chapter TWENTY-FIVE
THE JOURNEY HOME from the Jelyndak Islands took all the latter weeks in spring and well into summer.
They could not sail directly into Tiralien’s harbor, of course. The ship was too well known among the port officials, and after Gerek’s escape, Markus Khandarr or his agents would keep a vigilant watch in all the coastal cities.
So they returned in twos and threes, each group taking a different route.
That same day, Gervas sailed with the launch’s pilot back to the mainland, taking with him the casks with Detlef ’s and Katje’s ashes. Gervas also had a letter for Theo, addressed via Baron Eckard, to bring him home from the Kranjě Islands. The rest spent another day removing their belongings to the ship and erasing all signs of the battle and their presence on Hallau. Gerek worked alongside the others, sweating in silence under the glaring sun of late spring. He disliked the empty city. He found the island itself unsettling, with its rocky ground swept clear by magic of grass and trees. When at last he boarded the launch to return to the ship, he stared east and over the ocean, rather than take one last glimpse of that miserable dark place.
They waited only on the next tide before the ship’s crew raised anchor. Then, with evening shadows falling over the horizon, they set sail for the open seas, taking a great arcing path to the south outside the coastal patrols. For weeks their horizon was of water alone, the great rolling swells and the shimmering sky above. Osterling appeared as a cluster of lights to the north. Gerek knew only because one of the ship’s crew told him.
Around the point and northwest. Two guards and Alesso Valturri landed in a remote section of coast on the far side of the peninsula. Three more in Pommersien, where they would hire on with a caravan heading northeast. Gerek Hessler thought the ship might continue onward to Valentain, but after a few days to take in water and new provisions, the ship circled around to the east once more.
Someday, Gerek thought, as he leaned over the railing and watched the waves curling away from the ship’s sides. I shall return on my own. I shall leave my office and my books, and walk through these kingdoms I’ve only read about.
Lord Kosenmark had not spoken with Gerek since that first night. He locked himself in his cabin and relayed his orders through Ada Geiss, now the senior guard for the expedition. Late at night he walked the decks, but alone and silent. On those few encounters when his path did cross Gerek’s, he was unfailingly polite. But his manner was distracted and remote, the air of a man eternally preoccupied with faraway matters.
She was there, Ada had told him. Nothing of a break between them. It was all lies, I think, what came before. Politics or whatever they call it. Zhalina had disappeared in the middle of battle, in a magical cloud, according to Ada, and had chased the Morennioùen queen into the nothing. Neither woman had returned, nor the Károvín officer who had pursued them. If Gerek had not arrived with the ship, Kosenmark would be on that island still, waiting for her.
From his single conversation with Kosenmark, Gerek knew better than to believe the last remark, but he listened in attentive silence as Ada spoke about the battle and the days following. How the Károvín had sent their own healer to tend all the wounded. They had worked alongside the Veraenen to bury or immolate the dead.
They were good to us, like comrades, Ada said. It would be a shame if we had to fight them in war.
War. It hovered like thunderclouds on the horizon. Perhaps that was the reason for their long, long journey. Kosenmark did not sail without purpose, as some of the guards believed. No, he sent his people to wander, so they might report what the ordinary folks, in cities, towns, and around the countryside, said about Armand of Angersee and his war, and to confirm the rumors of factions and bickering in Duenne’s Court. Sitting alone in his cabin, Gerek could foresee two very different courses for Kosenmark and the kingdom.
They are inextricably entwined, after all.
The thought gave him no comfort.
On a dark, moonless night, off the coast between Fuldah and Konstanzien, their ship met a smaller ship—a cutter that had the air of a smuggler. Signals were exchanged by lantern shine. Satisfied, the ship’s master sent word to Lord Kosenmark. Soon Kosenmark, Ada, and Gerek had crossed over to the new ship and climbed aboard.
They reached shore two days later, landing on a lonely spit of land where Gervas waited with four sturdy horses and a string of mules bearing packs. With the proper clothes, they transformed themselves into a company of merchants and started on the final segment of their journey home.
