The shutters beside the bookcase rattled. Pebbles and dirt flew through the slats and onto the floor. Then, she heard a hoarse shout. “Ilse!”
Galena?
Ilse swiftly coiled the parchment and tucked it behind her books. She rose cautiously and peered through the window slats. Moonlight splashed over the roof and the center part of the courtyard, but the perimeter lay in darkness. Then she sensed a movement by the far wall. Galena Alighero emerged from the shadows. She wore her uniform and armor, but no helmet. Moon and starshine silvered her brown hair. And she limped.
Ilse had not talked with Galena since the girl received her punishment. She knew Adler had transferred Galena to harbor duty at the dark watch, between three bells and dawn. What was she doing here, at this hour?
Galena glanced over one shoulder, bent, and gathered another handful of pebbles. This would not do. One of the house guards would hear the noise. Ilse opened the shutters. “Galena,” she whispered loudly. “What is it?”
Galena immediately let the pebbles fall. “Ilse. Can you come outside?”
“Why? And why aren’t you at the harbor?”
“Not time yet. Please, Ilse. It’s important.”
“Then come inside. We can talk—”
Galena shook her head. “No. Out here.”
A trap, Ilse thought.
She considered notifying the guards. Her instincts warned against that. It might be nothing more than Galena wanting reassurance.
“Go to the side door,” she said. “The one directly below. I’ll meet you there.”
She pulled on a robe and took up the candle from her desk. Its dish was deep enough to keep the wax from spilling over her hand, but she could only walk swiftly, not run as she wished, down the stairs. Luckily, no house guards or runners were about.
She opened the door. Galena stood a few feet away.
“Come outside.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“Nothing!”
A lie. Ilse was about to shut the door, when she sensed a change in the night air. A whiff of green. An impression of a furtive wild animal.
She threw the candle onto the stones and flung up both hands. “Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm.”
Magic sparked against magic, an explosion of bright cold fire. Ilse staggered backward. A double signature washed over her. A hunting fox. A silver blaze far brighter than the cold fire she had summoned to protect herself. She whispered Erythandran through numb lips. Her tongue unlocked and she could speak the words to release the magic flooding her veins.
The fire faded, the current ebbed away. Ilse rubbed a hand over her eyes. The door into the courtyard swung on its hinges. It was silent in the pleasure house. No one had raised the alarm. Cautiously she approached the open door.
Outside, moonlight spilled over the paving stones. The heavy scent of magic hung in the air. Shards of broken pottery littered the ground, and a coil of smoke still rose from the candle wick drowning in a pool of wax. Off to one side, Galena crouched on hands and knees. Farther away, a figure lay at full length.
Ilse hurried past Galena and knelt by the body. The throat felt warm to her touch. The pulse beat steadily. And yes, here was the source of that first magical signature, the one that reminded her of a wild dog or a fox. Long loose hair covered the face. Ilse brushed the hair aside and drew a swift breath. A woman. Not anyone that Ilse recognized. The stranger wore a thin cotton shirt and trousers beneath a much-too-large tunic.
“Who is she?” she said.
“One of the prisoners,” Galena answered. “I caught her in the streets.”
She said it so casually—too casually. Along with realization came another.
“One of those from Károví?” Ilse said. “Why did you bring her to me?”
Galena seemed oblivious to what she had revealed. She answered in a disgusted tone, “It was that damned magic. She caught me by surprise and knocked me out. Took my knives and sword. Wanted me to smuggle her past the soldiers on watch. You know magic. I thought you could help. And you did.”
One of Dzavek’s soldiers who knew magic. Ilse took the woman’s hand and ran her fingers over the palm. Smooth. No sign of calluses. Hands fine-boned. Wrists like reeds. This woman had never wielded a sword. She wore leather wrist sheaths with knives, but the sheaths were far too large, loose and clumsily tied so they wouldn’t fall off. Was she some kind of adjutant, a mage assigned to the army?
