The Crimson Crown. Cinda Williams Chima

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СКАЧАТЬ by the Spirit clan embargo on amulets. Powerful amulets were more and more difficult to come by—even the temporary kind. When they could be found, they were incredibly expensive.

      “Let’s get the lytlings back to Marisa Pines,” Dancer said. Han mounted up, and Dancer handed the injured girl to him while the Demonai looked on uneasily.

      “We will escort you into camp,” Trailblazer said. “To make sure nothing happens to you. Tempers are running high.”

      “Let’s go, then,” Han said, worried about the girl in his arms and eager to hear what Willo had to say about this new business. He nudged Ragger forward, scattering the warriors in his way.

      As they neared camp, there were signs of troubled times. The usual greeting gaggle of lytlings and dogs was nowhere to be seen. Grim-faced sentries stood along the road that Han had traversed hundreds of times in his childhood. Some of them Han knew—by sight, anyway. The Demonai leaned down to explain the outcome of the chase. The sentries nodded to Han and Dancer as they passed, but kept their weapons in readiness.

      Han and Dancer dismounted in front of the Matriarch Lodge. Willo’s apprentice, Bright Hand, met them at the door. Han handed Skips Stones off to him, disabling the immobilization charm.

      Willo emerged from the back room. “Bring her here, Bright Hand. I have a bed ready.” She glanced at Han and Dancer. “Please, share our hearth and all that we have. There’s tea brewing.” Then she disappeared into the rear.

      The smoky upland blend brought a rush of memories as Han sipped at it. Would he ever feel at home here again?

      It was more than an hour before Willo ducked between the deerskin curtains hiding the back room. “Skips Stones is sleeping now. I’ve set the broken bones, and she was able to take some willow bark. She was alert and talking. I think she will be all right. I’ve sent Bright Hand to fetch more supplies. Come—we’ll sit with her.”

      They followed Willo into the rear, where Willo had once healed Han from an arrow-point poison he’d taken for Raisa. Skips Stones lay on a sleeping bench next to the hearth, her thin chest rising and falling in a sleep cadence.

      “Mother, how did this happen?” Dancer asked, looking down at the girl.

      Willo rubbed the back of her neck. “Skips Stones and Fisher were fishing in the Dyrnnewater when they were taken. We’ve had wizards raid the outlying villages, looking for amulets, but this is the first time they’ve targeted children. Relations were tense and poisonous already. Now … I’m worried some of the warriors may retaliate against wizard targets.”

      She sat down in a chair next to the bed and pulled her basket of needlework onto her lap. She threaded a needle, knotted the ends. “I hope you will be careful, both of you,” she said. “It’s a dangerous time for the gifted to be traveling in the Spirits.”

      They murmured agreement, and an awkward silence coalesced around them.

      Willo took a deep breath, released it slowly. “Hunts Alone, could you ward us against eavesdroppers, please?”

      Han walked the perimeter of the room, laying privacy charms to keep them from being overheard, glad the Demonai outside couldn’t see what he was up to.

      Willo rested her hands in her lap, her dark eyes following Han around the room. Dancer sat cross-legged on the hearth rug, facing her. When Han had finished, he came and sat next to Dancer.

      Willo bent her head over her stitching. “Fire Dancer tells me you intend to travel to Gray Lady tomorrow, to attend your first Wizard Council meeting.”

      “Yes,” Han said.

      “I wanted to have this conversation before you went.” She paused and looked up at him. “Dancer has told you about his father.”

      Han nodded.

      “At first I was disappointed,” she said. “The more people who know a secret, the less likely it will remain hidden.” She smiled wistfully at Dancer. “I had hopes that you would not look like him. I had hopes that you were not gifted. I had hopes that you would find a vocation that would keep you in the mountains.” She paused, then added in a low, bitter voice, “I had hopes that wizards would stay in the flatlands, where they belong.”

      “It wouldn’t have remained a secret forever,” Dancer said. “The resemblance is too strong. Anyone who had the least suspicion would guess on his own.”

      “I realize that now. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since the queen was murdered. It was a mistake to conceal what he did, all these years. Wounds like this fester if they are not opened and drained. If I had spoken up, perhaps Marianna’s death could have been averted.”

      Willo finished a row of beaded stitches and bit off the thread. Then looked up at them. “Let me tell you about the day I met Bayar on Hanalea.”

       CHAPTER SIX

       WHAT HAPPENED ON HANALEA

      The girl known as Watersong lingered by the healer’s spring long after her friends had returned to camp, their berry buckets full. For a while she worked on her sketches, trying to capture the glint of light on the water before the sun descended behind Hanalea’s western shoulder.

      Growing sleepy, she set her sketch board aside and leaned back against a tree, lulled by the music of the Dyrnnewater, basking in the sun. Occasionally, she would pop a red raspberry into her mouth, and the warm juice would explode onto her tongue.

      A voice broke into her daydreams, speaking in Common.

      “Who are you?”

      She looked up, shading her eyes. It was a boy, somewhat older than her. He looked very tall, especially to someone on the ground, and his outline was oddly blurry. A flatlander, obviously, but there was something—alien—about him. …

      She stood, dusting off her leggings. “My name is Watersong,” she said, also in Common.

      “You’re a copperhead,” the boy said, looking a little dazed. “But … you’re beautiful.”

      “Don’t sound so surprised,” Watersong said, rolling her eyes. “And don’t use that word if you want to get along with me.”

      “What kind of magic is this?” the boy growled, as if he hadn’t heard. “You’re bewitching.”

      Watersong was growing tired of this awkward conversation. “Who are you, and what are you doing on Hanalea?”

      “I—ah—I’m a trader,” he said. “My name is Gavan.” He stepped sideways, out of the direct line of the sun, so she could see his face. He was pale, as if he didn’t spend much time outdoors, and his eyes were a glacial blue under heavy dark brows. Handsome, some would say.

      Most traders Watersong knew were sunburnt and weathered by the wind. “Really?” she said skeptically. “You don’t look like one. Where is your gear?”

      He flushed. “I’m СКАЧАТЬ