chapter SIXTEEN
FOR A MOMENT, Ilse could only stare at Raul. Seven months. More than seven months since we were last together.
There was nothing of the lord about him today. His hair was tied back into a tight queue. He wore loose mud-stained trousers; dirty, scuffed boots; and a dark gray shirt that made him almost invisible in the twilight. Utterly plain. Very practical. He might have been a soldier, a robber, or a pirate. She wanted to walk directly into his arms and never leave them again. With a sickening effort, she controlled herself.
Raul sheathed his knife and came toward her in three swift strides. He touched her cheek as if to reassure himself that it was truly her, then glanced around at his guards and the street. “We should go at once,” he said. “There is a watch of sorts in the town. Eventually they will notice us.”
Only now did Ilse realize the fight had ended. The leader was dead, so were three of his companions. The pregnant girl sprawled on her back, groaning. Several others lay motionless. Ilse could not tell if they were dead as well, or unconscious. She glanced down at her bloody hands. Her shirt was bloody, too. She vaguely remembered stabbing one of the boys.
One of Kosenmark’s people pulled Galena to her feet. Galena looked dazed, her clothes were bloody and torn, but she was alive. Valara appeared untouched, unmoved, as she observed the scene. Ilse shivered at the blood and Valara’s indifference. Her own pulse beat erratically, and she tasted a sourness at the back of her throat.
I’ve killed a man before. Blood should not make me so squeamish.
A man, but not boys.
The warmth of Raul’s hand on her shoulder steadied her. He took a flask from his belt and handed it to her. It was good red wine, undiluted. She drank and felt warmth flood her body. She took a second, smaller swallow and gave the flask back. When he tilted his head in question, she nodded. I am fine. I will survive.
Raul turned back to Galena and Valara. “Are you wounded?” he asked Galena. She stood slightly askew with one hand held over her ribs.
Galena’s chin jerked up and she stared. It was his voice—a woman’s contralto voice from the throat of a man. Ilse could see the clues fitting themselves together from the girl’s rapidly changing expression. A noble’s accent. A man whose reputation had spread throughout the kingdom. Even Galena had heard of Lord Kosenmark. She straightened up with a wince and saluted. “No, sir. I mean, my lord. One of them knocked me in the ribs. It hurts, but not so bad.”
Raul smiled at her. His gaze passed over Valara as he turned back to speak with his guards.
“Your friend came just in time,” Valara said quietly to Ilse. “He is your friend, yes?”
“Who else would rescue us?”
Valara did not answer. She was scanning the guards and Raul Kosenmark with an assessing gaze. Ilse thought Valara did not consider herself to be rescued. She looked as though she was preparing herself for another interrogation.
She is not so wrong. Raul will not trust her easily. He cannot afford to.
Raul signaled to his guards. They scattered to their posts—two in the lead, two more to guard the rear—and set off through the dark streets. Their pace was soft-footed and quick, but not so quick that Galena could not keep up. They must have scouted the entire town, Ilse thought, because they never hesitated once. Within moments they had left the alleyway behind and were gliding between silent buildings, then down a series of shallow steps to the waterfront.
Raul paused in front of an old wooden building. He scraped his knuckles over the door and whistled a lilting tune in a minor key. After a brief wait, another whistle answered. Raul rapped sharply in a one-two-one rhythm.
The door swung open to show a bulky man whose body filled the frame. Ilse recognized his face. His name was Gervas, and he had come to Kosenmark’s household five years ago. Like the rest of the guards, Gervas was dressed in dark gray and black clothing, and in the twilight, he was little more than a looming silhouette except for a thin edge of light reflecting from the short sword in his hand.
“My lord,” he said. “Trouble?”
“A bit. Nothing terrible.”
Raul led his party inside, past Gervas and a second armed guard. Ilse had the impression of a vast empty space, the air dank and smelling of wood rot and sludge. She could hear a sucking noise—water against pilings—and the rill of a free-flowing river. In the distance, she made out a pattern of faint gray lines. Cracks in the walls? Shutters? She couldn’t tell. They’d reached an abandoned warehouse of sorts. Alesso had delivered her message—that much was clear. When Raul had arrived, and how he had discovered her whereabouts, was not.
