The Demon King. Cinda Williams Chima
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would also like to welcome back to court a young man who has been like a son to us. After three years away, he has returned for the summer and will serve us on temporary assignment to the Queen’s Guard.” Queen Marianna smiled at the assembled soldiers, singling out one in particular. “Amon Byrne, come forward.”
Raisa stared, amazed, as one of the tall soldiers stepped forward and knelt before the queen. Edon Byrne drew his sword and passed it to Marianna.
“Do you, Amon Byrne, swear to protect and defend the queen, princess heir, and all of Hanalea’s descendants from our enemies, even to the loss of your life?”
“My blood is yours, Your Majesty,” this strange, tall Amon said in an unfamiliar deep voice. “It would be my honor to spill it in defense of the royal line.”
The queen tapped Amon on each broad shoulder with the flat of the blade. “Rise, Corporal Byrne, and join your captain.”
The new corporal rose, bowed again, and backed away from the queen until he stood side by side with his father, who did not loose a smile.
Raisa stood transfixed, her hand at her throat. Amon’s gray eyes were the same as she remembered, as was the straight black hair that flopped over his forehead. Much of the rest of him had been remade.
“Now,” the queen said, “let’s in to dinner.”
Raisa had no chance to speak to Amon during dinner. She was seated at the head of the table, between Micah and his father. Arkeda and Miphis sat in positions of honor on either side of the queen, with Mellony on the far side, Fiona next to her. Also within speaking distance were the Demonais, and Harriman Vega, a wizard and court physician.
As captain of the Queen’s Guard, Edon Byrne had a place near the foot of the table, but the Guard itself was stationed at the far end of the room, near the entrance to the ballroom. Raisa’s eyes kept straying to Amon.
His face was thinner, the bone structure more prominent, any trace of baby fat worn away by his time at Oden’s Ford. He had his father’s intensity packaged in a rangier body, but he’d added a new layer of muscle in his chest and arms.
Now and again she saw flashes of the boy she remembered. He stood a bit self-consciously, back straight, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Once she caught him staring at her, but he looked away quickly when their eyes met, spots of color showing on his cheeks.
She felt flustered, disconcerted, almost angry. How could Amon have turned into this other person while he was away? If they did meet, what could she possibly say to him? Sweet Leeza’s teeth, you’re tall?
“Your Highness?” The words were spoken rather loudly almost in her ear, and Raisa jumped and turned toward Micah Bayar. “You’ve scarcely touched your food, and I feel like I’m talking to myself,” he said as dessert was set before them. There was an edge to his voice that said he was irritated.
“I’m sorry,” Raisa said. “I’m afraid I’m a little distracted. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.” She poked at her pastry, wishing she were young again and could be dismissed from the table early.
“It’s no wonder you’re weary, Your Highness, after the scare this morning,” Lord Bayar said, smiling. “Perhaps a walk in the garden after dinner would restore you. Micah would be happy to accompany you.”
“Oh!” Raisa said. “Well. That’s very kind of you to think of me, Lord Bayar, but I really…”
Micah leaned in closer, speaking into Raisa’s ear so only she could hear. “Some of us are meeting later in the card room in the east wing,” he murmured. “Should be entertaining. Please come.” His hot hand closed over hers, pressing it to the table. A promise.
“What?” Raisa said distractedly.
Micah’s breath hissed through his teeth. “You keep staring at the door. Are you that eager to leave? Or is it someone in particular you’re looking at?”
Now Raisa was irritated. “I’ll thank you to mind your own business, sul’Bayar. I’ll look wherever I like.”
“Of course.” Micah released her hand and jammed his fork into his dessert. “It’s rude is all I’m saying.”
“Micah!” Lord Bayar glared at his son. “Apologize to the princess heir.”
“Sorry,” Micah said, staring straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw working. “Please forgive me, Your Highness.”
Raisa felt hemmed in by wizards, oppressed by the tension between Micah and his father. It was quite wearing.
When dinner ended, the band reassembled. There would be dancing into the small hours, relentless drinking and flirting, underscored by a series of lame entertainments. In the card room awaited the dance of the would-be suitors. It was time to escape.
She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “I’m off to bed,” she said. “I’ve a nasty headache.” She pushed back her chair. When Micah and Lord Bayar made as if to rise, she said, “Please, sit. I’d like to slip out quietly.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Micah asked, glancing at his father, then back at Raisa. “Why don’t I escort you back to your rooms?”
As if she needed help to find her way, but they’d often used that excuse to find time alone.
She stood. “No. You’re the guests of honor. Her Majesty will be disappointed if you leave. Thank you again for everything.”
Queen Marianna was looking at her, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. Raisa shrugged and again touched her forehead, the universal sign for headache. The queen nodded, blew her a kiss, and turned back to Miphis, who still looked thrilled and amazed to be sitting next to the queen.
Raisa walked the length of the dining room to the door. Hesitating, she looked back and saw the Demonais watching, a faint smile on Elena’s face.
As she passed between Amon and his fellow soldier, she did not look to the left or right, but muttered, “The usual place, soon as you’re able.”
Han put off leaving Marisa Pines as long as possible. It was late morning the next day when he said his good-byes and descended Hanalea, following the Dyrnnewater toward the Vale.
He’d sold or traded everything but the worthless snagwort, which would have to wait for the Flatlander Market. Coins jingled in his purse, and his bag bulged with trade goods—fabric and leatherwork he could sell at a profit, pouches of clan remedies, plus enough smoked venison to make a meal. And the amulet, hidden at the bottom.
He still mourned the deer he might have taken, but all in all, he’d done well for this early in the season.
He hoped Mam would agree.
On the way down the mountain, he stopped off at several solitary cabins to see if there was mail to go or goods to be carried down to market or orders for supplies that he would carry up the next time. Many of the cabin dwellers were clan who preferred life away from the bustle of the camps. There were also former flatlanders who liked solitude or had reason to avoid the notice of the queen’s heavy-handed guard. Han earned a little money by carrying news and mail up and down the mountains and acting as agent for those highlanders who didn’t care to visit the Vale.
Lucius Frowsley was one of those. His cabin stood where Old Woman Creek poured into the Dyrnnewater. He’d lived on the mountain so long, he looked like a piece broken off of it, with his craggy face and the clothes that draped his skinny body like juniper on a hillside. His eyes were opaque and cloudy as a winter sky—he’d been blinded as a young man.
Despite his blindness, the old man owned the most productive still in the Spirit Mountains.
Though Lucius