Galena lurched to her feet and grunted in pain. “Damn. Ilse, we need to send a runner to the garrison. I can walk, but I can’t carry her back myself.”
“Wait,” Ilse said. “Don’t call anyone yet.”
Galena stared down at her. “What?”
“Bring her inside. I want to talk to her.”
“Are you mad?”
She was mad to ask such a thing. But instinct said if she could question this mysterious prisoner, she might discover the reason behind Dzavek’s mission to the east. She could send word to Raul Kosenmark.
“Bring her inside,” she repeated, “and I’ll pay you back in whatever favors you like. Talk to Lord Joannis. Beg him to commute your sentence. Convince him to transfer you to another garrison. Anything.”
Lies. She had no influence. Tomorrow she might be dead or witless. From Galena’s long silence, Ilse suspected the young woman had guessed the truth. If persuasion didn’t work, she would have to use violence. She was about to whisper the magic words to summon the current, when Galena jerked her chin to one side. “You promise? You’ll speak to Lord Joannis?”
“I promise.”
Galena met Ilse’s gaze fleetingly. “Then … I’ll do it. But only for a few moments, Ilse. After that I must send word to the garrison. Where do we take her?”
“My rooms. Quick. One of the house guards might pass by.”
Between them, they dragged the woman into the pleasure house. The stairs—narrow and steep—almost undid them. Their captive was limp and unresisting, and her legs thumped loudly over the steps. Finally Galena slung the body over her shoulder and hauled herself and her burden up the stairs in spite of her injured leg. Ilse ran ahead to make certain no one was about.
At last Galena staggered through the doors into Ilse’s rooms. She slid the woman onto the rug, while Ilse fastened the door with lock and magic, then lit a branch of candles with a whispered word of magic. She turned to find Galena tight-lipped with pain. “It’s nothing,” Galena told Ilse. “Just, I slipped when she took me by surprise. We better search her for weapons. I know she took my knives. She might have more surprises.”
They examined their captive, working methodically from the obvious to the hidden. The wrist sheaths came off first. “Thief,” Galena muttered. She extracted two more knives from inside the woman’s tunic, which she restored to her belt and boot.
Ilse made a cursory search with magic, but detected no traps or set spells. Nor did she uncover any more weapons. To her surprise, she found a handful of coins tied into the tunic’s bottom hem. She deposited the money to one side and examined the body a second time, this time searching for clues to the stranger’s identity. With a touch, she turned the woman’s face toward the candlelight. Their captive was young—far younger than Ilse had expected, given her powerful magic. Only a few years older than Ilse herself. Her complexion a clear golden brown, much like Raul’s. But with those flattened cheeks and nose, hers was clearly not a Veraenen face. Nor was it Károvín. It belonged to no province or kingdom she could think of.
She’s no soldier. She’s the foreigner. The prisoner from Morennioù.
Except for the weapons and money, the woman had nothing out of the ordinary except a polished wooden ring on one finger. Odd that the guards had not removed it before. Ilse tugged the ring off and turned it over in her hands. Very plain. Carved from a dark wood, which felt silk-soft to her touch, the ring felt strangely heavy for such a small object. And there were clear traces of magic.
The woman’s eyes blinked open. With
a strangled cry, she lunged toward the ring. Galena grabbed the woman’s wrists and shoved her back to the floor, her elbow pressed against the woman’s throat. Ilse threw the ring aside and snatched up one of the knives. She pressed its point under the woman’s ear. “Do not attempt any magic,” she said. “You would be dead before you spoke a syllable.”
The woman opened her mouth. Galena immediately leaned closer, cutting off her words.
“Don’t kill her,” Ilse murmured.
“Why not? She’d kill us.”
Possibly. The woman glared at them both. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth, and she breathed in quick, noisy breaths, like a ferocious animal brought to bay. Terror and desperation. A dangerous combination.
Ilse bent over the woman, until her face was inches away. She noted a tattoo on the woman’s cheek, on the outside corner of her eye, drawn in a reddish-brown ink. Another under her bottom lip had faded into near invisibility. She wished she knew what they signified.
