“Everyone in this queendom has to be a politician,” Han said. “It will take a while to get it all sorted out, and meantime, I’m in gaol. I can’t prove I’m innocent if I’m locked up. And if I go into gaol, the Bayars will make sure I don’t come out alive.”

It came back to Raisa how she’d argued with the streetlord Cuffs Alister about the queen’s justice. She was no longer the naive girl who had insisted, You’ll get a fair trial.

“But…I’m worried that the Demonai or the Bayars will get to you if you’re out on your own.” Raisa bit her lip to stop its trembling.

“Haven’t you heard about me?” he said, with a tight smile. “I’m really a very dangerous person.” And he did look dangerous until he said, “Look, could you watch Dog for me while I’m gone? I can’t take him where I’m going.”

Dog had rolled over, exposing his belly for scratching. Raisa complied. “Of course, but I don’t want to let you out of my sight. I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.”

“It’s only for a little while,” Han said. Dropping to his knees in front of her, he gripped both her hands and said, “Raisa ana’Marianna, Queen of the Fells, will you marry me?”

She examined his face, but there was no trace of humor there.

“What are you planning to do?” Raisa said.

“Marry you, if you’ll have me.” He looked into her eyes. “I promise you that if you agree to marry me, I will make it happen.”

“That won’t make anybody happy,” Raisa said.

“Except for the two of us,” Han said. He grinned. “And maybe Dog.”

Royal marriages were not done this way. Royal marriages were matters of negotiation between ambassadors in faraway courts, over months and years, hammering out thorny issues of dowries and successions. There was no place for promises and pledges in gardens.

She thought of all the powers arrayed against them. A bittersweet, reckless joy seized her.

“I will marry you, Hanson Alister.”

He stood and kissed her hard on the mouth in a way that once again set her blood surging through her veins.

“But I still want to know what you’re planning,” she said, as soon as her lips were free. “No more secrets, remember?”

“No more secrets,” he said, with a heavy sigh. “All right. Have you heard of the Armory of the Gifted Kings?”

Raisa stared at him. “That’s just a story told to children. It doesn’t exist.”

“It does. Our ancestor, Alger Waterlow, stole it, and it hasn’t been seen since. I know somebody who knows where it is. Once I have it, everything changes.” He kissed her again. “I’ll meet you here in the garden, one week from today, at midnight.”