She reached out for Raul’s arm, only to find he had moved on. He stood a short distance away, speaking to one of his men in a soft, high whisper.
“We have a temporary shelter,” Raul said as she came to his side.
“How temporary?” she asked.
“A few hours, no longer. As I mentioned, Emmetz does have a watch of sorts. One of them will eventually discover a few bodies…”
“And those thieves will report us for the reward,” Valara said.
Raul regarded her with a slight smile. A leopard’s smile, neither safe nor friendly. “They might,” he said. “Would you rather I had killed them all?”
“Perhaps. Does that prove your moral superiority?”
He laughed. “An interesting question. Let us discuss the matter in more comfort.”
An open staircase in the middle of the room led up to a trapdoor. Raul whistled a different tune. There was an answering whistle, then the trapdoor creaked open. “My lord,” said a woman’s voice. “We didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Does that mean Barrent doesn’t have our supper ready?”
“He says nearly, my lord. Give us another quarter bell.”
She heaved the door to one side, and they climbed through into another empty cavern of a room. Farther off, two men stood around an iron kettle filled with burning coals. The scent of leeks and fish and olive oil wafted toward the newcomers. Raul indicated to Valara and Galena that they should join the others. Ilse was about to follow, when he touched her arm.
“One moment,” he murmured in her ear. “I need a word alone with you.”
He took her through another door into a smaller chamber lit by moonlight from an open window. Blankets and gear were stacked in one corner. Outside, a balcony ran the length of the building, and stairs zigzagged down to the alleyway below, where another pair of guards patrolled. The sight reminded Ilse of the previous summer, when Raul had hired scores of new guards because of his private war with Markus Khandarr.
That war never ended. It never will, until one of them dies.
And even death was no guarantee.
Raul shut the door and whispered the invocation to magic. A sharp green scent rolled through the air, the scent of crushed grass and wildflowers. He spoke a second phrase and silence closed around them.
Ilse turned. In the moonlight, Raul’s eyes were like shining golden disks. Underneath the scent of magic came the sharper scent of blood, both from his clothing and hers. Ilse felt a tug deep within. There was something wrong in this painful spurt of desire, but she had no wish to suppress it just now. And yet she found it impossible to move, to do more than stare at him from across the room.
His mouth curved into a smile. “Are you hungry?”
Ilse laughed weakly. “Oh yes.”
His words, her laughter, released her from inaction.
She walked toward him into his embrace. It was not necessary to kiss. The warmth of his body, the pressure of his arms around her, the scent of wood smoke and cedar and sweat, a scent that was entirely his. She held him tightly. The shirt’s cloth felt wonderfully rough against her cheek. Through the fabric, she heard the rapid beat of his heart. I love him. I always have. In lives before and times long ago. Today and now. Through all my future days.
Raul buried his face into her hair. “Your message came to me last week. Unfortunately, Khandarr set a watch on my house. It took several days before I could arrange matters to escape without his notice.”
At first she could only take in his presence, his arms holding her tightly, and his voice, which was like an invocation to a different kind of magic. But then the meaning of his words broke through. “It came only last week? But—”
“Last week,” he repeated. “Six days before that came a report you had died.”
She pressed harder against him. Felt him trembling. Oh my love.
His lips brushed her cheeks. His breath feathered her hair, as he continued. “I had word that our usual channels were not to be trusted. I went immediately to Aschlau, then sent my best trackers to sweep the hills. They sighted you when you came into Emmetz. As soon as I got word, I … I hurried.”
Hurried. Such a lovely, ordinary word. She wanted to laugh again, but tears choked her voice, and it took a few moments before she could say anything close to sensible. “I am so glad you did,” she said. “Let me tell you more.”
He gave her the flask again. She drank sparingly, because she did not want the wine to muddle her thoughts, and quickly told him about Valara, from their first encounter in the pleasure house, to their flight through Osterling’s streets, to their confrontation with the soldiers and how Valara killed them with magic. She went on to describe Valara’s attempted escape and her subdued behavior since.
