“Your Highness?” Han’s voice broke into their conversation. Raisa looked up to see that Han and Dancer were already mounted.

Dancer waved his hand and galloped over the crest of the hill and disappeared. He would ride ahead, finding a vantage point where he could keep an eye on the Bayars and other wizards present and prevent any magical attacks.

Han sat on his horse with his back very straight, his face as cold, still, and pale as sculpted marble, his vivid blue eyes the only color. He wore the coat Willo had made for him. It was black and silver, decorated with paint and stitching. Metallic serpents squirmed up the sleeves from hem to shoulder. A gray wolf and a raven faced each other on the lapels of the coat, and the back was embroidered with a wizard staff coiled with serpents, thrust through the Gray Wolf crown.

What’s that about? Raisa wondered. He was of common birth, so would have no family crest. Then again, some commoners devised a signia when they rose in the world.

Han didn’t seem to be the sort to care about those sorts of things.

The gray wolf must signify that he was in her service. But why would he go to so much trouble to proclaim an obligation that he no doubt found onerous? Also, he must have discussed it with Willo long before their trailside conversation. The feeling returned that she was being played by a master.

“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.