The Exiled Queen

“We all thought this was our best chance to cross the border,” Raisa said. “Your father included. I’m not going to second-guess it now. No matter what happens, I think we’re safer together.” Raisa crawled to the front of the tent. “Now, let’s go out. I think it’s better to go out to them than to have them come in after us.”

“All right.” Sliding forward, Amon put his hand on her shoulder. “But stay back, will you? I don’t want them to know who you really are. I’m going to call for a parley.”

They emerged into the eerie vacancy of the campsite. Amon fetched his fighting staff from his horse. Resting it on his upturned palms, he lifted it horizontally in front of him, then laid it down on the grass in the middle of the clearing. He stepped back from it, three long paces, then called out something in what Raisa assumed must be the Waterwalker language.

One more language she didn’t know. Why had she never studied it?

The answer was this: her tutors and advisers in Fellsmarch considered the Waterwalkers scarcely more than savages. They did not use metal weapons or tools, they did not ride horses, and they lived simply, in dwellings they moved from place to place.

Amon waited for a response, and when none came, he repeated the call. On the third repetition, shapes materialized out of the mist and came toward them.

There were three of them— a young man, a boy, really, two or three years younger than Raisa, and a man and woman of middle age. They shared the same thick black eyebrows and strong straight noses. They wore pale robelike garments that made them difficult to see in the freezing mist. All carried fighting staffs like Amon’s.

The young man stood facing Amon. In contrast to Amon’s plain weapon, his staff was intricately carved with fish, serpents, and other fantastical creatures. It was small enough to suit his stature and slight build. His attire was more elaborately decorated than that worn by the others, embroidered with pale, silvery thread in a design that mimicked sunlight on wavelets and fish scales.

“Good day, Dimitri,” Amon said in Common, extending his hands toward the young man.

“Corporal.” Dimitri made no move to reciprocate the gesture, but stood, gripping his staff, his face impassive. Amon tilted his head, studying Dimitri’s face, and pulled back his hands, dropping them to his sides.

“Good day, Adoni and Leili,” Amon said, turning to the older man and woman. They stood stiff and expressionless, their staffs angled across their bodies.

After an uncomfortable pause, Dimitri bent and laid his staff on the ground next to Amon’s. He straightened and took a step back.

Amon settled back on his heels, looking relieved.

The older man and woman followed Dimitri’s example, though neither looked happy about it. They flanked Dimitri, standing to either side and a little behind him.

“Shall we speak Common so that we all can understand?” Amon said, extending a hand toward Raisa.

Dimitri looked at his companions, and they shrugged.

“Will you share my fire?” Amon asked, gesturing toward Raisa’s small blaze.

The Waterwalkers scowled, as if reluctant to share even this small token of hospitality from them.

Bones, Raisa thought, shivering. They’re going to kill us for sure.

Finally, Dimitri ripped free his cloak, threw it down on the ground, and sat on it. The others did the same, arranging themselves cross- legged around the fire.

Amon sat down also, and Raisa sat next to him.

“This is Rebecca Morley,” Amon said, touching Raisa’s shoulder.

“Are you two espoused?” Leili asked bluntly. Ironically, Common always sounded more formal than the other languages used in the Seven Realms.

“No.” Amon shook his head, color staining his cheeks. “She’s a cadet. A first year.”

“Another soldier, then,” Dimitri said.

“Not a soldier,” Amon said. “A student only.”

“Still a soldier,” Dimitri said, looking at Adoni and Leili, who nodded. Raisa’s prickling unease intensified. They are his counselors, she thought. He looks to them for guidance. And they hate us.

“You are lord now?” Amon asked Dimitri.

“I am,” Dimitri said, self- consciously fingering the intricately embroidered hems of his sleeves.

“What about your father?” Amon asked in his direct fashion. “Where is he?”

“My father died at Rivertown,” Dimitri said.

“I’m sorry to hear about Lord Cadri,” Amon said. “How did it happen?”

“Why have you come here with soldiers?” Dimitri burst out.

“We’re traveling through,” Amon said, “on our way to the academy at Oden’s Ford. I stopped at Rivertown to ask a traveler’s blessing, and found it gone.”

“Yes,” Dimitri said. “Rivertown is gone. Destroyed by Fellsian soldiers at midsummer.”

Sweet Hanalea! Raisa opened her mouth, then closed it again without speaking.

