chapter TWELVE
MIDNIGHT. ILSE STARED at her ceiling, hardly more than a pale square above her, illuminated by moonlight. Her thoughts remained frozen. No, not exactly frozen. More as though she had succumbed to useless panic, which robbed her from any useful activity. So she lay there, counting the slow thump of her heartbeat. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the day to begin and her enemies to come.
One quarter, two, three.
As from a distance, she heard the next hour bell ring. A single soft peal. They had entered the interval between one day and another. Like the void between lives, she thought. Like the moment between one breath and the next.
Tomorrow Khandarr would question her. It was too much of a coincidence, her presence here, where the Károvín ships had foundered. She could tell from his manner that afternoon. She knew too much about Raul Kosenmark. She only wondered why he had not bothered before.
She rubbed her hands over her face. No use lying in bed. She rose and stalked into her study, scowled at the map of southern Fortezzien, spread over her desk, which she had abandoned earlier. Its contents were not encouraging. Osterling sat on the point of the peninsula. A spine of rocky hills extended its entire length, and into the mainland. On both sides, the shores were narrow, populated with small towns and fishing villages, which were connected by a single highway. There were garrisons, too, each within a day’s ride of each other. Besides, Khandarr would have notified the fort and harbor watches the moment he arrived. They would stop her at the gates.
She could attempt to cross into Anderswar, and from there to Tiralien.
Another questionable choice. Even if she could dare such a thing, Khandarr could track her to Raul’s doorstep.
No, there was no escape. Except one.
Her gaze flicked toward her books. The scroll from Lord Iani hid between two massive dictionaries of the Erythandran language. Not yet, she decided. Not until she was certain about Khandarr’s intentions.
A small voice whispered, Coward.
I am a coward. I like my life and my self.
The candle flame shuddered, sending a cascade of shadows over her desk and hands.
Shadow, ghost, death. A link of words came too easily. It was a child’s game, she told herself. She had left the game behind when she escaped her father’s house in Melnek. Briefly, she wondered about her childhood friend Klara, with whom she had so often passed an afternoon with such pastimes. They had talked about lovers, years ago. Ilse hoped Klara had found her artist, someone who loved beauty as much as she did.
The thought of Klara brought her other friend to mind, Kathe. Kathe who had tended her through sickness. Who taught her how to mince garlic, and stir a sauce to the smoothness of silk. Who stayed her friend even after she left the kitchens to become Berthold Hax’s assistant, then much later, Raul’s beloved.
I lied to her. I told her I left Raul because I wanted children. She thinks me selfish.
Or was it a lie?
Ilse folded the map together and set it aside. Walked over to her bookcase and knelt. Her limbs felt numb, her body removed at a distance, as she commanded her hands to seek out Lord Iani’s scroll and extract it from its hiding place. It unfurled at a touch, revealing a foot of thick dark parchment with the words of the spell written in old Erythandran. Ilse glanced over it. She had only to speak those words to take herself beyond Khandarr’s questions. They would save Raul Kosenmark and all his shadow court. She didn’t even need to provide a key for unlocking her memories.
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.”
Her skin went cold at Raul’s name. “I left him and his house.”
“You did, but rumor tells me your heart did not. What is your answer?”
Ilse thought quickly. She did not trust Alesso. But he had proved discreet. He had not gossiped about her letter and visit to Lord Joannis. He clearly knew more about Osterling Keep than she did. And she had not forgotten his words about political games, how not all of them concerned the king and his court.
“Do you want money?” she asked. “Or influence? You must have many friends in need. Shall we call them rebels, or do you have a more polite name?”
“Our names are not important. Nor do I want money. I want your promise of Lord Kosenmark’s assistance in the future. We can discuss the details later. Introduce me to your friends and tell me your plans.”
He smiled easily. Ilse wanted to slap him. “Galena,” she called softly. “Bring our visitor, please.”
They emerged from the bedroom. Both of them stared at Alesso with open curiosity.
