C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - O N E

BLOOD AND
ROSES

The day after the Bayars’ party, word came down from the queen that since Raisa was ill, she was to stay in her room and rest. Raisa wasn’t sure whether this was 1) Marianna’s genuine concern about her daughter’s well-being, and desire to have her well recovered in time for her own party, 2) punishment for being foolish enough to be ensnared by Micah Bayar, or 3) a strategy for building anticipation for Raisa’s name day party to a fever pitch.

Raisa sent several messages to her mother, requesting an audience, but Marianna did not reply. Hadn’t Lord Averill told her mother what the Bayars had done? Surely he had. Then why was she being punished? Raisa fumed and fretted, but it did no good.

A basketful of cards and invitations graced the table in Raisa’s entry hall, but Magret had her orders and declined them all on the princess’s behalf. As word of her purported illness circulated, gifts and flowers flowed in until the mingled fragrances made her half sick for real.

A dozen roses arrived each morning from Micah Bayar, a different color every day. When Magret refused them, they accumulated in the hallway until it looked like a shrine to some forgotten goddess. Soon Raisa was sending them out to all of her ladies-in-waiting and to the healers’ halls at the temple.

Micah sent her several messages, asking permission to visit, but she did not reply. Magret continued to sleep in her room, and a member of the Queen’s Guard always seemed to be lingering outside her door. Clearly the queen meant to prevent any clandestine trysts or further wizardly intrigue.

This prevented any meetings with Amon as well. Raisa wished she could slip out through the tunnel and climb up to the garden and find him there, pacing the cobblestones or waiting on the bench. She found herself dwelling on him more and more.

When she wasn’t thinking of Amon Byrne, she was haunted by Han Alister. The streetlord ambushed her in her dreams, swaggering up the street as he had in Ragmarket, with his quick wit and sardonic smile. She remembered the way he’d pushed her behind him, pressed a knife into her hand, and faced down six Raggers on her behalf.

If you’re going to knife someone, don’t think about it so long, he’d said. And now he was dead. Had he hesitated at some critical moment, and been lost? Was there something she could have done differently that would have saved him?

Was it her job to save him?

I need to go to parties, Raisa mused, so I don’t think so much.