Throughout, Raul listened without interruption. When she was done, he considered a moment, then asked, “What about the ship? Do you still believe we should give her aid?”
She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. But I believe it would be a terrible mistake to leave her to Khandarr or Leos Dzavek. Morennioù has one jewel. Dzavek and Khandarr both would use this woman as a hostage to obtain it, which means war between all our kingdoms. However, I’ve promised nothing so far, only that you would listen to her. In return she must listen to you.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “What else must I know before we return to the others?”
What warning could she give? All her impressions, beliefs, and second thoughts flashed through her mind. There was so much she wanted to tell him, but in the end one quality stood out from the rest. “She lies,” she said simply. “Every moment. You cannot trust her.”
“How interesting.” He shook with silent laughter. “We should deal famously then. What is the truth behind her stories, do you think?”
She shook her head. “Better that you listen and make your own judgment.”
“Which is a judgment itself. Nevertheless, I see what you mean. I shall be cautious.”
His hand brushed against her hair. Ilse tilted her face up to see him studying her. Moonlight picked out silver at his temples. She wondered what other changes the past seven months had worked within and without the man. She wondered what changes he had remarked in her.
I shall have to tell him about Alesso.
Not yet. Not when they had found each other again.
She laid a hand on his chest, closed her eyes, and tried to reach for a calm and focus she did not possess in the moment. Raul had sensed the change in her mood, because he loosened his embrace. “Come,” he said. “We’ll eat our supper and head north. Then we can talk with our queen.”
* * *
WITHIN TWO HOURS, they had crossed the river by the nearest fording and left Emmetz behind for the rain-wet fields beyond. They marched in single file along a muddy goat track, which rose slowly from the riverbanks to the lower slopes of the northern hills. The company kept to an easy pace, with frequent stops, but Raul did not call a halt until several hours later, when they had gained the edge of a pine and oak forest.
The guards went to work at once to set up their new camp, fetching water and deadwood, stretching lengths of canvas to make shelters. Ilse leaned against a tree trunk, overtaken by weariness. The moon had set an hour before. Far to the east, the first pale bands of dawn showed, but the river valley below was overrun with shadows. The air smelled fresh and cool, with a foretelling of rain.
“Do we go on tomorrow?” she asked Raul.
“Not until we talk with your queen,” he said. “I want to make certain we agree on the essentials.”
One of the guards approached. Raul turned away. Ilse listened to them discuss the watch rotation. She rubbed her palms against her eyes. The brief spurt of joy at seeing Raul had faded hours ago, during the long march into the hills. She had not removed the reason for their separation. She had merely changed the direction of their plans. What came next depended on Valara Baussay.
Raul and the guard were still deep in conversation. Ilse took herself to the edge of camp. Galena and Valara had disappeared. Another guard, Ada Geiss, told Ilse that Galena had volunteered to dig latrines. Valara had retired into her tent for the night. Ada’s expression was bland, but Ilse caught a hint of amusement in her voice, and she wondered just what Valara had said or done to provoke that.
Most likely she was herself.
She asked where she ought to sleep, and Ada pointed her to Raul’s tent. It was the largest of the camp, with a portable writing desk in the corner and a small metal box layered in spells, a miniature of the one he used in Tiralien. Several packs stowed in one corner. Two mattresses, she noted, both made from blankets tucked around pine branches.
On the bed to her left, someone had laid out clean clothes and other necessary items, all of them sized for Ilse. Next to the bed she found her old gear from Tiralien—leather armor, wrist sheaths, even the metal helmet she used for weapons drill on those days when Benedikt Ault pushed her exceptionally hard. I love him, she thought. All over again. He does not come to rescue me. He comes to deliver me weapons.
Ilse changed into a new shirt and trousers, and lay down on her pine mattress. The crushed scent of needles reminded her of magic’s green scent. Magic, that rare and dangerous current, and yet the ordinary world was filled with reminders of its presence. Crushed grass, the tang of forests, the rich perfume of new blossomed wildflowers. Was it, as the old scholars insisted, only a matter of setting your gaze in the right direction? And if that were true, why were so many blind to it?
