. “That’s how you survive love and politics.” He embraced her, then turned away, toward Factor House.

Pausing in the corridor outside the door to her suite, Raisa could hear sweet basilka music from inside. Cat, she thought, smiling. When she eased the door open, she saw Cat sitting on the edge of the hearth, her basilka crosswise on her lap, her dark head bent over the strings. And next to her, Magret was sprawled in a chair drawn up to the fire, her head thrown back, eyes closed, a cloth across her forehead.

Cat looked up and saw Raisa, and the music broke off abruptly. She jackknifed to her feet and curtsied, holding the basilka by its neck.

When the music stopped, Magret opened her eyes and sat up, blinking. When she saw Raisa, she, likewise, leapt up as if they’d been caught in guilty pursuits.

“Your Majesty!” she sputtered, sinking into a curtsy. “I did not hear you come in.”

“Be at ease, Magret,” Raisa said. “It looks like you have one of your headaches.”

“I do, ma’am,” Magret said. She cleared her throat. “But the music, it seems to help,” she said. “The girl suggested it.” She tilted her head toward Cat.

“The girl has a name,” Raisa said, raising her eyebrows.

“Caterina suggested it,” Magret said dutifully.

“Continue, if you like,” Raisa said to the both of them. “I have some reading to do.”

“Ma’am, if it’s all right with you, I would like to go lie down for a while,” Magret said. “I’ll be feeling better by suppertime, I’m sure of it.”

“Of course,” Raisa said, waving her away. “Take all the time you need.”

After Magret left, Raisa sat down in the chair she had vacated and pulled some paperwork out of a portfolio. It was a survey of border fortifications she’d asked Klemath to put together. According to the report, the fortifications were in good shape.

Hmmm, she thought. Last I knew, the wall near Marisa Pines Pass was badly in need of repair.

It was difficult to focus, though, with the accusations against Han occupying her mind.

Meanwhile, Cat bustled about as if trying to find something to do, walking around the heaps of clothing that needed to be taken to the laundry or put away.

“Sit,” Raisa ordered, pointing at the hearth. Cat obeyed. “Tell me what’s going on in Ragmarket and Southbridge. What are you hearing about the wizard murders?”

Cat’s face went opaque, like a window misting over. “Nothing,” she said, picking at a scab on her arm. “I’d have brought it to Cuffs—Lord Alister—or Captain Byrne if I did.”

It was a quick answer—too quick to be the truth. Raisa tried to catch Cat’s eye, but her maid/spymaster refused to look at her.

“Surely you’ve heard something,” Raisa persisted. “Rumors, gossip …”

Cat shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Nobody’s seen anything—or if they did, they an’t saying. There’s no bagged flash come to market. The killers an’t even spoiled the bodies.”

“Well? Do you have any theories?” Raisa was growing impatient.

“I wondered if it might be somebody taking revenge for all the killings that was done last summer—the Southies and the Raggers.” Cat cleared her throat. “I mean, since they was done by wizardry, and it’s wizards being killed. But there’s no Southies left—and no Raggers, either, except the ones working for you and Lord Alister.”

A tiny suspicion crept in before Raisa could squelch it. Could Cat and her crew be involved somehow? Without Han’s knowledge? Could that be why Cat was so skittish?

“Would anyone speak up to the Guard if they knew anything about the killings, do you think?” Raisa asked. “If they saw anything?”

“Likely not,” Cat said. “Jinxflingers an’t welcome in Southbridge or Ragmarket. Most are happy to see them go down. Folks aren’t going to take risks on their account. The only one they fancy is Cuffs, because he’s one of their own. They respected him before. Now they think he can chew rocks and spit diamonds.”

“Do you think it’s someone acting alone?”

“Maybe. If it was the gangs, somebody would know something, and somebody would tell me. Whoever it is, they’re good at slipping around unseen.” Cat seemed to be choosing her words carefully, like she was stepping around some big secret.