Secrets within secrets within bloody secrets.
At departure, Dzavek passed along the lines of soldiers and sailors and touched his hand to each person’s mouth, Karasek’s last of all. Eyes closed, he still felt Dzavek’s dry fingers on his lips, still heard the king’s inarticulate murmur. His thoughts winged back to his companions. Whoever survived the battle would die before they betrayed their true mission. Discretion at a cost.
The moon had already reached its zenith. The night was spinning toward dawn. Karasek rose to his feet. Once more he checked the emerald’s pouch. All secure. With one last glance toward the south, he set off for Károví.
CHAPTER SIX
AFTER GALENA ALIGHERO left, Ilse collapsed onto the couch and stared at the ceiling.
Oh, Raul. We never expected this.
All their plans had centered around Armand of Angersee and his ambitions. Even Raul’s newest idea—to approach certain Károvín nobles and enlist their support—had at its heart the goal of dissuading Armand from war. They had not taken into consideration Leos Dzavek’s plans separate from Veraene. More important, they had forgotten about Morennioù.
I wonder if Leos Dzavek has forgotten anything in four hundred years.
She tried to imagine such a life. His brother killed in the first war. His promised bride reportedly executed as a spy. All his subsequent attempts to build a family ending in their death, while Dzavek lived on for centuries. What must he be like now?
She rubbed her knuckles against her eyes. Dzavek was not her concern. His ships and their mysterious mission were.
I have to get word to Raul. He must know before he talks to anyone in Károví.
The regional governor immediately came to mind. Nicol Joannis had corresponded with Raul in secret for years. Surely he could revive those channels. Surely he would want to, for such important news. The only difficulty was how to speak with him, without provoking suspicion, but Galena herself had provided the means. Ilse could pretend to plead her friend’s case. Once there, she could tell Lord Joannis about the escaped officer, then turn the discussion to Raul.
Abruptly her weariness left her. She hurried to her desk and dashed off a note to Lord Joannis, asking for a private interview. She sealed the message with wax and magic, gathered up her report for Mistress Andeliess, and took them both downstairs.
Mistress Andeliess kept her office on the ground floor, in a quiet wing opposite the various public rooms. Ilse delivered her monthly report and spoke a few moments with her employer. On her way back, she stopped one of the house runners and gave him the letter for Lord Joannis. Watching the man disappear through a side door, she felt a flutter beneath her ribs.
There. I have done it.
She had no idea what his response might be. Of all the members of Raul’s former shadow court, she knew him the least. Raul had always said that Nicol Joannis disliked the court’s secrecy, however much he agreed with its motives. Still, he might consent to send a message to Raul, if only as a favor to an old and trusted friend.
Restless, she turned into the common room, which was bright and noisy at this hour. Gilda and Ysbel had started a drinking game with some wealthy farmers. Several younger men lay entwined on a couch—she could not tell client from courtesan there—and off in a corner, Luisa attempted to strum her guitar, in spite of two soldiers who took turns trying to unbutton her gown. Kitchen girls and boys appeared like swift small birds to take away the dirty dishes and to replenish the wine and ale jugs. Ilse could name a dozen ways this room differed from Lord Kosenmark’s elegant pleasure house, but in the essentials, the two were alike. Laughter. Games. Music. And always the presence or potential of pleasure for those with money to pay.
“What tempts you here?” said a voice at her elbow.
Alesso Valturri knelt at her side. He had a tray stacked with dirty dishes balanced on one knee. There was nothing unusual in his appearance—just an ordinary servant engaged in ordinary work—except that Ilse knew Alesso worked the early-morning shift. All her suspicions buzzed into life. “I might say the same to you,” she said lightly.
“Ah, me.” He stood up and handed the tray off to another kitchen worker. “I am here for the company and to observe our courtesans at work. Would you like refreshment from the kitchen? A cup of wine?”
He plucked a cup from a passing servant’s tray and, with an unnecessary flourish, offered it to Ilse. The cup was a deep iridescent blue, which echoed the painted murals of the walls. Both were purchases Ilse had recommended. The wine was a sweet golden vintage, imported from the southwest.