“They told me at the West Wall that there’s been trouble along the border,” Amon said. “What is going on?”

The older man spoke in the marsh language, his hands slicing the air. Dimitri glanced at Raisa, then translated quickly. “The Queen of the Fells sends us a Dyrnnewater full of poisons. It grows worse by the day. Fish cannot live in it. It kills the plants we gather for food. Our children sicken and die. Yet when we complain, she does nothing. It’s been a problem for a long time, but now it’s worse than it’s ever been.”

Amon nodded. “I know. Refugees from the Ardenine Wars have crowded into Fellsmarch. They camp along the banks and empty their slop jars into the river. It’s made a bad situation worse.”

The river had been bad as long as Raisa could remember. The sewer systems in Fellsmarch had been built hundreds of years ago, during some prosperous and public- spirited season in the past. Now, with the cost of maintaining a mercenary army and dwindling taxes due to the wartime drop- off in trade, there never seemed to be enough money to pay for repairs.

The clans complained that they sent a clean river out of the high eastern Spirits only to have the Vale dwellers use it as a repository for filth.

“If we can no longer feed our families,” Dimitri went on, “we have no choice but to take from others, especially those who caused this problem. So we’ve sent raiders across the border, and taken foodstuffs from Tamron and the Fells.”

“And the guard destroyed Rivertown in retaliation,” Amon said.

Dimitri nodded. “Yes. I was away at the time. They came down from the fortress at the top of the escarpment, using the road that you and I built. They burned or knocked down all the houses, pierced our boats, destroyed the docks, took all of our nets, our tools, the dried fish and grain we had stored for the winter. They killed everyone who didn’t run away, from the oldest crone to the youngest baby. They bound the children hand and foot, and threw them living into the river to drown.”

Raisa recalled what Barlow had said. The Waterwalkers been raiding over the border, stealing livestock and food. We put a stop to it.

“Blood and bones,” she whispered. “I am so sorry.”

Dimitri glanced at Raisa, frowned in disapproval, then turned back to Amon. “My mother is dead, and my sisters. Most of the men of the village were killed, my father and his father, my brothers, all of my uncles except Adoni. Those who escaped are all crowded into Hallowmere, by the sea.”

Dimitri gestured helplessly. “Those that remain alive will likely starve this winter. We take some fish from the sea, but our boats are not built for the winter storms on Leewater. And our food stores for the winter have been destroyed.”

“Dimitri, Adoni, Leili, this cannot stand,” Amon said, his gray eyes dark with anger. “I will not let it stand. Do you know who commanded those that attacked you?”

“What does it matter?” Leili said with quiet bitterness. “Soldiers are all the same.” She extended her empty arms. “My babies are dead.”

“I am lord now, replacing my father,” Dimitri said. “Uncle Adoni and cousin Leili are my counselors. We’ve continued to cross the border and take what we can from the uplanders. We’ve destroyed the new road, which will make it difficult to move men, horses, and weapons in. But eventually the up -landers will slide down the escarpment and attack Hallowmere, and we expect to be pushed into the sea. We are in a fight to the death. So you understand why we do not welcome soldiers here.”

“We’re not here for fighting. You know that,” Amon said.

“Do we?” Adoni replied, his face hard and impassive.

“Where are the other cadets?” Amon asked, meeting Dimitri’s eyes. “Are they still alive?”

“They are still alive,” Dimitri said. Raisa’s heart rose, until he said, “But not for long.”

“You know me, and you know my father,” Amon said. He sat very straight, his hands on his knees. “My father saved your father’s life. We’ve never lied to you. All we want is to go on to Tamron, and leave you in peace.”

“There is no peace,” Dimitri said. “Not anymore.”

Adoni leaned toward Dimitri and said something in the marsh language.

“My uncle says my debt has been paid with the lives of my father and uncles. The Fells owes us gylden for hundreds of lives. Your deaths will help repay that debt.”

“My father had nothing to do with the destruction of Rivertown,” Amon replied. “He would never drown a child. He probably doesn’t even know about it.”

“He is the captain of the Queen’s Guard,” Leili said in Common. “He is responsible, along with the queen and the army. Perhaps the loss of his son will help him recognize the pain he’s caused.”

“You and your companions will die honorably,” Adoni conceded, “because your father is an honorable man.”

