When Raisa opened her mouth to object, he put up his hand. “We had a bargain. I agreed to be your bodyguard, and you agreed to appoint me to the council. As High Wizard, I’ll lose my vote except as a tiebreaker.”
“I would need to approve your choice,” Raisa countered. “Who is it?”
“Hayden Fire Dancer,” Han said, as if he’d had the answer ready.
“Fire Dancer!” She stared at Han. “He’ll never agree to that! He hates the city. He can’t wait to go back to the mountains.”
“He’ll agree,” Han said. “I’ll convince him.”
Raisa recalled what Micah Bayar had said, the day he’d asked permission to court her. The day he’d told her she was in grave danger.
Take this whole business of naming a street thief to the Wizard Council. The council is enraged. They take it as a lack of respect. They think you’re tweaking them on purpose.
“What about the council?” Raisa said. “How are they likely to react? A mixed-blood named to their most important decision-making body?”
“It’s your pick, right?” Han said. “You said you wanted to—what was the word—integrate the council into your government. Dancer would be a reliable ally.”
“They’ll kill him,” Raisa whispered. “I don’t want that on my conscience.”
Han flinched, and Raisa knew she’d gotten to him. For a long moment, he looked desperately lonely. But he collected himself. “Well,” he said, “they’ll likely kill me too, but it hasn’t happened yet.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ll make as much trouble as I can before they do.”
“All right,” Raisa said. “If you are named High Wizard, I’ll appoint Fire Dancer.”
“Can I get that in writing?” Han said, nudging a blank page across the table toward her.
Raisa stiffened. “My word is not good enough?”
“Good enough for me,” Han said. “But I’ll need proof for the Bayars, because they won’t take my word for it. I want to have it with me when I go to the council. I won’t use it unless I win the vote.”
Shaking her head, Raisa picked up a pen and scrawled a writ across the page.
In the event that Han Alister is elected High Wizard of the Fells, or otherwise cannot carry out his duties as my representative on the Wizard Council, I name Hayden Fire Dancer as his replacement. HRM Raisa ana’Marianna.
Han leaned forward, reading upside down, his head nearly touching hers. When Raisa had finished, she slid it toward him. “Will this suffice?”
Han tapped his fingers on the page. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll let you know what happens.”
I hope I’m doing the right thing, Raisa thought. Please, please, please don’t let anything happen to him.
They sat in awkward silence. Finally, Han stood. “So. If there’s nothing else …”
Raisa stood also, suddenly desperate to make him stay a little longer.
“I hope you’ll be careful,” she said, her husky voice betraying her. “Because you’re really … very important to me and—”
And before she knew what she was doing, she’d slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him.
At first he stiffened, resisting, then surrendered, and his arms enfolded her, pulling her in. She tilted her head up, and his lips came down on hers. Her mouth opened against his, and she breathed him in, a complicated mixture of sweat, wood smoke, blue ruin, and fresh air. A thousand unspoken words flowed between them.
Complicated. Complicated. And yet—simple. They were like two pieces of a failed star, drawn together by a shared history and a memory of illicit kisses.
He slid his hands under her shirt, and his fingers hissed against her skin, tracing her backbone down, cupping her backside. She kissed the hollow in his throat where the pulse beat strongest, and then his collarbone, feeling his heart thrumming under the coarsely woven fabric.
He lifted her, hands supporting her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her hands explored, found openings in his clothing, caressed bare skin. He shivered, and she felt his body shaping itself to hers, as desire drove everything else from her mind.
Finally, with a shuddering sigh, he closed his hands around her waist and straightened his arms, breaking the embrace. They stood staring at each other, both of them breathing hard.
Raisa took Han’s hand, tugging him gently toward the bedchamber. For a moment, she thought he would come, but he set his heels, resisting, shaking his head no.
“Please,” she said, pulling with both hands now, beyond having any pride at all.
His expression was a mingle of frustration, desire, and that familiar obstinacy. “I told you before the coronation,” he said. “I won’t be your backdoor lover. I’m not a thief anymore. I’m not going to steal scraps from somebody else’s table.”
“I know you told me that,” Raisa said, wanting to add, But I didn’t think you really meant it. “But if this—if this is all we can have, and—and if you want it, and I want it, then—”
“You don’t get it,” Han said softly. “If I give in, then it’s too easy to settle for living on the down-low. I need this—” He extended his empty hands toward her, then closed them into fists. “I need this if I’m going to do the hard thing.”
“This is the hard thing!” Raisa shouted, then pressed her hands over her mouth.
Cradling her chin with his battered hands, he turned her face up and kissed her again, gently this time, and sweetly, as if storing up for later. Resting his forehead against hers, he breathed deep. Then took a step back, pulling free.
“Tell me what you want from me,” Raisa whispered.
“Good night, Your Majesty.” Han’s voice shook. Scooping up Raisa’s writ, he padded catlike to the connecting door, slipped through, and closed it behind him.
Averill and Raisa walked through the ground-level gardens inside the castle close—one of their rare opportunities to be together these days. Though she’d given him a suite of rooms in the palace, he was rarely there. But today he’d come down from Demonai Camp because he had trader business with the steward.
“I wonder if the day will ever come that I can walk around the castle close, at least, without an entourage,” Raisa grumbled, glancing over her shoulder at her guard. “Nobody told me that being queen would be so … crowded.” It was just one symptom of the troubles that beset her.
“I had hoped tensions would ease after the coronation,” Averill said. “But the threat of war with Arden and Tamron keeps the pot boiling. And these street murders of wizards don’t help. I can’t seem to convince Lord Bayar that the Demonai have nothing to do with it.”
“Are you sure that they don’t?” Raisa asked. “There are hotheads on both sides.”
Averill winced, as if taking a blow. “Do you really think Elena Cennestre and I would sanction something that puts you in danger, Briar Rose?”
Raisa slid her arm through his. “No. I don’t.”
“Could it be Hunts Alone?” Averill asked. “Have you thought of that?”
Raisa