Rain pattered against the tent ceiling, a rhythmic tap-tapping that emptied her thoughts. Eventually, she slept.
* * *
SHE DREAMED OF rain drumming against canvas, against doors and windowpanes. Gradually the rain faded away and she walked in silence through dreams of a milk-white palace. Narrow windows showed a night sky salted with stars. Snow hushed against the stone walls outside. And everywhere hung the scent of magic.
A prince of Károví sat opposite her, his lean dark face intent upon the book between them. It is a matter of discipline, he said.
His eyes were large and bright, like a bird’s. He wore a ruby in one ear, a sapphire set into his cheek. She touched the smaller emerald in her own cheek. Its presence chafed, but she willed away these thoughts and concentrated on the text, an antique volume that one of the diplomats from the Erythandran Court had brought as a gift to her, in recognition of her position as the affianced bride to the Károvín heir. She had showed it to Leos because she respected his opinion in scholarly matters. As usual, they had begun to argue.
Discipline is but one ingredient, she said. You know that, Leos.
Talent, he said with a dismissive gesture.
Not talent alone, she replied. Honor plays a role. So does heart. No, do not scoff, Leos. There are cases throughout history that support my theory that magic is both act and consequence. Imagine if you were that wizard who discovered Lir’s jewel—except “discovered” is too soft a word for what he did.
It doesn’t matter what he did. He served his king.
No, she said. He captured the magic for himself. He took the gift of magic and entrapped it inside a dead stone for his own glory. He paid a terrible price—
She stopped at his expression. You know nothing about him, he said coldly. He rose, taking up the book as he did so. Thank you for the gift. I will treasure it.
He stalked away, his gait unnaturally awkward. She did not have the courage to remind him the gift had been intended for her. She glanced out the window, to the vista of rooftops and the plains beyond. Clouds passed before the sun, casting the room into shadow. It had begun to snow, in spite of the spring season, the flakes coming down large and wet against the expensive glass panes of the window.
She woke to the trill of running water. The air inside the tent was warm and close. The scent she smelled was crushed grass drenched in rain. Ordinary things from an ordinary world, but still her pulse beat an uncomfortable tattoo as she took in the implications of her dream. She and Dzavek, together, in the days before Károví broke away from the empire. Why had she never dreamed of him before?
Oh. But I have.
She recalled the image of Dzavek’s face as he turned away—an image she had dreamed a hundred times without understanding its import. And another dream, of darkness and torchlight and a blade flashing toward her throat. There was even the moment when she had glimpsed her grandmother’s life dream, to see herself in the same white palace. Fragments only, and yet if she had had the wit to piece them together, she might have understood her part in this spectacle.
But no, I only thought how my life had intersected with Raul’s.
The thought of Raul drove away all dreams.
She sat up. His mattress was empty. His clothes from the day before lay folded at the bottom, and the mattress showed signs he had slept beside her. The blankets themselves held none of his warmth, but a faint trace of Raul’s unmistakable scent lingered in the cloth, the same she had breathed in the night before in the deserted warehouse. It was like finding traces of a ghost.
Then she heard voices not far away—a man’s and a woman’s.
She crawled from the tent into the twilight. The ground was wet through, and more rain dripped from the trees. Clouds mottled the sky. A red smudge ran along the western horizon. She had slept the day through.
Raul sat alone with Valara Baussay by a low-burning fire in the center of the campsite. A kettle of venison stew hung from a metal rod, set between two stakes. There was also a pot of coffee set beside the fire to keep warm. It had a burnt smell, which told Ilse the others had been awake an hour at least. None of the guards were in the camp.
A bucket of water stood by the tent. Ilse rinsed her mouth and splashed more over her face. Then she approached the other two.
“Have you held a conference without me?” she asked.
Raul smiled tightly. “Hardly. You are the linchpin of our discussions, after all.”
His voice was high and edged. And Valara’s face was too deliberately bland.
“I am no linchpin,” she said. “Merely a participant.”
Raul smothered a laugh. Valara shook her head. Interesting.
