Is he seeing someone? Raisa did her best to squelch that thought.
She couldn’t allow him to avoid her tonight. She needed to speak with him before the next meeting of the Wizard Council.
As she glumly counted out crowns and coppers, she heard a soft footstep in the corridor, a muted greeting from the bluejackets on guard outside, the click of the latch next door.
Both Magret and Cat looked at the door that connected Raisa’s and Han’s rooms, then at Raisa. Magret scowled, and Cat smirked like a fox with a mouthful of feathers.
Tired of smirking, scowling servants, Raisa said, “You both can go on to bed. Lord Alister seems to be back, and I won’t need anything else tonight.”
“I can stay, Your Majesty,” Magret and Cat said, almost in unison, but likely for different reasons.
“No,” Raisa said. “I’ll be fine. Cat, I know Hayden Fire Dancer is back in town. Maybe you’d like to go find him?”
“If you’re sure, Your Majesty,” Cat said, unable to hide her eagerness. “He’s likely already in bed, anyway. That one rises and sets with the sun.”
“And you’re asleep on your feet, Magret,” Raisa continued. “There are four guards in the hallway. I’m tired of having people underfoot,” she added, when Magret opened her mouth to object.
When she was sure Magret and Cat were gone, she pounded on the connecting door. “Han!”
Han dragged it open immediately, as if he’d been standing just on the other side with his ear to the door. “What’s the matter?” he demanded, stepping past her into the room, his hand on his amulet.
Raisa blinked at him, taken by surprise. His appearance was something of a shock, after weeks of seeing him in court garb. He was barefoot, his shirt undone, so she must have caught him in the midst of disrobing.
His clothes were fine enough, but they were torn and soiled—ruined, really, as though he’d used them to sweep up the street. He wore a velvet cap pulled down over his brilliant hair, fingerless gloves on his hands. Three pendants rested on his bare chest—the serpent amulet, the Lone Hunter amulet, and a clan talisman, the figure of a dancing piper carved in rowan.
He stank strongly of drink, and the cuffs of his sleeves were stained dark with a substance that almost looked like—
“Where’s Cat?” he said, scanning the room as if looking for intruders. “What’s happened?” He looked and sounded totally sober.
“Nothing’s happened,” she said. “I just needed to … Where have you been?”
“I’ve been down in Ragmarket,” he said, almost defensively. He yanked off the cap and stuffed it into his pocket.
“But, you look—”
“Shabby,” he said, a preemptive confession. “Dirty. I know. I didn’t plan on anyone seeing me. I didn’t expect you’d still be up.”
He looked weary and worn down—vulnerable. It was more than his clothes. Purple shadows smudged his eyes, and his face was streaked with dirt. It almost seemed like the spark of optimism that always burned within him was failing.
Impulsively, Raisa reached up and laid her palm against his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
He pressed his hand over hers, took a deep breath. “They found another dead wizard down in Pinbury Alley. Older woman name of Hadria Lancaster. Do you know her?”
Raisa nodded. “Slightly. She didn’t spend much time at court. Last I knew, she was in residence at her country home. I wonder how she ended up in Ragmarket.”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? I wish I knew.” Han met her gaze directly, as if awaiting whatever judgment she meant to impose. She closed her eyes, but his image was imprinted on her eyelids—his golden hair, burnished by lamplight, the faint zigzag scar over his cheekbone, his predator’s grace under the mucky clothes.
Raisa reluctantly withdrew her hand. “Do you have time to talk now?”
“Now?” He looked down at himself, brushing at his clothing as if embarrassed. “Are you sure? I’m sorry. I just … I’m filthy.”
“I know you’re tired,” Raisa said. “But I’ve been gone, and you’ve been unavailable. I need to talk to you before the next meeting of the Wizard Council, and I don’t even know when that is.”
“Can I clean up a little first?” he asked, scrubbing vigorously at his chin with the heel of his hand.
“All right,” she said. “But make it quick. I’m tired, too.”
Five minutes later, he knocked softly, then pushed the door open.
He was still barefoot, but he’d changed into a loose linen shirt and clean trousers. The cap was gone, his hair finger-combed, and he’d washed his face. He looked almost boyish in this fresh-scrubbed state.
“Could you please erect some barricades against eavesdroppers?” Raisa said.
Han circled the room obediently, muttering charms, sliding his hand under his snowy linen shirt to grip his amulet.
When he had finished, Raisa motioned him to the chair opposite hers at the table. He sat, his hands resting on the table, his expression guarded and yet somehow vulnerable. Now that his hands were clean, she saw that the knuckles were skinned and scabbed over. When he noticed her staring, he thrust them under the table, too late.
“What happened to your hands?” she blurted.
“I got into a scrape down in the market,” Han said, grimacing. “I’m a bit out of practice.”
“Why do you go down there?” Raisa asked. “Is that where you’re spending all your time?”
Han shifted his gaze away. “Just trying to work out who’s hushing wizards, trying to catch somebody doing the deed. I have eyes and ears down there, but if it’s a wizard doing the killing, there’s no way my people can stand up to flash. And even if they witness something and survive, it’d be their word against the killer’s.”
“You think it’s a wizard, then?” Raisa said. “Not a street gang?”
“I don’t really know. But if it was a gang from Ragmarket, Cat would know by now.” He nibbled at a ragged nail. When he was exhausted, his trader face and court manners sometimes slid away. “All they take is flash—they leave the other swag behind. So it could be wizard-on-wizard killings—that’s one way to deal with the shortage of amulets.”
And then it came to Raisa—what he was up to.
She half rose from her chair, fear and fury edging her voice. “Admit it—you’re walking the streets all night, hoping the killer comes after you!”
He hunched his shoulders against the verbal assault. “It’s a good plan. Eventually, I’ll get lucky.”
“It’s a terrible plan! I forbid you to make yourself a target.”
Han tilted his chin up, the picture of obstinacy.
“I’m serious.” She cast about for something that would sway him. “Please. I can’t afford to lose you. You’re supposed to be my bodyguard. You should be here with me, not—not—”
“You had something else you wanted to talk about?” The set of his jaw told her that further argument would get her nowhere.
This conversation is not over, Raisa thought. But it is late. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to give you fair warning. Next month I will name Sergeant Dunedain as general of the Highlander Army, replacing General Klemath.”
Han looked puzzled for a