Alesso glanced at Ilse briefly as he passed into the room. He was a young man, slim and dark. She had noticed him the first day, thinking he could be a warrior or a dancer, and wondering why he had chosen to work in the kitchens of a pleasure house. Mistress Andeliess had told Ilse his history. Mother a soldier. Father a cook in the local taverns. Six years ago, the mother had taken a new posting in the next province. The father had followed, leaving the child Alesso behind with his aunts and uncles. Not long afterward, Alesso Valturri had applied to Mistress Andeliess and had worked for her ever since.
Ilse leaned against the wall, watching him as he laid out the dishes for her breakfast and poured a cup of tea. Her shoulder was still sore, and she felt as though something had scooped the strength from her body. She yawned, then realized Alesso had finished his work and was studying her with bright black eyes.
“You look terrible,” he said. “What happened?”
Ilse stifled a second yawn and shrugged. “I didn’t sleep well.”
His eyes narrowed. He was smiling, but there was an unusual alertness to his gaze. “Did you sleep at all?” he said. “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday underneath that robe, and you can barely stand up—”
“I’m fine,” Ilse snapped. Cursing silently, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Exhaustion had led to her outburst. Perhaps she could use it to undo the mistake. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I stayed up far too late, reading, and fell asleep in my clothes.”
Alesso appeared unconvinced. However he said nothing more, and when she mentioned the hour, he smiled politely and withdrew. Ilse pressed her ear against the closed door and listened. Alesso did not linger. Still, she waited until his footsteps retreated toward the stairs, then sank onto the nearest stool. Too close. And far too suspicious. What if he knew about magic?
Stop it. He’s curious. Kind.
Or someone who wished to gain her trust.
Ilse rested her head on her hands. She was trembling with exhaustion and fear.
I cannot live like this. Not everyone is a spy for Markus Khandarr.
The thought of Markus Khandarr propelled her to the table and her breakfast. The best way to divert suspicion would be to attend drill practice as usual. Alesso had brought her coffee, fresh flat bread, a plate of soft white cheese, and bowls of fruit and olives. Ilse filled her mug, then nibbled at the bread. The strength seeped back into her body. A warm breeze blew from the ocean through the open windows, carrying with it the strong scent of low tide.
Perhaps she ought to leave off magic for a few days.
Excuses. You’re just afraid of that monster.
It was hard to tell when discretion crossed into cowardice. She was afraid, that much she had to admit. Remembering the monster’s rank scent, its jutting sex, Ilse shuddered.
I know where all Lir’s creatures are,
it had said. But it had lied, and flung her away into the void.
Then I shall just have to try again.
Outside, the city bells rang eight times. Ilse cursed. It was far later than she had thought. Weapons drill had already started. She raced into her bedroom, unbuttoning her gown as she ran. She had promised the garrison commander diligence. Only then had he permitted her to take part in morning drill.
It took but a few moments to throw off her gown and pull on a loose shirt and old pair of trousers. Next came the belt with its sword in sheath. Ilse was never certain what the soldiers thought of her, a woman with money and education, who chose to drill alongside them, earning sweat and bruises and cuts from sword practice. A pet to be humored, she guessed. A mascot. For some, a potential lover.
Like Galena Alighero.
Young Galena who watched Ilse at drill with her pale green eyes. Who smiled quickly at whatever Ilse said, and who found any number of excuses to visit the pleasure house during her free hours, though she never hired one of the courtesans. Ilse recognized all the signs of an infatuation. She had tried to discourage Galena gently, but without any success. She would have to speak plainly to the girl, and soon.
No time to worry about Galena now.
Ilse locked her rooms and skimmed down the back stairs. The side courtyard was empty, but carts and stalls filled the square in front of the pleasure house. Most were fishermen who trawled the waters close to shore, or farmers from the hills just north of Osterling—men and women with plum-dark complexions, who spoke in a lilting cadence—but as she squeezed through the crowds, she heard snatches of dialects from the central plains.