“I have questions for you,” she said slowly in Veraenen. “You will give me answers. But first, let me tell you what I already know.”
She waited. The woman’s eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion. Interesting that she could be so self-possessed, in spite of the situation. But she was listening. Good.
“You came with Károvín soldiers,” Ilse went on. “But you are not Károvín. You are Morennioùen. A mage, obviously. Someone very important. A member of their court, I would say. Leos Dzavek sent his ships to your kingdom to recover a particular item of great value to you both.”
Guesses, all of them. But she had the satisfaction of seeing confirmation in the woman’s reaction. The signs were few—just a flicker of her eyelids, a sudden still remoteness. It was enough to tell Ilse she had guessed correctly.
She smiled at their captive, keeping her satisfaction deeply buried. “You do not need to speak. I know my information is correct. Now for my questions. You were a prisoner. Did a man named Lord Markus Khandarr question you? He is tall and thin, his hair is gray. He is a mage. Don’t lie. If he spoke with the other prisoners, he would not neglect you. Tell me what happened. Let her speak,” she said to Galena.
As Galena relaxed her hold, the woman swallowed audibly. Her irises, wide in the dim light, contracted as she turned toward Ilse and the candlelight. “Who are you?”
Her voice was low, rough. She spoke Veraenen with a lilting intonation.
“My name isn’t important,” Ilse said. “Answer my question.”
Silence.
“Do you wish me to send for Lord Khandarr? Galena—”
“No!” The woman made a convulsive movement. “No. Please.”
“Speak, then. Your name?”
A pause. “Valara Baussay.”
Ilse suspected the woman possessed quite a few more names. She had not admitted to a title either, but those omissions might be caution, not outright lies.
“You came from Morennioù. Are you a member of their court?”
Another pause. “Yes.”
Her tone sounded high, restrained. Nothing close to natural. But then, this was no normal conversation. “Tell me what happened between you and Lord Khandarr,” Ilse said. “Tell me everything. The truth, or I send you back to prison.”
Valara Baussay closed her eyes. The pulse at her temple and throat beat visibly faster. Arranging her lies? Reviewing a horrifying memory?
“It was Leos Dzavek,” she said at last. “He sent ships to invade my homeland. We have only a small army, and it’s scattered around our islands, but we do have guards at the castle. They were not enough. The soldiers took the castle and murdered my … murdered everyone at court. The king. His councillors. Everyone.”
“Except you.”
“I was to be a hostage.” Her voice sank into a bitter whisper.
“Why?”
Valara’s eyes opened. They were dark, so dark a brown they appeared black. Slight folds at the corner of her eyelids were like a brush from the artist’s thumb, softening an otherwise sharp-featured face. Again the similarity to Raul Kosenmark struck Ilse—the lines and angles an echo of those old portraits from the empire days. Valara Baussay was not a beautiful woman by ordinary standards, but hers was a face not easily overlooked or forgotten.
“He came for the jewel,” she said. “Lir’s jewel. He did not find it. So he left an army behind to savage the kingdom until he did.”
“And Markus Khandarr knows this?”
“No. But I could not risk his questioning me again.”
Ilse wished she could have witnessed this interview between Valara Baussay and Markus Khandarr. She wondered what had transpired afterward and what means Valara used to escape the prison. Too many questions. She could not ask them all tonight, only the most important ones. “Where is the jewel, then?”
Those bright dark eyes closed, and Valara’s face pinched in remembered pain. “Home. That is why I must go home. As quickly as I can. Don’t you see?”
Her voice broke on the last word. She was trembling. Not with terror, though. Valara Baussay was more than simply desperate. She spoke as though she were the only one who could save …
Ilse’s breath went still with insight. “You. Your father was the king. You are the heir. The queen.”
Galena made an astonished noise. Valara’s expression smoothed to a blank.
“It’s true,” Ilse went on, more confident now. “With you as his hostage, Leos Dzavek can threaten all of Morennioù until he gains the jewel.”