Ilse accepted the cup and settled into an empty couch in the corner. Alesso lingered next to her. “You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured.
“Neither did you.”
He smiled, a slow easy smile that probably charmed all the kitchen girls and boys, and half the courtesans. “Your suspicions wound me, Mistress Ilse. I am working tonight because Daria took ill, and Mistress Andeliess asked me to take her shift. For extra pay, of course.”
“Of course.” She could check his claim later, easily enough.
“And you?” he said.
Ilse sipped the wine, letting the flavor linger on her tongue before she swallowed. The wine had an oddly tart edge. She took another swallow, trying to decide if she liked the taste or not. “No reason in particular. There were reports to deliver…”
“… and messages to send off.”
She pretended not to hear that comment, and kept her attention on the courtesans while she drank more wine. Stefan was mock-wrestling with Ysbel over the favors of a grain merchant from up the coast. The grain merchant was a full-faced, round-shouldered man of middle years, his muscles loosening into fat from too many hours in counting houses. He’d come to Osterling to petition the governor for lower highway taxes. Earlier that afternoon, he’d sat grim and silent, having been refused entry to the governor’s presence. Tonight, however, his eyes were nearly lost in folds of flesh as he laughed at the two courtesans.
“You do not trust me,” Alesso said.
“Should I?” Ilse replied.
“Friends should trust each other.”
“Is that what we are, friends?”
He shrugged. “Acquaintances, then. Colleagues in business.”
She glanced up sharply then, but his gaze was on Stefan, who had won the wrestling bout. He and the farmer were now locked in an embrace, indifferent to their audience. Ysbel had disrobed entirely. She lay on her back and beckoned to Luisa and the soldiers. It was the hour of abandon in the pleasure house. The air smelled of wine and musk and sexual spendings. Deep within, Ilse felt the tug of unfocused desire, the tremble of panic.
No one will force me here. None. I am free of Alarik Brandt, of Galt.
A hand brushed her shoulder. She jerked around to find Alesso’s face close to hers.
“You are tired,” he murmured. “And distressed. Anyone can see it.”
“I am not—”
“You are,” he repeated. “It’s not necessary to wait here. Go and sleep. I’ll keep watch for the runner and bring you any reply at once.”
She was tired. Her eyelids were drooping, her limbs felt like warm water. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and lose herself in dreamless sleep. It was true that she hadn’t rested well or long in weeks. Alesso himself had noticed this morning when he brought her breakfast tray …
She reeled to one side, nearly fell over. “You. You poisoned my wine.”
Alesso smiled. “Hush, no. Merely added a few pinches of valerian powder. You will sleep better and wake without harm.”
“But…” Her tongue tripped over the word.
He shushed her again. Gently, he took her by the elbow and helped her to stand. No one noticed their departure. Courtesans and clients were absorbed entirely in each other, in the giving and receiving of pleasure. Ilse made an attempt to shake free of Alesso’s hand. He laughed and drew her close with an arm around her waist. No, she thought. I do n
ot want you. I only want Raul.
Her body admitted the lie, however. When Alesso adjusted his hold, his hand shifted downward to her hip. A bright burst of warmth flooded her body. She sucked in a quick breath. He paused, and she could tell he was looking down at her, because his breath feathered her hair. “All well?” he asked.
She shook her head. It was a false desire, born of weariness and fear and the drugged wine.
Outside her rooms, Alesso produced a key and unlocked the door. A part of her protested. How had he obtained a key? But her tongue felt too clumsy, and the words slipped away from her, even as she tried to form them. Alesso paid no attention to her distress. He guided her easily into her bedroom, where he laid her on the bed and loosened her clothes. This close, Ilse caught the whiff of his scent, a mix of bergamot and ginger, and another, a warmer scent, one she knew very well. It was the scent of a man not entirely immune to desire himself. As Alesso spread the quilt over her, Ilse tilted up her chin and kissed him on the lips.
