before you carry the Demonai name and amulet.”
“Thank you for coming to our aid,” Amon said, the words propelled by his relentless honesty. “If not for you, I would be dead, and the princess heir a captive.”
Reid shrugged as if to say, it was nothing.
“Which raises a question,” Amon went on. “How did you happen to be here?”
“We often patrol this area,” Reid said. “Watching for jinxflingers and trespassers. The Guard presence in these parts has been rather thin.”
“Then you weren’t following us?” Amon asked.
Reid’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Digging Bird, then back at Amon. “Well, yes. We were.” Raisa suspected he might have lied had the girl not been there as witness.
“We would have welcomed you to our fire,” Amon went on.
“We were watching over the princess heir,” Reid admitted without apology.
“Well then,” Amon said. “Good you were here.” He did not smile. “We should get back to camp,” he said, looking at Raisa. “Hallie may have missed you by now, and we’d better move on. Lieutenant Gillen may be nearby.”
“You would be welcome to be our guest at Demonai Camp, Briar Rose,” Reid said, using Raisa’s clan name. “We would be glad to offer escort.”
“We just came from there,” Raisa said. “We’re heading for Westgate. I’m leaving the Fells for now, until I can get things . . . sorted out with the queen.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? To leave the Spirits?” Reid raised an eyebrow.
Raisa felt a prickle of unease, the return of her earlier forebodings. “It’s not that I want to leave,” she said. “It’s just that right now it doesn’t seem wise to stay.”
“We can protect you, Your Highness. No one will touch you at Demonai.” He smiled and touched the longbow that slanted across his back. “No one should force you from your birthright. I urge you to seek the protection of the clans.”
Raisa bit back a harsh response. After all, Nightwalker had just saved her from . . . Gillen, for a start. But she didn’t like the suggestion that she was running away.
Wasn’t that just what she was doing? Shouldn’t she stay and hold her ground? When she was queen, she wouldn’t be able to run from conflict.
When she said nothing, Reid pressed on, encouraged by her silence. “Given the dangers here, it may seem safer in the flatlands, but that is an illusion. Away from the protection of the camps, you will be vulnerable to flatlander assassins.”
“It is not my own safety I’m worried about,” Raisa snapped. “I do not intend to start a war. We can’t afford it right now. It would tear the country apart.”
“It’s time to teach the jinxflingers a lesson,” Reid said. “We cannot continue to appease them while they trample over—”
“If I meant to appease wizards, I would be married by now,” Raisa interrupted. “I will protect the Gray Wolf line. But I will not choose between my parents. I will allow time for cooler heads and good sense to prevail.”
“It seems to me the Princess Raisa has made her intentions clear,” Amon said. “If there’s nothing else, we need to get back and break camp before nightfall.”
Reid stared at Amon for a long moment. Then turned to Raisa and inclined his head. “Of course, Your Highness. I just wanted you to know that you have options. Naturally, we would be honored to escort you back to your camp.”
He swung around to Digging Bird, who was watching this exchange with intense interest and not a little surprise.
She’s probably never seen anyone say no to Nightwalker before, Raisa thought.
“Round up the loose horses,” Reid ordered Digging Bird. “Find suitable mounts for Princess Raisa and Corporal Byrne.”
Reid Demonai would be happy to see a war, Raisa realized. It’s what he lives for.
Mountain towns are all different, Han thought.
Mountain towns are all the same.
Geography drives architecture in a mountain town. In Delphi, the houses and other buildings were jammed together, like they’d slid down the slopes and jumbled into the available space along the river.
Houses built onto a hillside are deceiving: short one- stories at the back, and tall four- stories at the front. They reminded Han of brightly painted fancy girls that had seen better days. They backed into the mountainside and spread their long skirts down to the valley floor, their dirty petticoats in the gutters. The streets were narrow and tangled and cobbled with stone— a material plentiful and cheap in the mountains.
Forced into the rocky Kanwa canyon, the streets veered drunkenly around the smallest obstacles— sometimes losing their way entirely.
It was fully dark when they finally descended into the town. A choking pall of smoke thickened the air, requiring extra effort to breathe.
“It stinks worse than Southbridge,” Han said, wrinkling his nose. A different, unfamiliar stink, at least.
“They burn coal for heat and cooking here,” Dancer explained. “The smoke gets trapped in the valley. It’s worse in winter— the fires burn night and day.”
There was money in town. Intermingled with stores and businesses and more modest dwellings were street- front palaces and rich- looking row houses. Some of the houses occupied entire city blocks, faced with kilned brick and carved stone.
“Mine owners,” Dancer explained. “But even the miners make good money. The war in Arden has stoked the market for iron and coal, and prices are high. Lightfoot says the Delphians don’t mind the stinking air. They say they’re breathing money. It’s allowed them to keep their own army and stay independent of both Arden and the Fells.”
As they neared the center of town, the streets clogged up with people, reminding Han of Fellsmarch on market day.
It was a diverse crowd— black- skinned men and women from Bruinswallow, clad in the loose, striped clothing of the southerners. Southern Islanders with their dark skin, elaborate jewelry, and tangles of black hair. Leggy Northern Islanders with fair hair and blue eyes, some haloed with auras. Multiple languages collided in the streets, and exotic music poured from inns and taverns.
There was more evidence of wartime prosperity— elegant shops with all manner of trade goods; jewelry stores with glittering displays, take- away food stores with exotic offerings and intriguing, spicy smells. Han’s stomach rumbled and his mouth watered.
“Let’s find something to eat,” he said, resisting the temptation to nick a twist of salt bread from a street vendor. Hunger always seemed to bring out his old habits, but he knew better than to do slide- hand in unfamiliar territory, with no escape route laid out.
You don’t need to steal to eat, he reminded himself, touching the money pouch tucked inside his leggings as if it were a talisman.
Farther south, the city seemed darker than Fellsmarch. Everything was layered with a veneer of soot that soaked up light.
“Don’t they have lamplighters here?” Han asked, as their tired ponies plodded through a splash of light spilling from a narrow storefront church skirted on three sides with tall steps. A black- robed cleric with a golden rising sun emblazoned on his robes swept leaves and dirt out of the doorway, sending debris raining down on their heads.
Dancer shook his head. “No lamps, nor lamplighters,” he said. He fingered his amulet, conjuring a blossom of light on the tips of his fingers while Han looked on enviously. Han touched his own flashpiece, and power sizzled