She reeled to one side, nearly fell over. “You. You poisoned my wine.”
Alesso smiled. “Hush, no. Merely added a few pinches of valerian powder. You will sleep better and wake without harm.”
“But…” Her tongue tripped over the word.
He shushed her again. Gently, he took her by the elbow and helped her to stand. No one noticed their departure. Courtesans and clients were absorbed entirely in each other, in the giving and receiving of pleasure. Ilse made an attempt to shake free of Alesso’s hand. He laughed and drew her close with an arm around her waist.
No,
she thought.
I do not want you. I only want Raul.
Her body admitted the lie, however. When Alesso adjusted his hold, his hand shifted downward to her hip. A bright burst of warmth flooded her body. She sucked in a quick breath. He paused, and she could tell he was looking down at her, because his breath feathered her hair. “All well?” he asked.
She shook her head. It was a false desire, born of weariness and fear and the drugged wine.
Outside her rooms, Alesso produced a key and unlocked the door. A part of her protested. How had he obtained a key? But her tongue felt too clumsy, and the words slipped away from her, even as she tried to form them. Alesso paid no attention to her distress. He guided her easily into her bedroom, where he laid her on the bed and loosened her clothes. This close, Ilse caught the whiff of his scent, a mix of bergamot and ginger, and another, a warmer scent, one she knew very well. It was the scent of a man not entirely immune to desire himself. As Alesso spread the quilt over her, Ilse tilted up her chin and kissed him on the lips.
Alesso went still. His expression was invisible in the darkness, but she heard his quick intake of breath. He muttered something—a curse or prayer, she couldn’t tell which—then pressed his lips against hers.
He tasted of wine and bittersweet smoke. She opened her mouth to his, and another kiss followed, slow and expert. His lips were hot against her skin as he imprinted more kisses along her cheek to the corner of her jaw. One hand drifted down to her breast.
The touch shocked her into awareness. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. She placed both hands on his chest and pushed him away. “No.”
Silence between them. Then Alesso said, “As you wish.”
He laid a hand over her forehead and spoke a string of syllables. Erythandran, but with an accent she had never heard before, softer and more fluid, the harsh syllables overlaid with tones of Fortezzien’s own ancient tongue. That was all that registered before the magical current wrapped her in sleep.
* * *
DOWN AND DOWN,
into a sleep so immediate, so profound that she did not respond at first to the hands shaking her. She stirred, mumbled a protest, and tried to bury herself in sleep once more. The hands, however, were persistent. “Ilse. Wake up. You have a letter.”
That was impossible. A letter? What letter? Raul would never commit any message to paper. It was too dangerous. Markus Khandarr had spies everywhere.
Hands gripped both shoulders and shook harder. “Ilse, wake up. Now!”
With a gasp, she came awake.
Moonlight poured through the open shutters of her bedroom. A salt-scented breeze brushed her face, sweet and cool. Ilse sat up. She saw a shadow retreating through the door. “Who—?”
The shadow paused. “You will find the letter on your desk. Don’t worry. I promise to lock the doors behind me.”
Soft footsteps padded over the tiled floor. Moments later, she heard the door shut. Only then did she recognize Alesso’s voice. What was he doing here?
Oh. I kissed him.
All the details returned with hideous clarity. She stumbled from bed and into her study, but he had already vanished. Outside a gibbous moon hung low in the sky; bells rang whisper-soft through the night. It was well after midnight. Now she recalled how Alesso had promised to wait for any messages. He must have seen her give the note to the house runner. He was a spy. Or did he think he might blackmail her?
Letter first. Speculation later.
She found an envelope waiting on a serving tray on her table. There was also a carafe of fresh hot coffee, brewed strong, and a small drinking cup filled with water. She sniffed the water. It smelled sweet and aromatic. Not plain water then.
It was then she noticed a scrap of paper, which the cup had hidden. Printed in anonymous letters was the message:
No poison. Merely an antidote for the valerian in the water. There is nothing in the coffee except coffee.