Alesso went still. His expression was invisible in the darkness, but she heard his quick intake of breath. He muttered something—a curse or prayer, she couldn’t tell which—then pressed his lips against hers.
He tasted of wine and bittersweet smoke. She opened her mouth to his, and another kiss followed, slow and expert. His lips were hot against her skin as he imprinted more kisses along her cheek to the corner of her jaw. One hand drifted down to her breast.
The touch shocked her into awareness. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. She placed both hands on his chest and pushed him away. “No.”
Silence between them. Then Alesso said, “As you wish.”
He laid a hand over her forehead and spoke a string of syllables. Erythandran, but with an accent she had never heard before, softer and more fluid, the harsh syllables overlaid with tones of Fortezzien’s own ancient tongue. That was all that registered before the magical current wrapped her in sleep.
* * *
DOWN AND DOWN, into a sleep so immediate, so profound that she did not respond at first to the hands shaking her. She stirred, mumbled a protest, and tried to bury herself in sleep once more. The hands, however, were persistent. “Ilse. Wake up. You have a letter.”
That was impossible. A letter? What letter? Raul would never commit any message to paper. It was too dangerous. Markus Khandarr had spies everywhere.
Hands gripped both shoulders and shook harder. “Ilse, wake up. Now!”
With a gasp, she came awake.
Moonlight poured through the open shutters of her bedroom. A salt-scented breeze brushed her face, sweet and cool. Ilse sat up. She saw a shadow retreating through the door. “Who—?”
The shadow paused. “You will find the letter on your desk. Don’t worry. I promise to lock the doors behind me.”
Soft footsteps padded over the tiled floor. Moments later, she heard the door shut. Only then did she recognize Alesso’s voice. What was he doing here?
Oh. I kissed him.
All the details returned with hideous clarity. She stumbled from bed and into her study, but he had already vanished. Outside a gibbous moon hung low in the sky; bells rang whisper-soft through the night. It was well after midnight. Now she recalled how Alesso had promised to wait for any messages. He must have seen her give the note to the house runner. He was a spy. Or did he think he might blackmail her?
Letter first. Speculation later.
She found an envelope waiting on a serving tray on her table. There was also a carafe of fresh hot coffee, brewed strong, and a small drinking cup filled with water. She sniffed the water. It smelled sweet and aromatic. Not plain water then.
It was then she noticed a scrap of paper, which the cup had hidden. Printed in anonymous letters was the message: No poison. Merely an antidote for the valerian in the water. There is nothing in the coffee except coffee.
Ilse set the water aside, untouched. She didn’t trust Alesso’s claim. The coffee smelled ordinary, however, so she poured a cup and took a tentative sip. It tasted normal enough, so she drank down two full mugs and felt her head clear. Then she turned her attention to the letter.
The envelope carried no inscription except her name. Joannis had sealed the edges with plain yellow wax. Very ordinary. Very convincing. Anyone might think him too busy to bother with other precautions. Ilse knew better. She tested the paper and detected several layers of spells, keyed to her touch. Ah, interesting. Someone had attempted to break the spells, but failed. Probing deeper, she sensed two magical signatures, one strong and intoxicating, as bitter and pungent as alcohol. The second was warmer, softer and thinner, like a ribbon of worn velvet. She was not certain which belonged to which man.
Wax and magic remained intact, however. She touched her thumb to the wax and felt the magic ripple over her skin as the spell yielded to her identity.
Inside was a single sheet of fine parchment, with one line in Joannis’s distinctive script. I can spare you half an hour tonight. Come directly to the palace.
Ilse brushed a hand over her face. Alesso was still on watch, no doubt. She could do nothing about him today, however. It was more important that she speak with Joannis.
She made herself as presentable as possible in a few moments, then went below. The halls and common room were silent. Only a few maids moved about, picking up dishes and wine cups from the tables. The scents of stale incense and smoke hung in the air. One of the maids fetched a lantern for Ilse. The girl was plainly curious, but of course she asked no questions. Mistress Andeliess hired only those who proved discreet.