Beyond the plaza, she turned off the main boulevard and plunged into the labyrinth of narrows streets and passageways around the ruins of the old Keep. Osterling was a city of walls, each ring marking its history over the centuries. The garrison and Keep lay at the heart, tucked against cliffs rising straight up to a stony crest where the king’s fort overlooked the city and the sea. Sunlight splashed the walls overhead, but the streets themselves were still dark and cool. As she crossed through a small courtyard, her shadow lengthened unexpectedly, and the strong clear scent of magic filled the air. She spun around into a crouch, dagger in hand.
And faced an empty lane.
Her skin rippled, as though she still stood in the void between worlds.
Just a reflection of the sunlight, she told herself. Nothing more.
Nevertheless, her hands were shaking as she re-sheathed the dagger and set off again. The quarter bell rang out, a single chime. Ilse cursed and ran faster. She would have to do her limbering exercises alone and try to catch up with the others. If, that is, Spenglar allowed her to stay. Spenglar had trained with the king’s personal guards in Duenne. He’d come to Osterling as drill master and captain ten years ago. A grim, disciplined man who expected the same from others.
She jogged up a set of narrow stone steps to the next level. The Keep’s wall curved around to the north. Ilse followed the lane beside it to the main boulevard. Now the garrison and the fort atop the cliffs came into view. Soldiers patrolled in pairs outside the fort’s walls above. A single pair stood outside the gates to the drill yard. Piero and his sister, Marelda. From within came the crash of swords, and Spenglar’s voice calling out the rhythm.
She paused for one breath, then sprinted to the gate. “Piero. Marelda. Am I too late?”
Both swung around to face her. Piero flashed a grin. “Can’t you hear them already?”
“I can, but—”
“Poor child. You thought Spenglar might have mercy.”
Ilse allowed herself a smile in return. Piero, not so old himself, loved to tease the younger soldiers. “I only hoped, my friend. We both know the gods extracted all pity from Spenglar twenty years ago, when they made him captain.”
“Hush,” Marelda said. She had gone still, her whole attention elsewhere.
They all went silent. Inside the drill yard, sword rang against sword as Spenglar counted the drill. Then Ilse heard the peal of bells from the harbor towers. Not the slow peal of the hour bell, but faster and more urgent. The next moment, the fort’s bells broke out even louder.
“Warning!” Piero shouted. “It’s the warning bells. Raiders!”
A roar erupted inside the garrison. Piero and Marelda vanished through the gates. She heard Spenglar shouting orders, then another voice calling out for weapons and armor.
Ilse drew back from the entrance. She ought to return home at once. Warn Mistress Adeliess and the others—the pleasure house had a secret room dug underneath for just such emergencies—but she stood, frozen and breathless, listening to the tumult inside the garrison.
With a crash, the gates swung open. Men and women in armor poured out, file after file, all the patrols from the morning weapons drill and more. They marched in double time into the boulevard leading down directly to the harbor, the patrol leaders shouting the time above the clanging of the bells. Ilse pressed back to keep out of their way.
An entire wing’s worth. Or two. And that’s not counting the fort’s soldiers.
“Ilse!”
Galena Alighero swung away from her file. Mail glinted under her leather tunic. A high color edged her cheeks, and her eyes were alight with excitement. She looked tall and strong and impossibly young. “It’s going to be a battle,” she said.
“Who is it?” Ilse asked. “Raiders or—”
“Alighero!”
Captain Spenglar’s voice cut through the din.
“Alighero, you useless chit! Stop flirting! Get moving!”
Galena spun around and pelted after the other soldiers. Spenglar shot a disgusted glance at Ilse, then stalked away. Soon the last file of the last patrol marched through the gates. Piero and Marelda were gone, each to their own file, to be replaced by another pair of soldiers, but otherwise the boulevard and surrounding streets had emptied, while the bells from the garrison and the fort above continued to ring out their warning.
CHAPTER FOUR
A HIGH WIND
was blowing long before they reached the harbor walls—strong cold gusts that swept away the spring. Galena sniffed and caught the strange scent of something ripe and green. It was not seaweed—it had a land smell. It reminded her of the pine-forested hills north of Osterling, but that was impossible—the wind came from the wrong direction.
“Watch where you’re stomping, Alighero. Or were you daydreaming about Zhalina again?”
Ranier Mazzo shoved her with an elbow. Galena staggered to one side and fell against Lanzo, who swore at her clumsiness. Galena muttered an apology and sprinted to regain her spot next to Ranier.
