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.