to knee on the floor, talking. If they weren’t arguing, they were close to it. Han faded back into the doorway, embarrassed, not wanting to interrupt. But he could hear everything they said.
“Did you expect me to just stand by while they burned up the mountain?” Dancer was saying, his voice trembling with anger. “I’m not a coward.”
Han was shocked. No one ever spoke that way to Willo.
“I expect you to remember that you are only sixteen years old,” Willo replied calmly. “I expect you to use common sense. There was no point in confronting them. What did it accomplish? Did your bravery put the fire out?”
Dancer said nothing, only looked furious.
She reached out and stroked his cheek. “Let it go, Dancer, as I have,” she said softly. “This isn’t like you. A grudge against wizards will only get you into trouble.”
“They weren’t much older than me and Han,” Dancer countered stubbornly. “Haven’t you said that wizards have to be sixteen to go to Oden’s Ford? And didn’t you say they aren’t allowed to use magic until they get some training?”
“What wizards are allowed to do and what they actually do are two different things,” Willo said. She stood and moved to the loom, fussing with the warp. “Who were they? Do you know?”
“The one was called Micah,” Dancer said. “Micah Bayar.”
Willo was looking away from Dancer and toward Han, so he saw the blood drain from her face when Dancer said the name. “Are you sure?” she asked, without turning around.
“Well, pretty sure.” Dancer sounded confused, as if he’d caught something in her voice. “Why?”
“He’s in Aerie House. That’s a powerful wizard family,” Willo said. “And not one to cross. Did they ask your name?”
Dancer lifted his chin. “I told them my name. I said I was Fire Dancer of Marisa Pines Camp.” He hesitated. “But he seemed to know me as Hayden.”
Willo closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. Her next words surprised Han. “What about Hunts Alone?” she asked. “Did he speak? Do they know his name?”
Dancer cocked his head, thinking. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t remember him introducing himself.” He laughed bitterly. “They probably won’t remember anything but his arrow, aimed at their black wizard hearts.”
Willo swung around, facing Dancer, so Han could no longer see her face. “He turned a bow on them?” she said, her voice cracking on the word bow.
Dancer shrugged. “The one called Micah, he had an amulet. He was jinxing me. Hunts Alone made him stop.”
Han held his breath, waiting for Dancer to tell Willo that Han had taken the amulet, but he didn’t.
Willo sighed, looking troubled. “I’ll speak to the queen. This has to stop. She needs to enforce the Naéming and keep wizards out of the mountains. If she doesn’t, the Demonai warriors will.”
This was astonishing, Willo talking about what the queen needed to do. She made it sound as if speaking to the queen was an everyday thing. She was the matriarch, but still. Han tried to imagine what it would be like, meeting the queen.
Your Exalted Majesty. I’m Han Plantslinger. Mud-digger. Former streetlord of the Raggers.
Willo and Dancer had moved on to another topic. Willo leaned forward, putting her hand over Dancer’s. “How are you feeling?”
Dancer pulled his hand free and canted his body away. “I’m well,” he said stiffly.
She eyed him for a long moment. “Have you been taking the flying rowan?” she persisted. “I have more if you—”
“I’ve been taking it,” Dancer interrupted. “I have plenty.”
“Is it working?” she asked, reaching for him again. As a healer, she used touch for diagnosis and for healing itself.
Dancer stood, evading her hand. “I’m well,” he repeated, with flat finality. “I’m going to go find Hunts Alone.” He turned toward the doorway where Han was lurking.
“Tell him to eat with us,” Willo called after Dancer.
Han
“Did you expect me to just stand by while they burned up the mountain?” Dancer was saying, his voice trembling with anger. “I’m not a coward.”
Han was shocked. No one ever spoke that way to Willo.
“I expect you to remember that you are only sixteen years old,” Willo replied calmly. “I expect you to use common sense. There was no point in confronting them. What did it accomplish? Did your bravery put the fire out?”
Dancer said nothing, only looked furious.
She reached out and stroked his cheek. “Let it go, Dancer, as I have,” she said softly. “This isn’t like you. A grudge against wizards will only get you into trouble.”
“They weren’t much older than me and Han,” Dancer countered stubbornly. “Haven’t you said that wizards have to be sixteen to go to Oden’s Ford? And didn’t you say they aren’t allowed to use magic until they get some training?”
“What wizards are allowed to do and what they actually do are two different things,” Willo said. She stood and moved to the loom, fussing with the warp. “Who were they? Do you know?”
“The one was called Micah,” Dancer said. “Micah Bayar.”
Willo was looking away from Dancer and toward Han, so he saw the blood drain from her face when Dancer said the name. “Are you sure?” she asked, without turning around.
“Well, pretty sure.” Dancer sounded confused, as if he’d caught something in her voice. “Why?”
“He’s in Aerie House. That’s a powerful wizard family,” Willo said. “And not one to cross. Did they ask your name?”
Dancer lifted his chin. “I told them my name. I said I was Fire Dancer of Marisa Pines Camp.” He hesitated. “But he seemed to know me as Hayden.”
Willo closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. Her next words surprised Han. “What about Hunts Alone?” she asked. “Did he speak? Do they know his name?”
Dancer cocked his head, thinking. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t remember him introducing himself.” He laughed bitterly. “They probably won’t remember anything but his arrow, aimed at their black wizard hearts.”
Willo swung around, facing Dancer, so Han could no longer see her face. “He turned a bow on them?” she said, her voice cracking on the word bow.
Dancer shrugged. “The one called Micah, he had an amulet. He was jinxing me. Hunts Alone made him stop.”
Han held his breath, waiting for Dancer to tell Willo that Han had taken the amulet, but he didn’t.
Willo sighed, looking troubled. “I’ll speak to the queen. This has to stop. She needs to enforce the Naéming and keep wizards out of the mountains. If she doesn’t, the Demonai warriors will.”
This was astonishing, Willo talking about what the queen needed to do. She made it sound as if speaking to the queen was an everyday thing. She was the matriarch, but still. Han tried to imagine what it would be like, meeting the queen.
Your Exalted Majesty. I’m Han Plantslinger. Mud-digger. Former streetlord of the Raggers.
Willo and Dancer had moved on to another topic. Willo leaned forward, putting her hand over Dancer’s. “How are you feeling?”
Dancer pulled his hand free and canted his body away. “I’m well,” he said stiffly.
She eyed him for a long moment. “Have you been taking the flying rowan?” she persisted. “I have more if you—”
“I’ve been taking it,” Dancer interrupted. “I have plenty.”
“Is it working?” she asked, reaching for him again. As a healer, she used touch for diagnosis and for healing itself.
Dancer stood, evading her hand. “I’m well,” he repeated, with flat finality. “I’m going to go find Hunts Alone.” He turned toward the doorway where Han was lurking.
“Tell him to eat with us,” Willo called after Dancer.
Han
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