“A prisoner,” Alesso said softly. “And a soldier of the kingdom. So I guessed correctly. You should know that I could overhear your argument. You want to smuggle this woman out of Osterling. I can help you with that.”
Galena hissed and drew her knife. “I told you no, Ilse. I meant that.”
She darted toward the door. Alesso grabbed her arm, but Galena was as tall and strong as Alesso, and she had a knife. Ilse darted forward and disarmed Galena with a blow to her finger bones, which distracted Galena long enough for Alesso to complete a sweep and throw her to the ground.
Ilse bent over her, the other knife in her hand. “Galena. I am sorry. I cannot let you report to your officer. Not yet.”
“You lied.”
“I did. I’m sorry.”
“That is your mistake,” Alesso said. “Being sorry, that is. Do we kill her?”
“What? No.” But she eyed Galena uneasily.
Galena lay there, her eyes wide and pale. Valara had circled around and observed the scene with her arms folded. Her lips twitched in a smile when Ilse glanced in her direction. “Let her live,” Valara said. “She will hate that worse than dying. Won’t you?” she asked Galena. “Betrayal is a coward’s weapon.”
Galena flinched. “I am not a coward.”
“Nor a friend,” Valara said. “You have no reason to like or help me. But her”—she nodded at Ilse—“you care a great deal about her. Do you want her dead? Locked in prison and tortured? Better you let us go tonight and salve your conscience tomorrow.”
Bells whispered through the open shutters. Three quarter chimes. Ilse glanced at Alesso. He nodded. He, too, understood they had little time before the watch changed, before someone sent a runner to the garrison prison and Valara’s absence was discovered.
“Choose,” Alesso said to Ilse. “Death or—”
“Forgetfulness,” Ilse said. “I know magic to lock her memories.”
He shook his head. “Not good enough.”
He pressed the knife’s edge to Galena’s throat. Ilse reached for Alesso’s arm, but it was Valara who intercepted him before he could do more than make a shallow cut. “One moment.” Her voice was calm, dispassionate, as though they were not discussing murder. To Galena, she said, “Help me and I will take away the word on your face.”
Galena’s eyes went wide.
Ilse held herself still, watching them both, but especially Valara. Oh, she is perceptive. Even at such a time as this.
“Can you?” Galena asked.
“Of course.”
“They’ll see,” Ilse said. “Your captain and everyone else will notice if that mark disappears overnight.”
Valara shrugged. “I can make a spell with a lock. Your friend may wait a day, a year, then speak the words to complete the spell and set magic free to do its work.”
Leaving Galena free to join her brother at the borderlands, or farther west. But Ilse did not dare to interrupt. She, too, needed Galena’s cooperation.
Galena licked her lips. “I will then.”
Once more the scene rapidly changed. Alesso helped Galena to sit up. Ilse fetched a wet cloth to clean the wound on her neck. Valara murmured a string of Erythandran, and the wound closed to a bright red scar.
“Now,” Alesso said. “We make our plans quickly. You can’t slip past the city gates, or by sea. Those soldiers keep a strict watch by the harbor as well as the highway. Even if you could, there’s the fort. They’ll snatch you up within two miles of Osterling. No, the only possible way is through the tunnels.”
“What tunnels?” Ilse said sharply.
But Galena nodded slowly in recognition. “From the old days before the empire,” she said in a wondering tone. “The kings of Fortezzien had them built in case of a siege. They could send messengers past the enemy, to summon aid from another city.”
“You know where the entrances are?” Alesso asked her.
“Inside the Keep’s ruins. They used to set guards outside, but not anymore. But I don’t know anything else about them.”
“How far do they run?” Ilse asked. “Far enough?”
Meaning, would the tunnels take them past the first circle of patrols. Alesso seemed to understand because he nodded. “Back in the old days, the tunnels ran halfway up the coast. Most collapsed years ago, but it’s still passable for a few miles, if you don’t mind rats and rubble. Is that acceptable to my lady?”
