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.
Galena licked her lips. “I will then.”
Once more the scene rapidly changed. Alesso helped Galena to sit up. Ilse fetched a wet cloth to clean the wound on her neck. Valara murmured a string of Erythandran, and the wound closed to a bright red scar.
“Now,” Alesso said. “We make our plans quickly. You can’t slip past the city gates, or by sea. Those soldiers keep a strict watch by the harbor as well as the highway. Even if you could, there’s the fort. They’ll snatch you up within two miles of Osterling. No, the only possible way is through the tunnels.”
“What tunnels?” Ilse said sharply.
But Galena nodded slowly in recognition. “From the old days before the empire,” she said in a wondering tone. “The kings of Fortezzien had them built in case of a siege. They could send messengers past the enemy, to summon aid from another city.”
“You know where the entrances are?” Alesso asked her.
“Inside the Keep’s ruins. They used to set guards outside, but not anymore. But I don’t know anything else about them.”
“How far do they run?” Ilse asked. “Far enough?”
Meaning, would the tunnels take them past the first circle of patrols. Alesso seemed to understand because he nodded. “Back in the old days, the tunnels ran halfway up the coast. Most collapsed years ago, but it’s still passable for a few miles, if you don’t mind rats and rubble. Is that acceptable to my lady?”
He left a great deal unsaid, but Ilse could piece together the clues. Alesso and his colleagues used the tunnels for their own activities. Which meant the regular soldiers did not. “It is,” she said. “What if they decide to follow?”
“Then we make certain they don’t. You and your friend go to the tunnel. Soldier girl reports to her harbor duty. Certain of my friends will arrange a distraction, while I handle things here in the pleasure house to explain your absence.”
Ilse gazed into Alesso’s eyes, wishing she could read what lay behind them. Trust was indeed a gift. You could not ask a bondage price for it.
“Give us until the next hour bell,” she said.
Alesso’s eyes narrowed, as if he were calculating a great many things. “When are you due at your post?” he asked Galena.
“At the hour bell after next.”
“It will have to do,” he murmured.
He rose and made for the door. Ilse followed him into the corridor. “Alesso.”
Alesso turned. His lips curled in a sardonic smile. “What? You wish a kiss in farewell?”
She ignored his banter. “No. A favor. You must have the means to send messages to your colleagues. Send one for me to Lord Kosenmark, as quickly as you know how. Tell him…” She paused, wishing she knew how much she could commit to Alesso and his unknown associates. “Tell him to expect word from me through the usual means. Tell him that we need a ship for passage to a far foreign port. I can only tell him more once … once we meet.”
The smile faded as she spoke. He studied her a moment with a strange, unreadable expression. “I will send word to your love. And you, you remember your promise to me.”
She nodded. “I will.”
“Then we are friends indeed.” He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. The next moment, he was hurrying toward the stairwell.
Ilse closed her eyes. Her pulse danced far too fast for comfort. I do not love him. I love Raul. Oh, but in a different life …
No time for self-doubt. She spun back into the room.
“We need provisions,” she said in an unsteady voice. “I’ll fetch as much as I can from the kitchens. Galena, go to my bedroom. Help her to find better clothing for our journey.”
She didn’t wait for their reply, but sped outside and down the stairs. Once on the ground floor, she slowed her pace. It was quiet below, in these hours between midnight and dawn. A few lamps burned in their sockets, but otherwise the house was dark. Ahead, a bright light shone from the kitchen itself. She paused to collect herself, to think what she absolutely n
eeded.
I need a guide, horse, provisions, and weapons. But salt and water will do for a start.
Only two scullions and a single senior girl sat by the open windows. They glanced up at Ilse with little interest. It wasn’t unusual, after all, for those in the pleasure house to fetch a carafe of wine or water themselves. Ilse found a tray and loaded it with a jug of water and a loaf of bread. When she was certain no one watched her, she added a saltbox, tinder, two small metal pots, and a water skin. On her way back, she stopped by a storage closet for a lantern.
