Raisa wanted to be here when the sun poured over the eastern escarpment in the morning and flooded the City of Light. She wanted to be here in the spring when the Dyrnnewater escaped from its banks, fed by the melting snows high in the Spirits. She wanted to see the aspens glittering on the slopes of Hanalea, to ride bareback in clan leggings and shirt through the slanting autumn sunlight. She wanted to eat high country blackberries in summer until the juice dribbled down her chin, and dance clan dances until her heart clamored and her feet stung.

Being away from the Fells had only reinforced her love of home. As did the choice he was asking her to make.

She looked up at Han, groping for something to say, but he shook his head. “Never mind, Your Highness. I never thought you’d run away from…from all this.” He waved his hand, taking in the palace, the city below. “You’re not the sort. I just thought it might help you figure out what you do want. What you’re willing to fight for. What you’ll give up in trade.”

“You can’t have everything,” she said.

“I can. And I will. I will find a way,” Han said, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. His usual streetlord confidence had drained away.

She put her hand on his arm, looking into his eyes. “I hope you will…continue to be my friend,” she said. “I hope that you won’t let rank and ceremony come between us.”

The expression on his face said, It already has.

Raisa’s heart seemed to seize in her chest. What if he went away? What if he turned against her? What if this was—what did he call it—a take-or-leave offer? How would she survive?

I can be anything I want, he’d said.

“I have something for you,” he said, breaking into her panicky thoughts. “A present. That’s actually why I came.”

“A present?” She blinked at him, taken by surprise.

He thrust a small deerskin bag toward her, almost like he was embarrassed.

Unlike Micah, Han was not the present-buying sort. Though he had bought her flowers once, in Oden’s Ford, when he’d been late for a tutoring session and knew she’d be angry.

Likely, growing up, he’d never had the money for presents.

“It’s for your coronation,” Han said. “Dancer made it, so in a way, it’s from both of us.”

“But he already made me that beautiful armor,” Raisa objected. “That was more than enough.”

Han cleared his throat. “All right. It’s just from me, then.”

She weighed the pouch on her palm. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Why not? Everyone else did.” He looked down at his hands. “The Bayars have sent you enough glitterbits to fill a stall at the market.”