Ilse set the water aside, untouched. She didn’t trust Alesso’s claim. The coffee smelled ordinary, however, so she poured a cup and took a tentative sip. It tasted normal enough, so she drank down two full mugs and felt her head clear. Then she turned her attention to the letter.
The envelope carried no inscription except her name. Joannis had sealed the edges with plain yellow wax. Very ordinary. Very convincing. Anyone might think him too busy to bother with other precautions. Ilse knew better. She tested the paper and detected several layers of spells, keyed to her touch. Ah, interesting. Someone had attempted to break the spells, but failed. Probing deeper, she sensed two magical signatures, one strong and intoxicating, as bitter and pungent as alcohol. The second was warmer, softer and thinner, like a ribbon of worn velvet. She was not certain which belonged to which man.
Wax and magic remained intact, however. She touched her thumb to the wax and felt the magic ripple over her skin as the spell yielded to her identity.
Inside was a single sheet of fine parchment, with one line in Joannis’s distinctive script.
I can spare you half an hour tonight. Come directly to the palace.
Ilse brushed a hand over her face. Alesso was still on watch, no doubt. She could do nothing about him today, however. It was more important that she speak with Joannis.
She made herself as presentable as possible in a few moments, then went below. The halls and common room were silent. Only a few maids moved about, picking up dishes and wine cups from the tables. The scents of stale incense and smoke hung in the air. One of the maids fetched a lantern for Ilse. The girl was plainly curious, but of course she asked no questions. Mistress Andeliess hired only those who proved discreet.
Outside, the steady ocean breeze cleared Ilse’s head. She crossed the market square, and turned onto the boulevard leading toward the garrison. The moon and stars illuminated her way, but in the darker alleys around the old Keep ruins, she was glad for her lantern. Osterling was a different city in the night. Lonelier and stranger, with hints and whispers from centuries gone by.
She rounded the Keep’s old walls and followed the main avenue to the governor’s palace. Dozens of windows in the palace blazed with lamplight. So, too, did the city garrison, while the fort above was mostly dark. Odd.
The palace guards expected her. One of them escorted her across the outer courtyard and through the gaudily painted grand entrance hall, all rose-pink and bright gold, up the winding stairs to the governor’s office. As she followed, Ilse noted the guards at every intersection, the many runners who passed them in the corridors, the glances directed at her then away. If tension had a scent and flavor, it was here.
“Mistress Ilse Zhalina to see Lord Joannis,” her escort announced to the guards outside.
A look passed between the two guards. Both glanced uneasily at the closed door. Ilse heard voices inside. She was about to say she could wait elsewhere, when the door swung open and Ranier Mazzo exited the room. He stopped when he saw Ilse, and his eyes went wide.
Commander Thea Adler appeared immediately behind him. Fatigue lined her face. Her mouth was set in a thin angry line. The moment she saw Ilse, however, her expression smoothed to a blank. “Come with me,” she said to Ranier.
She stalked down the corridor. Ranier followed his commander. Ilse could almost hear the vibration from their passage. More bad news from the invasion? A difficulty with the prisoners?
“Lord Joannis will see you now,” the escort said, ushering her inside.
Her first reaction was surprise. She had expected a grand official chamber, such as Lord Vieth’s in Tiralien, filled with cold empty air and expensive statuary. Or an old-fashioned office like the one she had visited in Melnek as a child. Chandeliers swarmed like twisting snakes from the ceiling, making the room seem low. A huge desk occupied one entire side of the office, and tables crowded the floor, all of them stacked high with scrolls and books and leather-bound volumes. There were no windows—no distractions—only bookcases fronting every wall. A few patches of plaster showed between the shelves, but these surfaces were painted a rich yellowish-white, the color of skimmed cream. Nothing like the vivid colors she had grown used to over the past months.
Joannis stood with his back to her, gazing at a large map that showed the surrounding region. It reminded Ilse of the maps Raul used. “You’ve come about Galena Alighero,” he said, without turning around.
“Yes, I have.” She paused. “You already know what happened.”
He nodded. “I know what happened in the battle, and I can guess in part what you’ve come to speak about. But I’m curious, too. Curious why Galena Alighero failed to report a missing enemy. More curious why she chose to tell you and not her senior officers.”