It explained so much. The mysterious fleet sent into the east. Their almost immediate return a few days after the first sighting. She rapidly reviewed all she knew of Leos Dzavek and Károvín politics. A strong king who held absolute control for four hundred years. A council fractured by that knowledge and their own agendas. She knew, with certainty, that Raul would have no success in forming an alliance abroad.
We must do the work ourselves.
She laid the knife aside. “I can help you. Galena, let her go.”
“No,” Galena said. “You can’t trust her.”
“Trust is a gift. You cannot ask a bondage price for it.”
Valara’s eyes blinked open, and she stared hard at Ilse. It was not a warm, open gaze. Those great eyes held secrets behind secrets. She will lie to me, Ilse thought. I cannot trust her at all, but I have no choice. I cannot allow Markus Khandarr to learn about Morennioù’s jewel.
“I have a friend,” she said softly. “A powerful friend. He has great influence in Veraene—unofficial influence. You must speak with him, and explain your situation. There is one requirement. He will want to know more about your connection with Leos Dzavek.”
Another pause. Then, “Does your friend want the jewel?”
Ah. Here was the heart of the matter. The truth was simple enough. Almost too simple for a royal princess used to the intrigues of court.
“He wants peace,” Ilse said. “Our king insists on war. The fewer weapons he and Leos Dzavek hold, the more likely my friend can achieve his goal.”
She met Valara’s gaze steadily, willing the other woman to trust. Moments were sliding through the hourglass. If they delayed too long, it wouldn’t matter what Valara believed. Galena gave a whispering sigh, as if she, too, were calculating the time.
Finally Valara said, “So you will help me get away from Osterling Keep? To meet with your friend?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Galena said. “Ilse, you promised to talk to her. Ask her questions. You didn’t say anything about helping her to escape. That’s treason.”
“I know,” Ilse said quietly. “I can’t expect you to—”
A soft rapping interrupted them. Galena started to her feet, knife held ready. Ilse motioned for her to stop. “Go into my bedroom,” she whispered. When Galena frowned, she added, “Do it. Unless you want to explain yourself to the house guards, and after them, Lord Joannis.”
Galena scowled, but she lowered the knife. She and Valara hurried into Ilse�
�s bedroom and eased the door shut. Ilse waited, hoping her unwanted visitor would leave, but another knock sounded, louder this time. “Ilse? You’re awake. I know it.”
Alesso. Ilse cursed softly. Anyone else she could easily send away without an explanation. She went to the door and opened it a crack.
He was little more than a shadow and a scent in the darkness, but she caught the tension in his attitude. “You have visitors,” he said softly. “And before you deny it, I saw you admit them through the side door. Or rather, you admitted one visitor and the two of you carried the other. Let me in, or I will cry to the watch that robbers have invaded your rooms.”
This was no bluff. He would do it. Ilse stood aside and motioned for him to enter. Alesso glided into the room, glancing to either side. His gaze paused at the lit candles, the map of Fortezzien spread over Ilse’s desk, then the closed bedroom door. He sniffed, as though he could scent the mystery in her rooms.
Or the magic.
Ilse stole behind him. She could take him down with a hold and a sweep, then silence him with a blow to the throat. Alesso whirled around and seized her wrist. “Please,” he said. “We are two old friends. We do not betray each other.”
She tested his grip. It was too strong to break without making noise. “How sweetly you talk,” she said. “I wish I could believe you. Speak plainly.”
Alesso laughed. “This is why I adore you. Very well, I shall speak plainly. You have two visitors. One illicit, if not dead. Tomorrow, you face an interrogation with Lord Markus Khandarr, who is recovering from a rather strenuous interview this past evening. My guess is that these two incidents are connected. Let me help you in your endeavors.”
“For what payment?”
His eyes were bright with amusement. “You are so blunt. I shall return the favor. I want you to plead my cause—Fortezzien’s cause—with your beloved, Lord Raul Kosenmark.”
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