Ilse took a seat on the third side of the campfire. Raul sorted through a collection of mugs, plucked the cleanest of them, and poured her a cup of coffee. She accepted it with caution. His mood was clearly sarcastic, Valara’s furious. It was easy to see they’d already had at least one unpleasant exchange.
“What have you decided so far?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Valara said.
“And everything,” Raul added.
Ilse sipped her coffee, which was bitter, and observed them both. Valara’s mouth was set in a hard, angry line. Raul appeared amused, but she read tension in the tilt of his head, the way he flexed his fingers as he refilled his own mug.
“Would you like to know what we’ve discussed?” he said to Ilse. “Your companion is not Károvín or Veraenen. Her accent confirms that. She claims to be Morennioù’s newest queen. An outrageous declaration, but let us accept it for now—”
“You said you wanted peace,” Valara broke in. “You lied.”
“How so?”
“If you truly wanted peace, you would not demand a price in return.”
Raul shrugged. “Our queen believes we should provide her with a ship on her word alone. To ask for any assurance is unreasonable.”
“I said nothing like that. You want too much.”
“I want your promise that you will not involve yourself in our wars.”
“And what if I refuse? Would you deliver me to Lord Khandarr?”
“No, to King Leos Dzavek.”
Ilse went still. The coffee roiled in her empty stomach. “Raul—”
“Hush,” he said. “Let me continue the part our queen expects.”
A role, then. Her misgivings, however, did not abate.
Valara was glaring at Raul. “You speak of treason to your own king.”
He seemed impervious to her rage. “I’ve committed treason already, by certain lights. I learned of your escape last week. And yet I said nothing to anyone in authority. If I had, you would be in Lord Khandarr’s gentle custody.”
A long pause followed while Valara studied Raul. The tattoos on her cheek and under her lips stood out against her pale brown skin. Ilse thought she saw traces of a third. Again, she wondered at their significance.
Finally, Valara said, “You mentioned the jewels before. Does that mean you are searching for them?”
“No. I wish to secure peace between my kingdom and Károví. The jewels are a hindrance.”
“Or a provocation,” Ilse murmured.
Raul shot her a keen glance. “Yes, or a provocation. They are rare and powerful objects, which any kingdom might find useful in war. Do you deny that?”
Valara’s eyes narrowed—almost an obvious clue to her thoughts, except that Ilse believed nothing obvious about this queen. Was she calculating the risks to any answer? Or possibly weaving a new and more plausible story?
“You wish me to be honest,” Valara said at last. “Very well. I have said we in Morennioù possess one of the jewels. I discovered it myself in Autrevelye—what you call Anderswar. It was last summer.”
Ilse suppressed a flinch of surprise. Last summer was the time when she and Raul had received disquieting news from their spies. Károví had begun naval maneuvers off the Kranjě islands. Not long thereafter, Dzavek had recalled high-ranking officers from Taboresk, Duszranjo, and Strážny. She glanced toward Raul, whose expression had not changed, but she knew the same thought would occur to him.
“Did Dzavek know of your discovery?” he asked.
Valara hesitated. “He did. But he did not know my identity until much later. That was when he launched a fleet of ships through Luxa’s Hand.”
“How?”
Another pause, almost undetectable, but Ilse was watching Valara closely. She did not think the woman was lying outright, but she suspected carefully selected gaps in her story.
“He used magic,” Valara said slowly. “Spells locked on the ships, which remained dormant until unleashed by a matching key. It— I am not certain I have the words to describe it, but those spells translated the ships and everything inside them to light.”
“You saw that?” Raul said sharply.
She shook her head. “I heard the soldiers talk about it, after they took me prisoner. One set for all twenty ships bound to Morennioù. Another set for those who returned.”
Ilse let her breath trickle out. So, Dzavek had found the means to break through the magical barrier set by Morennioù’s great mages three hundred years ago. It would require equally great magic to do that, but Leos Dzavek had the knowledge and skill—centuries of it.
Raul refilled his mug with more unpalatable coffee. Such a casual gesture, but Ilse thought she could read great tension underneath, like a panther that has sighted its prey. “Interesting,” he said mildly. “Leos Dzavek achieved what no other mage could these past three hundred years. Are you as skilled as he is?”
