“He may be young, but he’s powerful,” Amon said. “And even if you managed Micah, could you have handled Lord Bayar and the rest of the Wizard Council?”

“I’ll have to manage them sooner or later,” Raisa said. “I may as well start now.”

“When you’re sixteen?” Amon raised an eyebrow.

“Some of the Gray Wolf queens were even younger when they were crowned.”

“But you’re not queen,” Amon pointed out. “Your mother is queen, and she’s made some bad decisions.”

“She’s still the queen,” Raisa said sharply. And then, sighing, “I’m sorry. I just can’t help defending her. She hasn’t given in, don’t you see? It’s been five months since I left, and she’s held firm. I should go back and relieve her.”

“The letter is two months old,” Amon pointed out. “Who knows what the situation is now? Da said stay away, that it’s too dangerous to come home. I believe him.”

“The letter is two months old,” Raisa repeated. “Maybe things are different.” Hah, Raisa thought. Rightly or wrongly, we just can’t help defending our parents.

“What about the clans?” Amon persisted. “They’d never put up with your marrying a wizard. They’d go to war over it. The Demonai would kill Micah rather than let it stand.”

There he was probably right. Raisa massaged her aching neck. How could she return home and protect her rights to the succession yet avoid a forced marriage?

Hopefully Hallie would bring an answer back from Marianna.

She looked up at Amon, who watched her as if to divine what she might do next.

“If you insist on going,” Amon said, “we’re all coming with you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Raisa said, handing the letter back to Amon. He dropped it into the flames, where it shriveled and smoked into ash.

C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - F I V E

BLUEBLOOD
WAYS

“How do I look?” Han asked, turning around in his new clothes. The tailor had measured true—his jacket and breeches fit like a second skin. The hard part had been escaping the tailor.

Dancer looked up from his book. When they’d returned from supper he’d parked himself in a comfortable chair with one of Firesmith’s nasty old books. “Stunning,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’m going to see a girlie.”

“I’ve never seen you dress like that to walk out with a girl,” Dancer said. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not getting married, are you?”

Han shook his head. “I’m taking blueblood lessons from that girlie I told you about. Rebecca Morley.”

“Hmmm. Well, you have the look down. Only, tilt back your head and look down your nose.” Han complied. “That’s it. Perfect. You’re a natural.”

“Must be my Waterlow bloodline.”