related? If he knew that Han Alister, a streetlord and thief, was his descendent? If he knew how far the family fortunes had fallen?
How could it be a good thing to forge a link to Waterlow that could never be broken? It was one thing to be related to a Demon King who had died a thousand years ago, and whose tainted blood had been diluted by centuries of intermarriage. It was quite another for him to be resurrected and entwined in Han’s life.
Then again, Han was beginning to question everything he’d always believed. Who was he to preach sermons, after all? If Alger Waterlow and the Bayars were enemies, who would he choose between them? And Lucius—Lucius Frowsley had been Waterlow’s best friend—a thousand years ago. He’d believed in him. Defended him to Han.
It had been difficult enough to go back to Aediion. Now Han was more confused than ever.
He arrived in Fetters Ford in early afternoon, on an unusually warm early spring day. He made his usual rounds of inns and taverns, asking after Rebecca. In one called the Purple Heron, the taproom was deserted, save a sturdy-looking boy wiping down tables.
The boy looked up at Han’s approach, his round face wary. “If you’re hungry, we got a ham we can slice down, and the bread’s fresh made,” he said, swiping sweat from his face with his sleeve. “If you’re looking for a hot supper, you’ll have to wait.”
“I’m looking for a girlie,” Han said.
“We don’t host that kind of trade,” the boy said. “You might try Dogbottom’s, down the high street.”
Han shook his head. “I’m looking for a particular girlie,” he said, wishing he had an image of Rebecca to show. “She’s small, with green eyes and black hair, maybe chin-length.” He stuck out his hand, indicating her height. “A mixed-blood. Pretty.”
The server’s head came up, and he glared at Han, his cheeks smudged pink. Then he turned away and resumed scrubbing like he meant to take the finish right off. “Don’t remember nobody like that,” he said.
Han stared at his broad back, made temporarily speechless by the server’s reaction. “Ah. Are you sure? She might have been with two charmcasters, tall ones, a girlie and a boy, about our age.”
“Nope.” The boy flung down his rag and moved to the hearth. Snatching up the iron poker, he thrust it into the flames. “If you’re not here for food and drink, you’d best move on.”
Han threaded his way between the tables, moving in closer. “Could have been a few weeks ago,” he persisted. “Are you sure you haven’t—?”
With a roar, the boy wheeled around and charged at Han, wielding the heated poker.
Han danced aside, hooking his foot around the boy’s ankle so he sprawled forward onto the stone floor, the poker pinwheeling across the room and clattering against the wall.
Han guessed this tavern boy hadn’t been in many street fights.
In a heartbeat, Han had planted his knee above the server’s tailbone and twisted his arm behind him until the boy cried out in pain.
“Twitch, and I’ll break your arm,” Han said through gritted teeth.
The boy said nothing, but he didn’t move, either.
“Now, then,” Han said softly. “Let’s have the truth. Start with your name.”
The server turned his head so Han could see one round eye. “S-Simon,” he said. “It’s Simon.”
“All right, Simon,” Han said. “Don’t waste my time. What do you know? When was she here, and who with?”
Simon shook his head carefully. “Do what you want, but I’m not telling you nothing,” he mumbled. “I’m not talking to any cutthroat, thieving highwayman.”
Han took a deep breath, his pulse accelerating. Keeping pressure on the arm, he put his free hand on Simon’s shoulder, allowing unchanneled flash to trickle into the tavern boy.
Simon twitched. “Hey! What do you think you—?”
“Simon,” Han said, lacing his speech with persuasion. “I don’t want to hurt her. I only want to find her and keep her safe.”
“You’re—you’re—you’re …” And then he seemed to forget what he was about to say. Simon’s visible eye was going droopy-lidded. “I don’t know anything about any girlie. I don’t trust you.”
“There isn’t much time,” Han said. “She’s in danger. You have to help me.”
Tears pooled in Simon’s eyes, spilling down his cheeks. “It’s too late anyway. She’s dead.” He sniffled wetly. “It’s your fault.”
“What do you mean—she’s dead?” Han demanded, louder than he’d intended.
“Ow!” Simon said, thrashing under Han’s weight. “You’re burning me.”
Han let go of Simon’s shoulder and gripped his amulet, channeling the power torrenting through him. He lowered his voice, but somehow it came out sounding deadlier than before. “I’m going to let you sit up,” he said. “And then you’re going to tell me what happened. Right now.”
Han sat back on his heels, one hand on his amulet. Simon sat up, facing him, his expression sullen and wary and frightened. Han reached out and gripped the boy’s wrist and opened the flow of power.
Simon’s eyes fastened on Han’s face like he was witch-fixed as he stumbled into speech. “She stayed here three or four weeks. I could tell she was running from somebody, but it was like she was waiting for somebody, too—somebody to help her. She always wanted to know about who else was in the taproom. Now I know. She was running from you,” Simon said bluntly, persuasion freeing his tongue.
Han said nothing, and Simon continued. “Two days ago, a group of rovers came in, and one of them—scruffy-looking, he was—he was bothering her, trying to buy her drinks and like that. Well, she’d have none of that. She told him off, then walked out in the stable yard, said she needed some air.” Simon gulped in some air himself. “An’ that’s the last I saw of her. I know she didn’t leave on her own. She left her things in her room, but her horse was gone, and them rovers that was bothering her, too.”
“What kind of rovers?” Han said. “Were they charmcasters? Soldiers?”
“I don’t know,” Simon said. “Could’ve been soldiers. Lots of sell-swords come and go these days, most not wearing colors. Not so many jinxfl—charmcasters. And the borderlands is full of thieves, murderers, and worse. These spoke Ardenine, but spent Fellsian coin.”
“Did she give a name?” Han persisted.
“Brianna. It was Lady Brianna. A trader.” Simon swiped at his nose.
Brianna. Well, Rebecca would have reason not to give her real name if she thought the Bayars were still after her.
“Describe her again,” Han said.
“She had copperhead blood,” Simon said, “but still you could tell she was a lady—not the kind that usually dines in taverns. She was gracious and kind—always a good word for … for anybody.”
Simon was smitten—any fool could tell. But Han knew there was something Simon wasn’t saying.
“What else?” Han said, trickling more power into Simon. “What happened? Why do you think she’s dead?”
“Th—there was two other Tamron ladies were going to travel with her. Bluebloods. They followed her outside. We found them in the yard—stabbed to death and robbed. I’m guessing ’twas the same bunch.”
Han’s hopes turned to lead inside him. Was it possible Rebecca had come all this way on her own, only to be murdered or kidnapped by bully ruffins?
“But you didn’t find Lady Brianna’s