“You know I am not your enemy,” Amon said, looking at each of the Waterwalkers in turn. “Nor are my cadets. My father has a voice at court. If you let us go, I’ll make sure he speaks on your behalf. Killing us won’t help anything, and you’ll turn him against you. You’ll create a debt of honor you can never repay.”

Raisa knew what else he was thinking: If you kill the princess heir, there would be no chance of reconciliation. Ever.

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri said. “You were my friend. Maybe we can be friends again in the afterlife. But not on this earth. Too many deaths divide us now.”

He’s given up, Raisa thought. He thinks it’s over. He’s like a dead person, walking around, waiting to stop breathing. And his people will pay the price.

Raisa stared out into the mist, blinking away icy raindrops and tears of frustration. The fog swirled and coalesced, and a giant gray- white she- wolf sat facing her, its tongue lolling over razor- sharp teeth. Its green eyes gleamed in the firelight, and a rime of glittering ice silvered its fur.

The Gray Wolf— totem of Raisa’s line. Meaning risk. Op -por tunity. A turning point.

I refuse to die here, Raisa said to the wolf. I’m just sixteen. I have too much to do.

The wolf shook itself, flinging bits of ice into the fire. The flames sputtered and popped, sending sparks skyward. It bared its teeth, growling, followed by three sharp yips.

Was it some kind of sign? A pathway to follow?

Raisa came up on her knees, leaning forward, hands clenched. “If you intended to kill us all along,” she said to Dimitri, “why did you even agree to a meeting?”

They all three stared at her, her fury taking them by surprise.

“You call yourself the leader of your people. If you are, you need to save them.”

Dimitri blinked at her. “You don’t understand,” he began.

“I think I do,” Raisa said. “Rivertown was destroyed. Your family was killed. It’s an awful thing. You’re overwhelmed with sorrow. You feel paralyzed. Anyone would, in your place. But you are not allowed the luxury of wallowing in grief.”

Amon gripped Raisa’s knee. “Morley, shut up,” he growled.

“He needs to hear this,” Raisa said. “He’s going to kill us anyway, so what does it matter if he doesn’t like it?” She stood and strode back and forth, pounding her fist into her palm in emphasis. “You know we’re not your enemies. You know we’re no danger to you. And you know that killing us won’t keep the Fellsian army out of your territory. The only reason to kill us is for revenge, to balance the debt you feel is owed you by the queen of the Fells.”

She swung around, facing Adoni and Leili. “It’s so easy. Your counselors are encouraging you to do it. They’re grieving also, and it’ll feel good in the short run. You’ll feel like you’re doing something, when right now you feel helpless.

“But you’re responsible for your people, and killing us will do your people harm. Rulers don’t get to do the easy thing. You don’t get to do what you want to do.”

Amon sat frozen, hands resting on his thighs, as if by moving he might set off an explosion. Adoni and Leili stared at her with a mixture of astonishment and annoyance.

“Be quiet, girl,” Adoni growled. “We don’t need a fledgling upland soldier to lecture us about what we can and cannot do.”

But Dimitri raised his hand to quiet his uncle without taking his eyes off Raisa. “I don’t get to take revenge, you say. What do I get to do?” he asked dryly.

“You get to make the decision that’s best for the Fens, regardless of your own desires. Regardless of tradition. You get to do the smart thing. If you let us go, Corporal Byrne will take your grievance to his father and to the queen. He’ll be an advocate for you, and I will too.”

Raisa realized that promise might be difficult to keep, given her self- imposed exile status. She’d find a way. Somehow. If she survived the day.

She returned to the fire and squatted in front of Dimitri. “What’s most likely to benefit your people— murdering us or letting us go?”

“This girl is a witch- talker,” Leili said to Dimitri. “Why should we believe her?”

Dimitri laced his hands and tapped his forefingers against his chin, thinking.

Perhaps suspecting that his nephew was wavering, Adoni spoke up. “Lord Dimitri, we could let Corporal Byrne go. That would make Captain Byrne beholden to you. Then kill the rest,” he said. He glared at Raisa, as if she might be first on the list.

“That’s not acceptable,” Amon said. “I’m responsible for my triple. I won’t ride away and leave them to die. Do you think my da would welcome back a coward?”

“That’s your choice,” Leili said, shrugging. “Stay and die with them if you insist.”