“Bastard,” she hissed.
“Handsome bastard.” His dark eyes narrowed with laughter.
She struck back the only way she knew. “That’s not what my brother said.”
Ranier’s reaction was swift. He clamped onto her wrist and dug his fingers into the tendons. Galena yelped and swung out wildly with her fists. He dodged one blow; she aimed another at his throat, but a broad hand closed over her shoulder and yanked her away.
It was Spenglar, angrier than she had ever seen him, his lips pale against his seamed brown face. “You idiot,” he breathed harshly. “Stop brawling. We have an enemy to fight.”
“But he—”
“No excuses. You keep your mind on soldiering, girl. Now move. Fast. Both of you.”
Ranier had already taken off. Galena suppressed the urge to argue and raced after him. It would do no good. Spenglar was right. Soldiers who didn’t pay attention got killed. All the veterans told her that. She knew it herself just from living in a garrison city. Oh, but Ranier had such a bitter, sharp tongue. Her brother Aris had said the same thing, right before he left Osterling.
Wing and file marched in through the next market square (now deserted), down a flight of shallow steps, and into the wide empty space before the harbor towers. Soldiers were already forming into lines. Galena spotted her father, the senior officer for the morning sentry watch, conferring with Commander Adler of the city garrison and Commander Zinsar from the king’s fort. Two riders stood nearby, next to their horses.
If it were pirates, those riders would be gone.
Her heart beat faster as she ran through all the possible reasons why they remained, and why Commander Adler was glaring at Commander Zinsar.
“… no evidence of attack…”
“… twenty ships sighted last week…”
“… duty is to defend the city…”
Adler’s face went stiff. She snapped out a string of curses that made even Galena’s father wince. Zinsar drew his lips back in a predatory smile. Then he said something too soft for Galena to hear, but Adler and Lucas Alighero both went still and blank. The next moment Adler was screaming for the archers to mount the walls. Lucas Alighero spoke a word to the two couriers. Within a moment they had mounted their horses and were galloping through the open lane toward the eastern and western gates—taking word to Leniz, Kostanzien, Ostia, and Klee, and from there to all points north and west along the coast.
Two entire wings were marching out the northern gates to the highway. Marelda and a squad of archers mounted ladders. They spread out along the arcs and catwalks over the harbor entrance, to the towers guarding each side, and further to the perimeter walls that encircled the city. That wasn’t all. A team of large draft horses followed their handlers into place. They were going to close the harbor gates, Galena realized with a thrill of excitement. It was serious. Not like two years ago, when pirates skimmed past the outer shoals, laughing at the soldiers on watch. No, this was more like the real pirate invasions of fifty years ago. Today, for the first time, she would be a part of those famous legends.
More jabbering between Adler and Zinsar. Then Adler made a rude gesture with both hands. Zinsar grinned again, but in triumph. So he’d won the argument.
Confirmation followed. Orders rippled from the wing commanders to the patrol captains, down to the file leaders and then the soldiers themselves.
“Formation, face left and north,” Falco barked.
His two file leaders repeated the orders as they swung around. Galena stamped in time with her file mates. She thought she heard Ranier mutter an insult but she ignored him. Ready, yes, and forward march, companions. Left and right and left. The pattern drummed into her bones since she was twelve and could copy her brother Aris, newly admitted into the wing under Captain Spenglar. As the horses swung into their harnesses, and the massive iron harbor gates groaned along the tracks, Galena marched out the southwest gates and onto the highway.
Dark blue-black smudges blurred the entire southern quadrant. Closer to shore, rain fell in sheets, illuminated by bursts of lightning. And then Galena saw them—three ships flying straight toward land, their sails filled to bursting. Her skin prickled, as though touched by the storm’s electricity.
“Where are we going?” she murmured to Lanzo. “Where are
they
going?”
“Western sands.”
She wanted to ask if he meant the ships or their wing, but Spenglar was barking and snapping like a wild dog. The winds blew harder. She had to shield her eyes from the whirling sand. Now they were off the hard-packed dirt and gravel highway and onto the flat lands between the lower hills and the sea. Two patrols split off and took up positions along the highway. Falco and the other two patrol leaders shouted for theirs to keep going, damn it, or the Károvín would be landing in the middle.