He left a great deal unsaid, but Ilse could piece together the clues. Alesso and his colleagues used the tunnels for their own activities. Which meant the regular soldiers did not. “It is,” she said. “What if they decide to follow?”
“Then we make certain they don’t. You and your friend go to the tunnel. Soldier girl reports to her harbor duty. Certain of my friends will arrange a distraction, while I handle things here in the pleasure house to explain your absence.”
Ilse gazed into Alesso’s eyes, wishing she could read what lay behind them. Trust was indeed a gift. You could not ask a bondage price for it.
“Give us until the next hour bell,” she said.
Alesso’s eyes narrowed, as if he were calculating a great many things. “When are you due at your post?” he asked Galena.
“At the hour bell after next.”
“It will have to do,” he murmured.
He rose and made for the door. Ilse followed him into the corridor. “Alesso.”
Alesso turned. His lips curled in a sardonic smile. “What? You wish a kiss in farewell?”
She ignored his banter. “No. A favor. You must have the means to send messages to your colleagues. Send one for me to Lord Kosenmark, as quickly as you know how. Tell him…” She paused, wishing she knew how much she could commit to Alesso and his unknown associates. “Tell him to expect word from me through the usual means. Tell him that we need a ship for passage to a far foreign port. I can only tell him more once … once we meet.”
The smile faded as she spoke. He studied her a moment with a strange, unreadable expression. “I will send word to your love. And you, you remember your promise to me.”
She nodded. “I will.”
“Then we are friends indeed.” He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. The next moment, he was hurrying toward the stairwell.
Ilse closed her eyes. Her pulse danced far too fast for comfort. I do not love him. I love Raul. Oh, but in a different life …
No time for self-doubt. She spun back into the room.
“We need provisions,” she said in an unsteady voice. “I’ll fetch as much as I can from the kitchens. Galena, go to my bedroom. Help her to find better clothing for our journey.”
She didn’t wait for their reply, but sped outside and down the stairs. Once on the ground floor, she slowed her pace. It was quiet below, in these hours between midnight and dawn. A few lamps burned in their sockets, but otherwise the house was dark. Ahead, a bright light shone from the kitchen itself. She paused to collect herself, to think what she absolutely needed.
I need a guide, horse, provisions, and weapons. But salt and water will do for a start.
Only two scullions and a single senior girl sat by the open windows. They glanced up at Ilse with little interest. It wasn’t unusual, after all, for those in the pleasure house to fetch a carafe of wine or water themselves. Ilse found a tray and loaded it with a jug of water and a loaf of bread. When she was certain no one watched her, she added a saltbox, tinder, two small metal pots, and a water skin. On her way back, she stopped by a storage closet for a lantern.
Back in her rooms, she found Valara dressed in one of Ilse’s old baggy tunics. She had kept her prison trousers, though. “Yours were all too short,” Valara said. “So were your shoes. Could you find me a pair of boots? Sandals even.”
“We don’t have much time.” She noticed that Valara had found her ring. “You value that.”
Valara’s cheeks darkened. “I do. My brother gave it to me, years ago. I would not wish to lose it.”
Yes. She had lost all her family to the Károvín. She would value any memento.
In her bedroom, Galena had pulled heaps of clothes from Ilse’s trunks. She had separated the trousers and shirts Ilse used for drill from the others, and was folding them into bundles. “Do you have any packs?” she asked.
“None in my rooms. We’ll use blankets instead.”
Ilse gathered her weapons together—knives, her sword, the sheaths that went with them. That done, she pulled out the locked chest she kept under her bed. Her hands shook as she transferred money and jewels into a leather purse. They had made too many assumptions, left too many clues scattered through the past hour. She could only hope Alesso had told her the truth about the tunnels.
