The Crimson Crown

Together, Nightwalker as the Demonai Warrior and Hanalea swept away the cloth flames and chased off the drummers. A cheer went up from the audience as they embraced. The dance was finally over, Hanalea’s victory complete.

Han rolled to his feet and walked out of the clearing without a word, melting into the darkness.

Afterward, Nightwalker walked Raisa back toward the Matriarch Lodge. Light and voices spilled from the entrance. Willo was hosting guests from other camps, along with Han and Dancer.

A short distance from the lodge, Nightwalker drew Raisa onto a side path. “Please. Let’s not go back right away,” he said. “Come sit by the river with me.”

“All right,” Raisa said, instantly wary. “But only for a little while. It’s been a long day.”

As they navigated the rocky, narrow path toward the river, Raisa thought she heard a faint sound behind her, like a footfall. Wolves again? She turned around but saw nothing.

Nightwalker heard it too. He stood frowning, listening. All Raisa could hear was the sigh of the wind through the treetops.

“Probably a straggler from the dance,” he said, and ushered her forward.

They sat down on a flat rock next to the water. The Dyrnnewater laughed over stones, a dark ribbon flecked with bits of foam.

Nightwalker slid an arm around Raisa, pulling her close. “Briar Rose,” he whispered. “You are a fine dancer.”

“And you, also,” Raisa said, still distracted by the last dance and worrying about its meaning. Wondering where Han had fled to.

“You are a beautiful Hanalea,” Nightwalker said. “You put the original to shame.”

“Hmm,” Raisa said, trying to focus on the conversation. “Not many people would agree with you.”

“Then they are wrong. You are stronger. More … arousing. Who would choose a pale flatlander over a clan princess?” Turning her to face him, he drew her in for a kiss.

“Nightwalker!” Raisa pushed him back with a two-handed shove. “No.”

Nightwalker took a deep breath, then released it slowly. He settled back, sitting on his heels, dropping his hands onto his knees. “You have changed since you’ve been in the flatlands,” he said. “I keep forgetting.” He smiled ruefully. “You look like the girl I remember. It is easy to fall into old habits, especially here.” He took a deep breath. “Do you remember how we used to slip away into the woods and—”

“We’ve both changed,” Raisa interrupted. “So much has happened.”

Nightwalker put his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up. “Do you have to be queen tonight?” he asked, searching her face.

“I have to be queen every night, from now on,” Raisa said sharply. After an awkward silence, she said, “How long have you known that my father had chosen you as his successor?”

“Not long,” Nightwalker said. “He told me of his intentions a few weeks ago. I hope you are pleased.” He studied her face as if looking for a sign.

Raisa wasn’t sure what to say. “It makes sense,” she said. “You are a natural leader, and I know you have significant support—among the Demonai warriors, especially.” She paused, wondering whether to go on. “I just hope your new role won’t make it more likely we will go to war.”

“Why would it?” Nightwalker said, his eyes on her lips.

“We cannot continue on as we are, splintered and squabbling among ourselves,” Raisa said, trying to read his face in the shadows of the trees. “But you’ve never been good at compromise.”

“We have already compromised,” Nightwalker said. “For a thousand years, we have allowed jinxflinger invaders to occupy lands that once belonged to us.”

“That’s just my point,” Raisa said. “Nobody seems willing to forget the history that divides us. How long do wizards have to be here before you accept that they are here for good?”

“We remember for good reason,” Nightwalker said. “That’s what the songs and stories and dances are for—to make sure we never forget.”

“So it’s hopeless, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

Nightwalker shook his head. “Whether or not there is a war is in the hands of the Wizard Council. And you.”

“What do you mean?” Raisa asked.

“You are queen now,” Nightwalker said. “You can choose who to marry.”

“You mean I can choose not to marry a wizard,” Raisa said.

“I mean, you could choose to marry me,” Nightwalker said, taking her hands.

The words fell hard, like a stone between them.

It was eerily similar to the argument Micah Bayar had made, the day he had asked permission to court her.

For a thousand years, we have been imprisoned by the past. You have the power to make changes. The future is in your hands, if you will only seize it.

“You’re saying there’ll be a war if I don’t marry you?” Raisa ripped her hands free.

“That’s not what I meant,” Nightwalker said, raising his hands. “Please. Hear me out.”

“I’m listening,” Raisa said, folding her arms.

Nightwalker looked around as if help might come out of the trees. “I am not as good with words as some.”

“Agreed,” Raisa said tartly.

“Think about it,” Nightwalker said. “The clans were the first peoples in the Fells. We have lived here always, longer even than the Valefolk. And yet we have always been ruled by others. First by the Valefolk, who built wealth from their croplands. And later by the wizards, who conquered the Valefolk.”

He paused as if waiting for a response, and Raisa said, “Go on.”

“Wizards and clan are divided by our natures. Even our magical traditions put us in opposition. Wizards destroy the earth with their magics. We celebrate the natural world.” Nightwalker shrugged. “We will never surrender, Briar Rose. But that doesn’t mean there has to be bloodshed.”

He touched Raisa’s hand cautiously, as if aware that she might snatch it back. “It’s time the Spirit clans ruled the Fells, as we were meant to do. It begins with you.”

“How so?”

“You are of the Gray Wolf line, but you are also clan royalty, through Lord Demonai. Marry me, and our children will be three-quarters clan. Our children can marry into one of the other camps, strengthening the line further. Together, Valefolk and clan can rein in the excesses of the wizards.”

“By that reasoning, Lord Bayar would say that since I am already of mixed blood, I should marry a wizard, to join wizards to the throne.”

“Wizards had five hundred years of the Captivity to mingle their seed with the Gray Wolf line,” Nightwalker said, his voice low and bitter. “That’s enough.”

“Marrying me will not win over most Valefolk,” Raisa said, thinking of flatland attitudes toward the Spirit clans. “What makes you think they will ally with you?”

“All I need is you, Briar Rose,” Nightwalker said. Digging into his carry bag, he pulled forth a bundle wrapped in deerskin and extended it toward her.