Back in her rooms, she found Valara dressed in one of Ilse’s old baggy tunics. She had kept her prison trousers, though. “Yours were all too short,” Valara said. “So were your shoes. Could you find me a pair of boots? Sandals even.”
“We don’t have much time.” She noticed that Valara had found her ring. “You value that.”
Valara’s cheeks darkened. “I do. My brother gave it to me, years ago. I would not wish to lose it.”
Yes. She had lost all her family to the Károvín. She would value any memento.
In her bedroom, Galena had pulled heaps of clothes from Ilse’s trunks. She had separated the trousers and shirts Ilse used for drill from the others, and was folding them into bundles. “Do you have any packs?” she asked.
“None in my rooms. We’ll use blankets instead.”
Ilse gathered her weapons together—knives, her sword, the sheaths that went with them. That done, she pulled out the locked chest she kept under her bed. Her hands shook as she transferred money and jewels into a leather purse. They had made too many assumptions, left too many clues scattered through the past hour. She could only hope Alesso had told her the truth about the tunnels.
Galena uncovered a pair of oversized boots and took them to Valara to try on. Ilse changed rapidly into more practical clothes—boots, trousers, a plain shirt, the boots she had not worn since her journey from Tiralien to Osterling. She buckled on her belt, slid her sword into its sheath. Knives came next. One went into her boot, another into the sheath she fastened to her arm. She packed the leather purse among her clothes in one bag. On second thought, she added her map of Fortezzien and a map of Veraene’s coast around Tiralien and Gallenz. She also packed her scroll from Lord Iani. In case we fail, came the fleeting thought. She shook away that idea and slung the blanket over her shoulder.
All ready.
Galena had packed the supplies from the kitchen into another blanket, which she gave to Valara. With a last glance around her bedroom, Ilse led her companions down the back stairwell and into the courtyard. “You go on to the harbor,” she said to Galena. “You don’t want to be late for watch.”
“Not yet.” Galena glanced meaningfully toward Valara.
“Take us to the tunnels first,” Valara said. “Then I will do my part. I promise.”
Galena studied Valara with a searching gaze. Then, with obvious reluctance, she said, “Good enough. You wouldn’t find those doors without me anyway.”
They took off through the dark, deserted streets of Osterling. The moon had sunk in the past hour, and clouds masked the stars. In Melnek and Tiralien, city watches patrolled the streets, but not here, where a fort overlooked the circling highway. With Galena leading the way, they stole through court and lane and avenue, across the main market square, where they recovered Galena’s sword and shield, then on to the opposite side of the city.
“Not much farther,” Galena whispered.
“What is that?” Ilse whispered back.
Footsteps rang off the paving stones. A voice called out, “Who goes there?”
A squad of soldiers marched toward them. Galena gave a sharp cry and drew her sword.
We are lost, Ilse thought. She had her own sword ready, but it was nothing against a full squad of trained soldiers. She took Valara by the hand, intending to drag her into the nearest alleyway. They still had a chance—
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen de hôchkelte.
Bitter cold and green magic flooded the air. It buzzed against Ilse’s fingers, enveloping her hand, and crawling up her arm. A strange darkness, thicker than night, had dropped over them. She could no longer feel Valara’s hand. She tried to summon the current herself, but her lips refused to work. It was that same otherworldly signature from before. It reminded her of Anderswar, of its alien creatures and the guardian who met her each time she dared to enter.
The magic receded. She blinked. A short distance away stood a dozen still figures. The one in the lead had turned his head to call out orders.
The soldiers.
They did not move. They could not, she realized with a sick feeling. They all remained in the same rigid stance, their swords raised and mouths opened to speak. But their faces had turned gray, and heavy ice weighted their clothing. Even as she watched, water trickled from the ice to run in rivulets over the cobblestones. But the men did not move.
“What did you do?” she asked Valara.
Valara herself appeared stunned. “I am not certain.”
A dull boom sounded. Ilse dropped into a crouch just as a second and third explosion followed. Bright sparks hovered overhead. A sulfurous stink rolled up from the harbor, and a bloodred light bathed the city. More explosions, these from a different quarter, followed by a bright gout of fire that rose toward the sky. Alesso and his distractions.