It was late in the evening of a mid-summer’s day, two months since Gerek Hessler inadvertently left, when the four arrived at the stables behind Lord Kosenmark’s grounds. A storm had just passed, the sky overhead was streaked with clouds, and a thick mist hung in the air, burning bright in the dark red glow of sunset.
Gervas and Ada dismounted first. Gerek stifled a groan as he clambered down from his horse. His body ached from scalp to toe. The horse blew a rattling breath, and swung its head around. Gerek rubbed its nose.
“Shall we wait for nightfall, my lord?” Ada asked.
Kosenmark still sat on his horse. He started, as if recalled from a distant dream. “No,” he said. “If we have watchers, they already know we’ve arrived.”
Ada and Gervas collected the gear and headed toward the house. Gerek waited, uncertain. Kosenmark had made no move to dismount. Finally the man glanced down. He smiled, the first Gerek had seen since …
… since almost never.
“Go,” Kosenmark said softly. “And thank you, Gerek.”
Wordlessly, Gerek handed over his reins to a stable hand. His muscles cried out with every step, but he trudged between the sheds and low buildings, to the wide swath of green outside the gates. Three guards stood at watch. They admitted him without challenge or greeting, for which he was grateful.
He passed through the gates into the wild lower gardens. A hush lay over the grounds, a sweet soft quiet of twilight. It was like the pause between one breath and the next, Gerek thought. Between the invocation of magic and its presence. He paused in the middle gardens and breathed in the ripe scent of roses and lilies, the crushed grass beneath his feet. From the house came a rill of incense floating through the air.
Inside that house waited his duties, regular and dull.
(Though not so dull as he had first expected.)
Somewhere, in the kitchen no doubt, Kathe and her mother supervised the preparations for the evening. He had not allowed himself to think of Kathe since landing on Hallau Island.
I must talk with her later. Tomorrow. She will grant me that much, I think.
He followed the lane down the side of the house, slipped past the kitchens, bright and busy with noise, and entered by another door. This wing of the house proved deserted, but from a distance he heard the echo of conversation and music. Nadine’s voice rose in a laughing exclamation, answered by Eduard and another man’s voice. Gerek paused and smiled painfully, thinking of his own first encounter with Nadine. A stranger would see only the glittering exterior of the house. They would not perceive the secret corridors, the sudden trips and traps, the shadows underneath.
Was he sorry he came here?
No. He had done good work, if not the work he had expected.
He turned into the stairwell and climbed to the floor where he had his rooms. As he rounded the corner from the landing, he saw a figure standing far off. A woman, whose height and form were familiar to him, even in the shadows. She turned, and the light from a lamp fell across her face.
Kathe.
Gerek’s heart gave a painful leap. He took three swift steps toward her before doubt stopped him. But Kathe was already running toward him. She took his hands in a fierce grip. Gerek could not trust himself to speak. He could only take in her presence, the warmth and strength of her hands, the brightness of her eyes as she stared back at him with a wondering gaze that called up all manner of hope.
“You’re not in the kitchen,” he said at last.
A fluid sentence that made no sense, and yet said everything he wished. Kathe laughed as if she understood him completely. “No, I’m not in the kitchen. Why should I be?”
There were tears beneath that laughter. He drew her closer. “Kathe, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. At least—I hope nothing. I heard you had come. Ada sent word throughout the house. And so I came to say— If you would still like an answer to your question. The one you asked before. And I can’t see why you would. But I have one.” She stopped and met his gaze directly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She drew a long breath and said, almost steadily, “If you would still like an answer to your question, my answer is yes.”
Yes. She said yes.
All the weariness and doubts tumbled away from him. He was grinning, and saw that foolish grin mirrored in Kathe’s face. For a moment, the briefest sorrow overtook his delight—it was not fair that he should have such joy when Lord Kosenmark had none—but just as quickly, he forgot Kosenmark and the rest of the world in the amazement of his own great happiness.
“Do you still want that answer?” Kathe whispered.
Gerek lifted a hand to her cheek. “Oh, yes. Yes, I do.”