Valara’s gaze never wavered. “No.”
“Then how do you propose to return to your homeland? Unless you have Lir’s jewel and can use its magic to support your own.”
“I have no jewel with me,” Valara replied quickly. “It stays hidden in my homeland. The Károvín did not discover its presence, because we gave them a counterfeit wrapped in magic. This is what I told her before.” She nodded toward Ilse. “But with a good ship and crew, it is possible to circle around the barrier. Luxa’s Hand does not extend infinitely. I’ve studied the maps left by the old mages. Far south, near the great ice fields, the barrier ends.”
Raul sipped his coffee, grimaced, and set it aside. “A dangerous voyage.”
“Yes,” Valara said. “But remember, a fleet of ships and their soldiers remain in Morennioù, Lord Kosenmark. I might be queen, but I am a hunted queen, far from home and with the enemy at loose in my lands. That is the reason behind my desperation. So I ask again, will you give me passage home?”
Raul said nothing for a few moments. Ilse didn’t need a magical spell to read his mind. He was casting over what Valara told him, sifting through her words and silences for the truth.
“What about us?” he said at last. “More important, what about the third jewel?”
“What about it?” Valara asked in turn.
“You have one jewel. Leos Dzavek has recovered the second. Do not bother to deny it. I have confirmation from several trusted sources. So far you are well-matched. Veraene has nothing.”
“Not exactly nothing,” Valara replied. “You have tens of thousands of soldiers more than I. You have a mage councillor of great skill—”
“Leave him aside,” Raul said. “One jewel—one creature born of Lir’s breath and love and passion—that can overturn any advantage we have. We need a better assurance.”
“What kind of assurance? Your famous peace? Your word is not enough, Lord Kosenmark. You might say I have nothing to bargain with. But I would gladly bargain my life against my kingdom’s security.”
The firelight gave the other woman’s face a ruddy cast. Her eyes were like dark strokes of ink against a sheet of parchment, aged to the color of honey, her face like the face of stone monuments from ancient times. It was in that moment that Ilse saw why Valara was the heir and now queen. She did not speak empty words.
I have met this woman before, in lives past. Which ones?
She glanced toward Raul. He gave slight nod. My turn, Ilse thought.
“Are you ready for war, then?” she asked Valara. “Are you ready for all your people to die, not just you?”
Valara blinked at the question. “Why should that matter to you?”
“Peace matters to me. Unless we agree, Veraene faces a bloody, unnecessary war. Unless we agree, you face a thousand or more soldiers and mages from Veraene or Károví.”
“More threats,” Valara said. Her voice sounded rougher than before.
“No, merely observations about the risks following your decisions. You might believe that a war between Veraene and Károví protects you. It will, for a time. We haven’t ships or soldiers or mages enough to battle two kingdoms, especially one so far away as yours. Or you might believe that Morennioù could ally itself with either of us—”
“I don’t.”
Ilse tilted her hand to one side. “Then you believe that Lir’s Veil protects you. Also wrong. Morennioù is no longer the lost kingdom. One fleet of ships found a way through the Veil. Others will follow. War here simply means a delay.”
Valara stared at Ilse a long moment. “So what do you propose?” she said at last.
“A balance between the kingdoms,” Ilse said. “You pledge to keep Morennioù neutral. Lord Kosenmark gives you passage home, and pledges to use his influence to forestall any difficulties between our kingdom and yours.”
Valara frowned. “A pledge of influence? From a man dismissed from court? I cannot—”
“And I give myself to you as a hostage,” Ilse said.
A thick silence dropped over the campsite. Ilse wasn’t certain why she had offered herself. It was impulse, and the knowledge that unless Valara gained a true advantage over Raul, she would never agree to anything he proposed.
But the sight of Raul’s masklike expression was like a knife stroke.
She drew a breath. “Let me explain.”
“Please do,” Raul whispered.
“Yes,” Valara said. “You would offer yourself as my hostage. How does that benefit me?”
