The Crimson Crown. Cinda Williams Chima

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СКАЧАТЬ wrapped himself in the velvet robe he’d slung over the foot of the bed and crossed to the door. “What could be so urgent?” he said through the door. “Is the castle aflame? Has the queen delivered twin demon children?”

      Darby said nothing for a long moment. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

      Han rested his forehead against the wood. He’d been to Ragmarket the night before, and stayed too late. When would he learn that it was futile to try to drown his pain and worry in a tavern? It only made matters worse.

      “Who’s it from?” he asked.

      “The boy said it was urgent, but wouldn’t say who it was from, sir.”

      Han cracked the door open enough to see one of Darby’s anxious blue eyes. He opened it a bit further and stuck his hand through the opening.

      Darby handed over a sealed envelope with a little bow. “I regret waking you, my lord. Can I … can I get you something to break your fast? A bit of salt fish and ale? Some blood pudding?” Perhaps seeing some warning of the state of Han’s stomach in his face, Darby added hastily, “Or some bread and porridge? That’s good for a sour stomach.”

      Han swallowed hard. “I … I think I’ll wait,” he said, and eased the door closed so it wouldn’t bang.

      He tore open the envelope. The message was short and sweet, in angular, upright letters. See me immediately. I’m at Kendall House. M. Abelard.

      Bones, Han thought. He’d been dreading the dean’s arrival. One more complication he didn’t need. He already felt like he was juggling alley cats. He’d hoped to avoid seeing her until the first council meeting.

      Now that the summons had arrived, he knew better than to put it off for long. Pawing glumly through the new clothes in his wardrobe, he chose his least fancy togs, a sober gray coat and plain black breeches. He left off his wizard stoles as well. Abelard might recognize the insignia. He wouldn’t want her to think he was getting above himself. Yet.

      He’d never had six choices of garments to pick from before.

      Han stared into the looking glass over the washstand, combing down his hair with his fingers, wishing he didn’t look so hollow-eyed. With Abelard, he’d have to make show.

      Images from the celebration at Marisa Pines kept crowding into his head: Raisa weaving in and out of the firelight, head thrown back, skirts swirling around her slender legs, bracelets on her ankles and wrists, singing the words of the old songs. Clan princess—of an older line than Hanalea’s, even.

      Reid Nightwalker, dressed for dancing. Circling the fire, eying Raisa like she was a deer and he a fellscat on the hunt.

      His imagination took him further—to Raisa and Nightwalker under the blankets, their limbs intertwined, Raisa’s green eyes fastened on Nightwalker’s face, her hands entangled in those Demonai braids. Aaah! Han shook his head, trying to dislodge that image. Nightwalker might hope for a wedding, but, unlike Han, he wouldn’t decline a quick tumble in the meantime.

      What had come over Han at Marisa Pines? What must Raisa be thinking now? Not to mention Averill and Elena.

      When Han had heard that Nightwalker was to be Patriarch of Demonai Camp, he’d seen where Averill was headed—a match between Raisa and Nightwalker, a decisive triumph of clan over wizard. He’d tasted the bitter ashes of his charred hopes.

      I have to keep my head, he thought. I can’t lose control like that. Not if I want to stay alive.

      The thought of Raisa next door nearly drove Han to distraction. But he would not slide through the back hallways, keeping Raisa’s bed warm for Nightwalker.

      Kendall House stood within the castle close, just within the perimeter walls. It sheltered bluebloods in the outer circles of the queen’s affections, plus those that required more spacious quarters than could be had within the palace itself.

      Dean Abelard’s suite was on the first floor, in a prime space that let out to the garden. A servant ushered Han into a courtyard centered by a splashing fountain. Abelard sat at a small wrought-iron table, leafing through documents, occasionally scrawling notes in the margins. Her straight chin-length steel-and-russet hair obscured her face as she leaned over her work. The dean’s robes were gone. Abelard was as finely dressed as any blueblood at court, her book-and-flame stoles overtop.

      Han glanced around. It was a good choice as a meeting place. Out in the open, yet the sound of the fountain would cover their conversation from possible eavesdroppers.

      When Abelard reached the bottom of her stack of papers, she set them aside and gestured to a chair opposite her.

      Han sat down, resting his hands on his knees, head tilted back a little, hoping he looked clear-eyed and ruthless despite his aching head.

      Abelard gazed at him, chin propped on her laced fingers, elbows on the table. “My, my, Alister, you have been busy,” she murmured. “Here I was worried about how you would do on your own among the predators at court, and I find out you’re the chief predator.”

      Then why do I feel like prey? Han thought. “Don’t give me too much credit. I’ve got a lot of competition.”

      Abelard laughed. “Yes, you do. But still. Three months after you leave Oden’s Ford you are bodyguard to the Princess Raisa and her appointee to the Wizard Council. You’ve gained a title and a country home. Not only that, you’ve moved into the room next to hers. Impressive.”

      Han shrugged, thinking that Dean Abelard had learned a lot in only a few days. Or maybe she’d had somebody on the watch the whole time.

      “What else have you been up to?” Abelard asked. “What else have you learned?”

      Right. Han had come to the Fells pretending to be Abelard’s eyes and ears.

      “What do I think, or what can I prove?” Han said.

      “What do you think?”

      “Lord Bayar has tried—several times—to murder the princess heir—now the queen. She’s too independent for his liking. He’s backing the Princess Mellony. Meanwhile, Micah still hopes to bed and wed the queen.” Han wouldn’t be spilling anything Abelard didn’t already know. “You told me to keep either of those things from happening. I figured that the best way to accomplish that was to get between them and Her Majesty by sticking close to her.”

      “Very close.” Leaning forward, Abelard asked, “Are you sleeping with her?”

      Han snorted, while his heart pinged painfully. “How likely is that?”

      “I wouldn’t put it past you, Alister,” Abelard said. She reached out and brushed her fingers along the side of his face. “You are handsome, and you have a certain wicked charm. And the new queen seems to have inherited the profligate ways of her mother, Marianna.”

      Han forced down his memories of Raisa dancing with Nightwalker at Marisa Pines. He said nothing, hoped he displayed nothing.

      “It’s rumored that the princess was hiding in Oden’s Ford while Micah and Fiona were there.” Abelard kept her shrewd gray-green eyes fixed on him.

      Han СКАЧАТЬ