“Your Highness?” Han repeated. It still sounded peculiar when he said it. He jerked his head toward the top of the hill. “Are you ready?”

Raisa managed to haul herself into Switcher’s saddle despite the added weight of the armor. The mare crow-hopped a little at the unexpected burden.

“Yes,” Raisa said, steadying herself. “Let’s go.”

C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - F O U R

FAREWELLS

Han looked down the freshly named Marianna Peak to the preparations under way downslope. From this distance he could make out spots of color, like splashes of paint. Bright bluejacket blue splashed around what must be Captain Edon Byrne’s modest tomb.

Han wished he’d had a chance to discuss his plans with Corporal Byrne. That bluejacket was a good one to have at your back.

He wished he’d had a chance to pick Crow’s brain in preparation—to ask his advice. It had been a mistake to surprise Crow by introducing him to Dancer just when he needed his help the most. He wondered if he’d ever see him again.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, Mam used to say.

The Demonai pavilion flew the unlidded eye banner, and the Demonai themselves were clustered upslope from the dais, like the brown and pale green of the springtime forest. Bird was down there somewhere.

She’d surprised him by defying Reid Demonai. She’d always been strong-willed and opinionated, and he guessed that was likely to cause friction with Nightwalker. It would be interesting to see what would happen from here on.

Well. Not all that interesting. What happened between Bird and Nightwalker was not his business.

The Gray Wolf banner snapped in the breeze, high atop the tent where the Princess Mellony must be housed. And the Wizard Council had its own pavilion, bearing the flame-and-sword motif of the High Wizard.

They reminded Han of armed camps facing each other, like what he’d seen in war-torn Arden. He recalled what Crow had said about leverage. Apply a little pressure where it will do the most good, and a lot can be accomplished. There was opportunity in the thousand-year-old faults that split the peoples of the Fells. Han meant to take advantage. It was the only way to win this thing. The only way to get what he wanted—once he decided what that was.

The dais was a flower garden of color—packed with the nobility dressed in their best. It was, after all, a joyous occasion for somebody. Another queen would soon rule over the Vale.

Somebody had made that happen, and Han needed to find out who, and why.

The lower slopes of Marianna were layered with the muted tones commoners favored—colors that wouldn’t show dirt with repeated wearings. Five-day colors, Mam would have called them.

The very ground seemed to heave and ripple as thousands of people jockeyed for a better view. Latecomers had no hope of getting within miles of the ceremony. Cat would be down there somewhere, too, working her own kind of magic.