His tone was light. Detached. Unsettling.
“Galena came to me because she trusts me,” Ilse answered.
“Trusts you to lie for her?”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. “No. I came to tell you about the Károvín officer. And that Galena Alighero regrets her actions. She is understandably anxious about admitting her fault.”
Joannis turned around. His dark face was creased with lines, and the skin beneath his normally bright eyes looked puffy. He gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit. Please. We need to talk.”
They sat, he behind his massive desk, and she in the ornately carved chair placed before it. A supplicant to her master. She dismissed the thought as unfair and accepted the cup of coffee Joannis offered.
“It was Mazzo who reported what happened,” Joannis said. “He saw Alighero engaged in a single combat. Alighero went down, and Mazzo tried to fight through to her side, but failed. When he saw her next, Alighero was charging into the battle. Naturally, he assumed she had killed her opponent. It was only later, when he and Tallo were talking over the morning, that he realized the man must have escaped.”
“My interview is useless, then.”
He tilted a hand to one side. “Not entirely. I am happy to know that she expresses regret, though I wonder if her regret is for her mistake—a very grave mistake—or for the punishment that must follow.”
Ilse could not answer that one. “There is another reason I asked to speak with you,” she said. “Galena mentioned a prisoner, a woman who was clearly not Károvín. I thought you might—”
“There are many things I might do,” Joannis said. “And many subjects we might discuss. However, you must know that certain subjects, certain acts, are fraught with difficulty.”
So. A clear warning against mentioning Raul Kosenmark.
She considered his position as a representative of the king—a governor of Fortezzien, a province that turned restless from time to time. Baerne of Angersee had hoped to quell that restlessness by appointing a nobleman of Fortezzien ancestry to this high post. Amazingly, his grandson had not overturned that appointment upon taking the throne.
He knows Armand watches him. He must tread carefully.
“I understand,” she said. “Would it be possible to discuss Galena Alighero’s punishment?”
“You do not intend to plead for mercy?”
She hesitated. “Not exactly. I understand you cannot overlook what she did. But I would ask you to match her punishment to her character. If you strip her of rank and hope, she becomes nothing to Veraene. With the right handling, she could mature into a valuable soldier.”
Joannis leaned back in his chair. One by one, he touched his fingers together. Counting. Calculating. “I see. Well, I will take your argument into account.”
His tone indicated that their interview was over. Ilse stood, reluctantly. Joannis had explicitly warned her against the subject of Raul Kosenmark. She could hardly ask him to forward the news about the Károvín ships, never mind the possible link to Morennioù. “Thank you for speaking with me.”
Joannis smiled briefly. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Her gaze flicked up in surprise. He nodded. She started to speak, but he motioned her to silence. “You should know that I’ve sent word about today’s events to Duenne. No doubt you heard that we took prisoners. Consider that our king might send a trusted representative to oversee their interrogation. It makes for an interesting situation,” he added.
Meaning that the king’s representative would investigate all aspects of the invasion, including her involvement. She, too, would have to tread carefully.
“I see,” Ilse breathed. “Thank you for the information.”
Back in her rooms, she found someone had taken away the tray. The door had been locked, she was certain. Nevertheless, she made a circuit, checking all her belongings, from books, to any records she kept for Mistress Andeliess, to her weapons and clothing. Nothing missing. Nothing misplaced.
Except one kiss.
And my sense of honor.
* * *
GALENA WOKE AT
sunrise, to chimes signaling the quarter hour.
She had been dreaming again, the vivid dreams called life memories. An enormous raptor had swooped down and snatched her away from a blood-soaked battlefield. She remembered the stab of its claws, her hands losing hold of her sword, which spun down to the field below. Her ears still rang with screams from the dying soldiers, with the raptor’s harsh cry as it bore her upward, ever upward.
You were a soldier then, too. You served the king. You were good and brave.
Or was I?
Galena veered away from that question. She knew very little about her previous lives, only that she had fought and fought again. She never knew the end of the battle though, no matter how much she wished to see that moment. Perhaps it was Toc’s will, to keep soldiers brave in the face of death.