Galena uncovered a pair of oversized boots and took them to Valara to try on. Ilse changed rapidly into more practical clothes—boots, trousers, a plain shirt, the boots she had not worn since her journey from Tiralien to Osterling. She buckled on her belt, slid her sword into its sheath. Knives came next. One went into her boot, another into the sheath she fastened to her arm. She packed the leather purse among her clothes in one bag. On second thought, she added her map of Fortezzien and a map of Veraene’s coast around Tiralien and Gallenz. She also packed her scroll from Lord Iani. In case we fail, came the fleeting thought. She shook away that idea and slung the blanket over her shoulder.
All ready.
Galena had packed the supplies from the kitchen into another blanket, which she gave to Valara. With a last glance around her bedroom, Ilse led her companions down the back stairwell and into the courtyard. “You go on to the harbor,” she said to Galena. “You don’t want to be late for watch.”
“Not yet.” Galena glanced meaningfully toward Valara.
“Take us to the tunnels first,” Valara said. “Then I will do my part. I promise.”
Galena studied Valara with a searching gaze. Then, with obvious reluctance, she said, “Good enough. You wouldn’t find those doors without me anyway.”
They took off through the dark, deserted streets of Osterling. The moon had sunk in the past hour, and clouds masked the stars. In Melnek and Tiralien, city watches patrolled the streets, but not here, where a fort overlooked the circling highway. With Galena leading the way, they stole through court and lane and avenue, across the main market square, where they recovered Galena’s sword and shield, then on to the opposite side of the city.
“Not much farther,” Galena whispered.
“What is that?” Ilse whispered back.
Footsteps rang off the paving stones. A voice called out, “Who goes there?”
A squad of soldiers marched toward them. Galena gave a sharp cry and drew her sword.
We are lost, Ilse thought. She had her own sword ready, but it was nothing against a full squad of trained soldiers. She took Valara by the hand, intending to drag her into the nearest alleyway. They still had a chance—
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen de hôchkelte.
Bitter cold and green magic flooded the air. It buzzed against Ilse’s fingers, enveloping her hand, and crawling up her arm. A strange darkness, thicker than night, had dropped over them. She could no longer feel Valara’s hand. She tried to summon the current herself, but her lips refused to work. It was that same otherworldly signature from before. It reminded her of Anderswar, of its alien creatures and the guardian who met her each time she dared to enter.
The magic receded. She blinked. A short distance away stood a dozen still figures. The one in the lead had turned his head to call out orders.
The soldiers.
They did not move. They could not, she realized with a sick feeling. They all remained in the same rigid stance, their swords raised and mouths opened to speak. But their faces had turned gray, and heavy ice weighted their clothing. Even as she watched, water trickled from the ice to run in rivulets over the cobblestones. But the men did not move.
“What did you do?” she asked Valara.
Valara herself appeared stunned. “I am not certain.”
A dull boom sounded. Ilse dropped into a crouch just as a second and third explosion followed. Bright sparks hovered overhead. A sulfurous stink rolled up from the harbor, and a bloodred light bathed the city. More explosions, these from a different quarter, followed by a bright gout of fire that rose toward the sky. Alesso and his distractions.
Galena stared in the direction of the harbor. “Old Josche,” she whispered. “Giann. He killed everyone on the watch. He would have killed me, too.”
“We don’t know that,” Ilse said.
“We do know that. And you wanted me to trust him.”
I warned you about me, Ilse thought. That night you asked for my help.
She reached for Galena’s hand, which felt cold and clammy, in spite of the warm night. “Come with us. My friend can help you, too. You can find another place, without the words on your face, without any pledge.”
Galena shivered, but with another tug from Ilse, she turned away from the terrible spectacle below.
“One moment,” Valara said. “We need to remove the evidence.”
She spoke more words in Erythandran. Again came the scent and image of a fox. Then the frozen bodies of the soldiers shivered into dust. More words erased the spells and all traces of their presence.
Another quarter hour and they gained the old Keep’s ruins. It was Galena who pointed out the entrance, guarded by an old wooden door between two massive blocks of fallen stone. Soon they were inside. Ilse climbed down the stairs first, followed by Valara. Galena came last and shut the door, sinking them into darkness.