The Demon King. Cinda Williams Chima

he carried them up.

      The best part: Lucius had books—not as many as in the temple library, but more books than any one man had a right to. He kept them locked in a trunk to protect them from the weather. What a blind man needed with a library, Han couldn’t say, but the old man encouraged him to take full advantage, and he did. Some days he staggered down the mountain with half his weight in books.

      That was another mystery—Han should have read them all twice over by now. But Lucius always seemed to have new ones.

      Lucius was cranky and profane and maybe siphoned off a little too much of his own product. But he was fair to Han, and told the truth, and always paid on time, which was rare. No one had dared steal from Cuffs Alister, streetlord of Ragmarket. But since he’d left the life, Han had been cheated more times than he cared to remember.

      Lucius was also a nonjudgmental source of information. He knew everything, and, unlike Mam, he’d answer any question without a lecture.

      The hillside cabin was empty, as was the distillery shack behind, but Han knew where to look. He found Lucius fishing in Old Woman Creek, which he did daily three seasons of the year. It was an excuse to sit and doze on the creek bank and sip from the bottle he always kept at hand. His dog, a rough-coated shepherd named Dog, sprawled by his feet.

      As Han walked up the creek bed toward him, Lucius dropped his fishing pole and jerked around as if startled. The old man raised his hands as if for protection, his face pale and frightened, his blighted eyes wide under his wiry brows.

      “Who’s there?” he demanded, sleeves flapping around skinny arms. Like usual, he was dressed in mismatched clan castoffs and Ragmarket finds. Being blind, he wasn’t fussy about color.

      “Hey, Lucius,” Han called. “It’s just me. Han.”

      Dog raised his head and woofed approvingly, then rested his head on his paws, twitching his ears to drive off flies.

      Lucius’s hands came down, though he still looked wary. “Boy!” he said. Lucius always called him boy. “You oughtn’t to sneak up on folks that way.”

      Han rolled his eyes. He’d come along the water, same as always. Everybody was acting strange today.

      Han squatted next to Lucius, touching his shoulder so he’d know where he was, and the old man started violently.

      “Catching anything?” Han asked, beginning to feel aggravated.

      Lucius squinted his rheumy blue eyes like it was a hard question, then reached down and hauled a clan-woven fish basket out of the creek. “Catched all of four, so far.”

      “Those fish for sale?” Han asked. “I can get you a good price at the market.”

      Lucius considered this a moment. “Nope. Going to eat these fish m’self.”

      Han settled himself back against a tree and extended his long legs in their flatland breeches. “Need anything to go with?” he asked, patting his backpack. “I have dried peppers and Tamron spice.”

      Lucius snorted. “Fish will do me fine, boy.”

      “Anything for Fellsmarch?” Han asked.

      Lucius nodded. “It’s set aside in the dog run.”

      Their business concluded, Han stared out at the rocks pricking the surface of the creek. Lucius still seemed jittery and unsettled. He kept tilting his head this way and that, as if to pick up a scent or a faint sound on the breeze. “You got your cuffs on, boy?” he asked abruptly.

      “What do you think?” Han muttered. Like he could get them off.

      Lucius seized Han’s arm and dragged back his sleeve, fingering the silver band as if to read the runes by touch. The old man grunted and released Han’s arm, still muttering to himself.

      “What’s with you?” Han demanded, yanking at his sleeves.

      “I smell hex magic,” Lucius said, in typically incompre-hensible Frowsley fashion.

      Han thought of the amulet in his carry bag, but decided there was no way Lucius could know it was in there. “What do you know about magic?”

      “A little.” Lucius rubbed his nose with his forefinger. “Not enough and too much.”

      Han tried again. “What do you know about wizards, then?”

      Lucius sat motionless for a long moment. “Why do you ask?”

      Han stared at him. Most adults answered questions with questions, but not Lucius.

      When Han didn’t answer immediately, the old man clamped his hand down on Han’s shoulder. “Why do you ask?” Lucius repeated fiercely.

      “Ow. Hey, take it easy,” Han said, and Lucius let go. “Dancer and I had a run-in with some wizards up on Hanalea,” Han said, rubbing his shoulder. He told Lucius what had happened.

      “Bayar, you say?” Lucius scowled and found his fishing pole again. “Thea’s bloody, bloody bones.”

      Lucius had been born on the mountain known as Thea, spiritual home of that legendary queen of the Fells. So he favored Thea when it came to swearing, even though most swore by Hanalea.

      Han asked him about it once, and Lucius told him that Hanalea was too powerful a word to be flinging around.

      “Do you know him?” Han asked.

      Lucius nodded. “Know of him. His father more so. Gavan Bayar. He’s the High Wizard, you know. Heart as cold as the Dyrnnewater. Ambitious too. You don’t want to get in his way.”

      Micah Bayar had mentioned his father’s high office, like bluebloods always did. “What else could he want?” Han asked. “Besides being High Wizard?”

      “Well.” Lucius lifted the tip of his pole, trying the line. “Fellow like Bayar, he’s never satisfied. I’m guessing he wants to be High Wizard without all the tethers and restrictions put in place by the Naéming. Some say he wants the queen as well.”

      Han was confused. “He wants the queen? She already has a consort, doesn’t she? Somebody from Demonai?”

      Lucius wheezed with laughter. “For a street rat, you got no idea what’s going on, do you?” He shook his gray head in amazement. “You got to keep your ear to the ground and your nose in the wind if you want to survive in these times.”

      Han couldn’t picture how that physical feat could be accomplished. He could never figure out how Lucius knew everything that was going on, when he stayed up on the mountain all the time. It was a mystery.

      Lucius’s laughter finally wore out, and he wiped tears from his eyes. “Averill Demonai is Queen Marianna’s consort. But he’s a trader, and traders travel a lot. Spends too much time away for his own good, if you ask me. But nobody does.”

      Han struggled to control his impatience. All this talk of politics was boring, and had nothing to do with him. “About wizards,” he prodded Lucius. “How do they get magic?”

      “It’s in their blood,” Lucius said, stroking Dog’s head. “It’s like they get the raw talent, but they ain’t really powerful until they study up and learn to store and control it with an amulet. In fact, they’re dangersome until then, like a colt that ain’t well broke and don’t know its own strength.”

      Han thought of Micah Bayar, face black with anger, gripping his fancy jinxpiece and muttering charms. “Why? Do they have to say spells or something to make it work?”

      “That’s part of the learning up,” Lucius said, nodding. “That Bayar, he’s from Aerie House. Maybe the most powerful wizard family there is, since the fall of the Waterlows.”

      “Who are the Waterlows?” Han asked. “I never heard of them.”

      “Never mind. That house died out years ago.” Lucius yanked up