“Two ways. You are assured that Lord Kosenmark will keep his promises. And you may use my presence should you need to bargain with Armand of Angersee and Lord Khandarr. King Leos remains your concern. In return, you will offer us all assistance to recover Lir’s third jewel.”
Valara stared at Ilse. Again Ilse had the impression of a hunting fox—and that impression strengthened when the other woman drew her lips drew back from her teeth. “I agree.”
A longer pause followed before Raul said, “I would like to discuss certain points with Mistress Ilse before I pledge my word. Please,” he said, cutting off Valara’s incipient protest. “You will have weeks or months to discuss the matter with her. I require only until tomorrow.”
Valara shrugged. “Very well. Let me know in the morning what you decide.”
She stood and deliberately turned away, toward the rows of tents. Ilse watched silently until the woman disappeared into the closest one. All the while, she sensed Raul’s unhappiness, his tense stillness, as he waited for her to speak again.
It had been the logical move, she told herself. The only one that gave Raul the advantage he needed against Armand and Khandarr. Valara had studied the jewels. She knew enough to rediscover one. And though Dzavek had taken the second, she must have clues to where the third one lay. If Veraene controlled that one, they could achieve a true balance between the kingdoms—a dangerous one, if any king or queen decided to risk all, to gain all. She did not think that Leos Dzavek would do so, nor Valara Baussay, in spite of her bravado.
“You made a risky throw,” Raul said.
He spoke softly, his voice more like a woman’s than ever.
“I had no choice,” Ilse said.
“Liar,” he whispered.
At that, she had to meet his gaze. “I am not lying,” she answered, as softly as he. “I am not running away. But if we do not give this queen some advantage, she would die before she agreed to any pact with us.”
“You said she lies.”
“She does,” Ilse said. “That is why I offered myself—to ensure our part of the bargain. She will search for the third jewel, whether I go with her or not, you know. She is a great deal like Leos Dzavek. They both want all three, and not just for practical reasons.”
An image of Dzavek’s face flickered through her memory. She shivered, thinking of the similarities between him and the Morenniouèn queen.
“A risk.” Firelight and shadows made Raul’s smile deeper than it really was.
“Somewhat,” she agreed. “Do you see a better course?”
“That is the simplest question I’ve answered today. A better course would let me spend the rest of my days with you. No more hiding. No more pretense. But,” he went on, his voice high and soft, “that course is not one I’m offered.”
“You aren’t arguing with me,” she observed.
“No.” She could hear the briefest catch on that word. “No, I am not your master. I make no cages for you, not even ones of words and wishes.” Then he said, “I love you. I have not said that enough lately.”
Her throat closed. She had to swallow before she could speak. “We haven’t had much opportunity.”
“No, we haven’t. Would you like to change that?”
His voice turned rougher, deeper. It was more than desire that tugged at her. It was … a sense of completeness in his company. More, because she could tell from a myriad of details that her presence wrought the same effect on him.
We need each other.
And she had just consigned herself to yet another, longer absence.
Raul held out his hand. Hers found it without conscious volition.
“What about…”
“Don’t worry,” he said.
He led her back to their tent. Ilse almost cursed him for predicting this moment, but instead she laughed softly as they ducked through the opening. Raul turned and with a quick movement, untied the cord holding the flaps open. Darkness fell over them. The air turned warm and close.
He drew her close and nuzzled her hair. “I love how you smell.”
“Of mud and sweat and…”
“You.”
His mouth closed over hers in a kiss.
Oh. Oh, I had forgotten.
Forgotten how warm and insistent his kisses were. How he liked to pull her tight against him, so that she lost her breath for a moment. And how he drew back, just enough so one hand inevitably traced a path from her hair to her neck to her breast, where his palm cupped her flesh gently.
“Raul…”
His answer was a mumbled laugh, a cry.
“Raul, I must tell you something. It’s about Osterling.”
“Not tonight,” he said hoarsely. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. It was a promise and a warning.
He touched her cheek with his fingertips. Ilse drew him close into a warm kiss, soon followed by another. Their kisses turned into a hungry feast of caresses, of mouth against skin, until they had shed their clothes and locked themselves in a bubble of passion.