She rounded the corner into the courtyard. There were no exits, just one door chained shut. The boy was scrabbling at the latch, muttering strange words, but swung around to face Galena, hair swirling in a dark cloud. A forgotten lamp burned in a window overhead, casting a dim circle of light over him.
No, her.
Galena stopped, her heart thudding faster.
I know her.
It was the woman she had sighted on the beach, the day of the battle. She was bone-thin and nearly as tall as Galena. Her eyes were dark and narrow above flat cheeks, her complexion like the dark golden sands of Osterling’s shores. She wore a prisoner’s uniform underneath a shapeless tunic with a guard’s badge sewn at one shoulder. Her feet were bare.
The woman raised both hands. The sleeves fell back, revealing two wrist sheaths and their knives. Galena paused, wary. She drew her sword and rocked on her feet, ready to defend or attack as she needed to.
“
Ei rûf ane gôtter,”
the woman said. “
Komen mir de kreft.”
The air turned dense, like the morning fog rolling in from the sea. Galena scrambled backward, but not quickly enough. The cloud swept over her, and the world went blank.
When she came to, Galena lay at full length on the hard paving stones. Her head throbbed, her eyes refused to focus. She groaned and stirred. That was a mistake. Pain lanced through her skull. She choked back a surge of bile and groaned again.
Cool fingers pressed against Galena’s temples. A woman murmured in an unknown language. The fresh green scent of pines filled the air, taking away the nausea. More words spoken in that unknown language, like water trickling over stone, then a command delivered in Veraenen.
“Stand up.”
Galena blinked and focused on the woman standing over her. The prisoner. She fumbled for her knife, only to find the sheath empty. Sword gone. Both knives missing. The woman had taken everything.
“Stand up,” the woman repeated. She held a knife to Galena’s throat.
“What do you want?” Galena croaked.
To her surprise, the woman gave a soft laugh. “What do I want? Too many things.” Then all the humor vanished from her face and she leaned over Galena. “I want a way out of Osterling. Get me past the gates.”
Galena noticed she hadn’t promised to release Galena after she escaped. So she was smart, too. “What if I say no?”
“Then I make certain you can’t warn anyone else.”
Her tone was cool and composed, but the hand gripping the knife shook slightly.
Desperate enemies make dangerous ones,
her father always said. “What did you do to the others?” Galena asked.
A heartbeat of hesitation. “They sleep.”
She killed them.
Galena squeezed her eyes shut against renewed dizziness and considered her situation. This young woman knew a great deal of magic. She’d killed a dozen guards or more. She’d broken free from a prison with strong magical shields. Even if Galena took her by surprise and wrestled the knife away, the woman could probably murder her with a single word.
“I can’t help you alone,” she said. “And I need my weapons.”
“No weapons.”
“Very well. But I can’t get you away from Osterling by myself. I know someone who can, though.” When the other woman hesitated, she added, “If you don’t believe me, you can kill me now.”
The woman frowned, tight-lipped. “You promise? You promise to get help?”
It was not exactly a lie, Galena told herself. “I promise. Come with me.”
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.