Dimitri kept staring at Raisa, as if studying her face for clues. Raisa looked past him to where the gray wolf waited in the forest. Dimitri stiffened, blinked, and rubbed his eyes.

The wolf stood, shook itself, and trotted into the mist, its brushlike tail the last thing to disappear.

Dimitri rose abruptly, his face pale and set. “Leili, Adoni, let us talk in private.” They walked a little distance away. There ensued an intense discussion.

“Just go,” Amon said to Raisa. “I’ll distract them so you can get away.”

“No,” Raisa said. “I’m staying. He needs the chance to make the right decision. If I run, it will look like a trick, and they’ll kill you and everyone else.”

“Gaah. We’re probably surrounded anyway,” Amon muttered, squinting into the mist. “You’re crazy, you know that, don’t you?” he added, without looking at her.

No, not crazy, Raisa thought. I’m angry. I’m sick and appalled by what’s been done in the name of the Gray Wolf line.

The three Waterwalkers returned to the fire. Adoni and Leili looked grievously unhappy, which gave Raisa hope.

“I have come to a decision,” Dimitri announced. “We will allow you and your cadets to live, Corporal, so you can take our grievance back to your father and he can use his influence with the queen. You both give your word that you will do that?” He looked from Amon to Raisa. “The witch- talker included?”

“I will do everything in my power to see your grievances addressed,” Raisa said, then bit her lip, realizing that she didn’t sound much like a soldier.

“Where do you find cadets like this, Corporal Byrne?” Dimitri raised an eyebrow. He turned to Adoni and Leili. “Go and bring the other soldiers,” he said. “I’ll wait with the up -landers.” When they hesitated, he added, “As I said. These are not our enemies.”

Dimitri’s counselors left the campsite, looking back over their shoulders.

Dimitri waited until they were well out of earshot, then said, “One of our raiding parties brought back news from the uplands. They said that the princess heir of the Fells has run off.” He looked directly at Raisa as he said it.

Amon shifted slightly forward, putting himself between Raisa and Dimitri.

“Why do you think she left?” Dimitri said, still looking at Raisa.

“Maybe she wanted to find out what was really going on in the world, so she could be a better ruler,” Raisa said, shrugging, feeling the heat of Amon’s disapproval.

“They say she already goes her own way,” Dimitri said. “They say she founded a program to educate and feed poor people in your capital, called the Briar Rose Ministry.”

“She does what she can, Lord Dimitri,” Raisa said. “Briar Rose is the princess heir’s clan name and emblem. Here, I’ll show you.” Crossing the campsite to where the ponies were tethered, she reached into her saddlebag, careful to move slowly and deliberately. She pulled out a length of silk embroidered with her rose-and- thorn motif. Returning to Dimitri, she handed it to him.

“This scarf bears the emblem of the princess heir. Once the princess returns to Fellsmarch, you can use it as a token. If you ever need her help, or need to get a message to her, send this scarf along with the messenger, and I guarantee you will be heard.”

Dimitri stood immobile for a long moment, the fabric draped over his hands. Then he carefully tucked the scarf away, inside his tunic, and inclined his head. “One day, my lady, the princess heir will be queen. And she will owe gylden to me.” He smiled.

Raisa smiled at Dimitri. “Aye, she will,” she said. “And one day, perhaps you’ll teach Princess Raisa sticking.”

“I’ll look forward to it. For now, I’ll send my own token to her as a reminder of me.” Dimitri picked up his staff, laid it across his two palms, and extended it toward Raisa. “For the future queen of the Fells. I’ve nearly outgrown it anyway,” he added, stretching himself as tall as he could.

Raisa accepted the staff gravely, feeling the balanced weight of it in her hands. “I’ll see she gets it. It looks to be just the right size.”

Lord Dimitri turned to Amon. “I’m going to give back your soldiers’ weapons. But I need your promise that they won’t use them on us.”

A dozen Waterwalkers emerged from the mist, led by Adoni and Leili, and shepherding Mick, Talia, Hallie, and the other missing Gray Wolves. The cadets collected into a group, looking from Amon and Raisa to their captors, saying nothing.

Garret and Hallie appeared bruised and battered, as if they’d put up a stiff fight. The rest seemed shaken, but otherwise not the worse for wear.

