The valley had come alive with people. Travelers clogged the roads, using conveyances appropriate to their stations. Some rode on fine horses, leaving the roads and cutting cross-country when they became impatient with their slow progress. Fine carriages competed for space with wagons packed with those who could spare a girlie for a ride. And some came afoot, even entire families, mothers and fathers carrying small children, scarves wrapped around their faces to turn the dust of the road.

They jammed the roads that descended from Fellsmarch, crossed the Vale, and climbed Marianna to the north. The citizens of Fellsmarch were turning out to say good-bye to their queen.

Raisa was touched and surprised. Marianna had not been popular, at least among the folk in the poorer neighborhoods of the capital. They had exploded in riots when it was rumored that the queen meant to set Raisa aside and name Mellony heir in her place.

“Sweet Martyred Lady,” she whispered. “It looks like the entire city is on the move.”

“Ragmarket and Southbridge, anyway. Plus all the bluebloods, of course.”

Raisa flinched and turned. Han Alister stood next to her, looking down on the Vale. He could ghost about like any clan warrior.

He shaded his eyes, the wind ruffling his hair. “Maybe Westmarket, Roast Meat Hill, and the Bottoms, too.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “How do you know?”

“I sent Cat Tyburn down to the city,” Han said. “Told her to spread the word that the Princess Raisa would be here and might need an assist. That there were them that might try and take her throne away from her. Or hush her on the spot or slap her in darbies.” He slid easily back into the thieves’ cant she’d spent months tutoring him out of.

“What?” She tilted her head, looking up at him. “After we went to all this effort to keep my presence a secret, you spread it all over town?”

Han rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think Lord Bayar listens to rumors from Ragmarket? Do you think the Council of Nobles meets in the Keg and Crown?” He laughed. “The Raggers and Southies are no danger to you unless you’re carrying a fat purse through the streets. It’s the bluebloods you got to watch out for. I hear they’re rum liars and connivers.” He looked straight at her, his blue eyes hard and brilliant as sapphires.

The pressure of his gaze was like a physical blow, but Raisa forced herself to stand her ground. “Han. I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “If I had it to do over, I’d—”

“There are no do-overs, are there, Your Highness?” Han said.

“No,” Raisa said, “but—”