Galena stared in the direction of the harbor. “Old Josche,” she whispered. “Giann. He killed everyone on the watch. He would have killed me, too.”
“We don’t know that,” Ilse said.
“We do know that. And you wanted me to trust him.”
I warned you about me, Ilse thought. That night you asked for my help.
She reached for Galena’s hand, which felt cold and clammy, in spite of the warm night. “Come with us. My friend can help you, too. You can find another place, without the words on your face, without any pledge.”
Galena shivered, but with another tug from Ilse, she turned away from the terrible spectacle below.
“One moment,” Valara said. “We need to remove the evidence.”
She spoke more words in Erythandran. Again came the scent and image of a fox. Then the frozen bodies of the soldiers shivered into dust. More words erased the spells and all traces of their presence.
Another quarter hour and they gained the old Keep’s ruins. It was Galena who pointed out the entrance, guarded by an old wooden door between two massive blocks of fallen stone. Soon they were inside. Ilse climbed down the stairs first, followed by Valara. Galena came last and shut the door, sinking them into darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
VALARA LEANED AGAINST the damp stone wall of the tunnel’s entryway. Darkness pressed in upon her; a sour smell permeated the air. The other two, the soldier and her friend from the pleasure house, spoke in soft tones. Something about the wisdom of setting a wooden beam across the door. Valara hardly cared. The exhilaration that had carried her from the prison through Osterling’s streets, to that strange confrontation with the soldier and its aftermath, had vanished completely. Her bones were like water and a dull ache centered between her eyes. Hunger, no doubt. Thirst. Later, she might remember to be terrified. Right now it was too much trouble.
The emerald’s voice vibrated deep within her. It sang without words, a stream of notes in a minor key, like a ship’s ropes keening in the wind. Daya, the oldest, the emerald. Rana was the ruby, which Leos Dzavek had reclaimed. She couldn’t recall what the third jewel called itself. In older lives, she had known them all. Known them even longer ago, when the three jewels were one.
Before my brother divided them.
No, that was the life before they were brothers. Leos had told Andrej once about his life dreams. Daya and its siblings had been one, a milk-white jewel, the chief treasure of the empire. He had been a priest charged with safeguarding the imperial treasury.
And I was a queen of Morennioù. And Miro Karasek my beloved.
Daya’s music stopped abruptly,
and Valara realized the woman named Ilse had addressed her.
“We must go on,” she was saying. “Can you?”
Valara brushed aside her wish for sleep and nodded. “I can.”
Galena lit the lantern with their tinderbox. The light flared. Hundreds of beetles scattered in all directions, like dry autumn leaves before the wind. Valara caught a glimpse of broken furniture, old casks, and heaps of trash, all overlaid by a coating of dust, before she ducked under the low brick arch and followed her two companions.
For the first hour or so, the tunnel was a broad straight road. They picked their way through the dust and trash, startling more beetles and rats with their presence, but they made good progress. Then a set of steps led them down into a much narrower passageway that stank of dead things. Here the paving stones were broken; in places the brick-lined ceiling sagged dangerously. They jogged along bent over at first until the ever-lower ceiling forced them to crawl.
Valara soon lost count of the moments and hours. She ignored the patches of slime. The rats skittering over her hands or the tickle of spiders and their webs against her face. Whenever she slowed, Ilse poked her from behind. They had placed her in the middle, which meant they did not entirely trust her. She found she didn’t much care. As long as they reached this mythical exit Alesso had promised them. Once beyond Osterling’s magical shields, she could make the leap into Autrevelye and, from there, to Morennioù and home.
Home. To her people. To her father’s advisers and his army, now hers.
She paused and closed her eyes tight against the darkness. Felt a surge of grief she had not expected after all these days.
A hand smacked her on the buttocks.
“Don’t stop,” Ilse hissed.
It took all her willpower not to round on the woman and curse her with magic.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I understand.”
And she did. This was no time for grief. There wouldn’t be time, until she regained her homeland, took her throne, and drove the enemy from her shores.
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