“Return their weapons,” Dimitri said. The Waterwalkers passed back swords, daggers, belt knives, bows, and quivers. The marsh dwellers handled the metal pieces with obvious distaste. Raisa slid her new staff into her baldric alongside her sword.

Dimitri drew a rough map in the dirt to show them the way. “The mist should clear as you head south. You’ll find the head-waters of the Tamron two days’ walk away.” He offered them waybread for the journey, but Amon politely declined, no doubt thinking of the Waterwalkers starving at Hallowmere.

They mounted up and turned their ponies south once again, relying on Amon’s clan- made pointer stone and Dimitri’s directions. None of the Wolves looked back, as if by doing so they might break whatever spell had overcome their captors.

Hallie waited until they were well away before she heeled her horse up alongside Amon’s. “What happened back there? I thought you were both dead and we were soon to be, when all of a sudden they untie us and lead us back to camp and treat us like it was all some kind of mistake.”

“Morley here explained to Lord Dimitri all about the responsibilities of a ruler,” Amon said. His gray eyes studied Raisa with a fierce curiosity, as if he might somehow figure out what kind of magic she’d done.

“Huh?” Hallie looked from Raisa to Amon. “I don’t get it.”

“It seems Morley’s a witch- talker,” Amon said, and despite Hallie’s questions, wouldn’t explain further.

Chapter Six Flatland Demons

Han and Dancer left Delphi early the morning after the card game, without seeing Cat Tyburn again. Han wondered what she would decide to do— stay in Delphi, travel on, or go back home.

The bluejacket at the border had been right about one thing—Arden south of Delphi was a dangerous place. Han and Dancer rode through a landscape scarred by war— burnt- out farmsteads and crops beaten down by the boots of soldiers. If Prince Geoff was meaning to declare victory, like the server had said, he’d have his work cut out for him.

Rough- looking mercenary types and armed soldiers jammed the roads, in and out of uniform, some bearing the unfamiliar signia of the various warring families: the Red Hawk, the Double Eagle, the Tower on the Water, and the Raven in the Tree.

Han and Dancer avoided them all. The last thing they wanted was to be impressed into some lordling’s army to die in a stranger’s war. They slept in the woods, often without the comfort of a fire, which might draw attention from unfriendly eyes. Their many detours were costing them precious time.

As they traveled south, the hills flattened into high plateaus, then declined into wide plains and stretches of wood where wind, water, and man contoured the land. Even in the woods, Han felt oddly exposed and vulnerable. He was used to the comforting frame of mountains and hills, walls and buildings, defining and shortening the horizon.

Han couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling they were being watched and followed. He set trip- wire charms around their campsites, but left off doing that when raccoons kept them up all night. Nothing more dangerous tried to approach them. He put his worries down to the unfamiliar terrain and lingering thoughts about pursuit from the Fells.

Han could see why Arden was called the breadbasket of the Seven Realms. The soil was deep and rich and black, less prone to growing rocks than the rough, bony skeleton of the Fells. Han had hoped they could supplement their waybread and sausage and dried fruit with fresh food from farms along the way. But they found little to forage and less to buy. It was as if some plague from the Breaking time had swept across the fields, taking with it every edible thing.

Although the autumn days grew shorter, and mist shrouded the fields in the mornings, the weather seemed stubbornly stuck in late summer. They traveled just fast enough to stay ahead of the change of seasons.

When they could no longer stand the stench of bodies too long on the road, or stomach another meal of bread and hard sausage, they stopped at inns, avoiding the common room save for their evening meal. They wore their amulets, but kept them hidden under their shirts, hoping to avoid trouble in a realm where magic was forbidden.

At the inns, Han and Dancer paid for candles, retired to their room, and pored over books of charms that Elena had procured for them. In camp, they practiced working with magic, taking advantage of Dancer’s limited experience. Through the long hours on horseback, they kept their hands on their amulets, storing up power for the days ahead.

Dancer studied another book on his own— thin and battered, with onionskin pages written in Clan and illustrated with line drawings of amulets and talismans. He drew magical objects and emblems of power in his journal.

He’s not given up on being a flash crafter, whatever Elena says, Han thought.

Though he was bone- weary every night, Han often slept restlessly, the serpent amulet cradled in his hands. Some nights he was plagued by bizarre nightmares, images of places he’d never seen, people he’d never met. He never quite remembered these dreams, but he awoke groggy, his head aching, as if he’d continued his studies long into the night.