Outside, the steady ocean breeze cleared Ilse’s head. She crossed the market square, and turned onto the boulevard leading toward the garrison. The moon and stars illuminated her way, but in the darker alleys around the old Keep ruins, she was glad for her lantern. Osterling was a different city in the night. Lonelier and stranger, with hints and whispers from centuries gone by.
She rounded the Keep’s old walls and followed the main avenue to the governor’s palace. Dozens of windows in the palace blazed with lamplight. So, too, did the city garrison, while the fort above was mostly dark. Odd.
The palace guards expected her. One of them escorted her across the outer courtyard and through the gaudily painted grand entrance hall, all rose-pink and bright gold, up the winding stairs to the governor’s office. As she followed, Ilse noted the guards at every intersection, the many runners who passed them in the corridors, the glances directed at her then away. If tension had a scent and flavor, it was here.
“Mistress Ilse Zhalina to see Lord Joannis,” her escort announced to the guards outside.
A look passed between the two guards. Both glanced uneasily at the closed door. Ilse heard voices inside. She was about to say she could wait elsewhere, when the door swung open and Ranier Mazzo exited the room. He stopped when he saw Ilse, and his eyes went wide.
Commander Thea Adler appeared immediately behind him. Fatigue lined her face. Her mouth was set in a thin angry line. The moment she saw Ilse, however, her expression smoothed to a blank. “Come with me,” she said to Ranier.
She stalked down the corridor. Ranier followed his commander. Ilse could almost hear the vibration from their passage. More bad news from the invasion? A difficulty with the prisoners?
“Lord Joannis will see you now,” the escort said, ushering her inside.
Her first reaction was surprise. She had expected a grand official chamber, such as Lord Vieth’s in Tiralien, filled with cold empty air and expensive statuary. Or an old-fashioned office like the one she had visited in Melnek as a child. Chandeliers swarmed like twisting snakes from the ceiling, making the room seem low. A huge desk occupied one entire side of the office, and tables crowded the floor, all of them stacked high with scrolls and books and leather-bound volumes. There were no windows—no distractions—only bookcases fronting every wall. A few patches of plaster showed between the shelves, but these surfaces were painted a rich yellowish-white, the color of skimmed cream. Noth
ing like the vivid colors she had grown used to over the past months.
Joannis stood with his back to her, gazing at a large map that showed the surrounding region. It reminded Ilse of the maps Raul used. “You’ve come about Galena Alighero,” he said, without turning around.
“Yes, I have.” She paused. “You already know what happened.”
He nodded. “I know what happened in the battle, and I can guess in part what you’ve come to speak about. But I’m curious, too. Curious why Galena Alighero failed to report a missing enemy. More curious why she chose to tell you and not her senior officers.”
His tone was light. Detached. Unsettling.
“Galena came to me because she trusts me,” Ilse answered.
“Trusts you to lie for her?”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. “No. I came to tell you about the Károvín officer. And that Galena Alighero regrets her actions. She is understandably anxious about admitting her fault.”
Joannis turned around. His dark face was creased with lines, and the skin beneath his normally bright eyes looked puffy. He gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit. Please. We need to talk.”
They sat, he behind his massive desk, and she in the ornately carved chair placed before it. A supplicant to her master. She dismissed the thought as unfair and accepted the cup of coffee Joannis offered.
“It was Mazzo who reported what happened,” Joannis said. “He saw Alighero engaged in a single combat. Alighero went down, and Mazzo tried to fight through to her side, but failed. When he saw her next, Alighero was charging into the battle. Naturally, he assumed she had killed her opponent. It was only later, when he and Tallo were talking over the morning, that he realized the man must have escaped.”
“My interview is useless, then.”
He tilted a hand to one side. “Not entirely. I am happy to know that she expresses regret, though I wonder if her regret is for her mistake—a very grave mistake—or for the punishment that must follow.”
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