“Fire Dancer’s gifts come from the Maker,” someone said in a loud clear voice. “Who are we to question the Maker’s will?”

Raisa swung around. It was Night Bird, the young Demonai warrior. The one who still worshipped at the altar of Reid Nightwalker.

There followed a stunned silence. Dancer and Han flat-out stared at her, but Nightwalker looked the most astonished of all.

“Perhaps Dancer’s unique talents are just what we need right now,” Night Bird went on. “Perhaps we should welcome any gift that helps keep this queen safe.”

Reid Nightwalker’s expression turned from astonishment to betrayal. “Night Bird, think again,” he said. “Some gifts are better declined.”

“Who decides that?” Han said. “Not the Demonai.”

“I have decided,” Raisa said in a loud voice. “I have decided to accept Fire Dancer’s gift, and that ends the discussion. You all will go down and join the others at the memorial site. Han, Dancer, and I will remain here until it is time for the service to begin.”

“Why don’t you ride down with us now?” Nightwalker asked, eying Han, making no attempt to hide his mistrust.

“I need to be seen as queen of all the people of the Fells—Valefolk, wizards, and the Spirit clans,” Raisa said. “I’m already dressed in clan garb. If I ride in with upland clan, I’ll appear to belong to you.” Surveying the sea of frowns around her, she added, “Don’t worry, I don’t mean to die today.”

Reid Nightwalker insisted on staying behind with Raisa and a small party of Demonai—in case of ambush, he said. Whether by Han Alister or somebody else, he didn’t say. Raisa and her party stood in the fringes of the trees, watching the rest of the Demonai descend to the tomb. Including Bird, whom Nightwalker sent on with the others.

Raisa sat down with the copy of the Book of Temple Prayers and Liturgy she’d brought from Marisa Pines. Han and Dancer rested under a tree, talking softly, their hands on their amulets, storing as much power as possible in the time they had left. Reid Nightwalker and his warriors kept watch on events below. Willo sorted through the bundles of cloth that had come out of her saddlebags.

Raisa read and reread the passages assigned to her, struggling to concentrate, speaking the powerful words under her breath, committing them once again to memory.

Raisa had studied the prayers in preparation for her name day, but she’d never actually attended a state funeral. Queen Lissa, her grandmother, had died before Raisa was born. Marianna, too, had ascended to the throne at a young age. Raisa couldn’t help wondering if her mother would have done better had she had more time to grow into the job.

Now Raisa faced the same dilemma. Would it be too much power, too soon, for her?