Valara’s gaze never wavered. “No.”
“Then how do you propose to return to your homeland? Unless you have Lir’s jewel and can use its magic to support your own.”
“I have no jewel with me,” Valara replied quickly. “It stays hidden in my homeland. The Károvín did not discover its presence, because we gave them a counterfeit wrapped in magic. This is what I told her before.” She nodded toward Ilse. “But with a good ship and crew, it is possible to circle around the barrier. Luxa’s Hand does not extend infinitely. I’ve studied the maps left by the old mages. Far south, near the great ice fields, the barrier ends.”
Raul sipped his coffee, grimaced, and set it aside. “A dangerous voyage.”
“Yes,” Valara said. “But remember, a fleet of ships and their soldiers remain in Morennioù, Lord Kosenmark. I might be queen, but I am a hunted queen, far from home and with the enemy at loose in my lands. That is the reason behind my desperation. So I ask again, will you give me passage home?”
Raul said nothing for a few moments. Ilse didn’t need a magical spell to read his mind. He was casting over what Valara told him, sifting through her words and silences for the truth.
“What about us?” he said at last. “More important, what about the third jewel?”
“What about it?” Valara asked in turn.
“You have one jewel. Leos Dzavek has recovered the second. Do not bother to deny it. I have confirmation from several trusted sources. So far you are well-matched. Veraene has nothing.”
“Not exactly nothing,” Valara replied. “You have tens of thousands of soldiers more than I. You have a mage councillor of great skill—”
“Leave him aside,” Raul said. “One jewel—one creature born of Lir’s breath and love and passion—that can overturn any advantage we have. We need a better assurance.”
“What kind of assurance? Your famous peace? Your word is not enough, Lord Kosenmark. You might say I have nothing to bargain with. But I would gladly bargain my life against my kingdom’s security.”
The firelight gave the other woman’s face a ruddy cast. Her eyes were like dark strokes of ink against a sheet of parchment, aged to the color of honey, her face like the face of stone monuments from ancient times. It was in that moment that Ilse saw why Valara was the heir and now queen. She did not speak empty words.
I have met this woman before, in lives past. Which ones?
She glanced toward Raul. He gave slight nod. My turn, Ilse thought.
“Are you ready for war, then?” she asked Valara. “Are you ready for all your people to die, not just you?”
Valara blinked at the question. “Why should that matter to you?”
“Peace matters to me. Unless we agree, Veraene faces a bloody, unnecessary war. Unless we agree, you face a thousand or more soldiers and mages from Veraene or Károví.”
“More threats,” Valara said. Her voice sounded rougher than before.
“No, merely observations about the risks following your decisions. You might believe that a war between Veraene and Károví protects you. It will, for a time. We haven’t ships or soldiers or mages enough to battle two kingdoms, especially one so far away as yours. Or you might believe that Morennioù could ally itself with either of us—”
“I don’t.”
Ilse tilted her hand to one side. “Then you believe that Lir’s Veil protects you. Also wrong. Morennioù is no longer the lost kingdom. One fleet of ships found a way through the Veil. Others will follow. War here simply means a delay.”
Valara stared at Ilse a long moment. “So what do you propose?” she said at last.
“A balance between the kingdoms,” Ilse said. “You pledge to keep Morennioù neutral. Lord Kosenmark gives you passage home, and pledges to use his influence to forestall any difficulties between our kingdom and yours.”
Valara frowned. “A pledge of influence? From a man dismissed from court? I cannot—”
“And I give myself to you as a hostage,” Ilse said.
A thick silence dropped over the campsite. Ilse wasn’t certain why she had offered herself. It was impulse, and the knowledge that unless Valara gained a true advantage over Raul, she would never agree to anything he proposed.
But the sight of Raul’s masklike expression was like a knife stroke.
She drew a breath. “Let me explain.”
“Please do,” Raul whispered.
“Yes,” Valara said. “You would offer yourself as my hostage. How does that benefit me?”
“Two ways. You are assured that Lord Kosenmark will keep his promises. And you may use my presence should you need to bargain with Armand of Angersee and Lord Khandarr. King Leos remains your concern. In return, you will offer us all assistance to recover Lir’s third jewel.”
Valara stared at Ilse. Again Ilse had the impression of a hunting fox—and that impression strengthened when the other woman drew her lips drew back from her teeth. “I agree.”
A longer pause followed before Raul said, “I would like to discuss certain points with Mistress Ilse before I pledge my word. Please,” he said, cutting off Valara’s incipient protest. “You will have weeks or months to discuss the matter with her. I require only until tomorrow.”
Valara shrugged. “Very well. Let me know in the morning what you decide.”
She stood and deliberately turned away, toward the rows of tents. Ilse watched silently until the woman disappeared into the closest one. All the while, she sensed Raul’s unhappiness, his tense stillness, as he waited for her to speak again.
It had been the logical move, she told herself. The only one that gave Raul the advantage he needed against Armand and Khandarr. Valara had studied the jewels. She knew enough to rediscover one. And though Dzavek had taken the second, she must have clues to where the third one lay. If Veraene controlled that one, they could achieve a true balance between the kingdoms—a dangerous one, if any king or queen decided to risk all, to gain all. She did not think that Leos Dzavek would do so, nor Valara Baussay, in spite of her bravado.
“You made a risky throw,” Raul said.
He spoke softly, his voice more like a woman’s than ever.
“I had no choice,” Ilse said.
“Liar,” he whispered.
At that, she had to meet his gaze. “I am not lying,” she answered, as softly as he. “I am not running away. But if we do not give this queen some advantage, she would die before she agreed to any pact with us.”
“You said she lies.”
“She does,” Ilse said. “That is why I offered myself—to ensure our part of the bargain. She will search for the third jewel, whether I go with her or not, you know. She is a great deal like Leos Dzavek. They both want all three, and not just for practical reasons.”
An image of Dzavek’s face flickered through her memory. She shivered, thinking of the similarities between him and the Morenniouèn queen.
“A risk.” Firelight and shadows made Raul’s smile deeper than it really was.
“Somewhat,” she agreed. “Do you see a better course?”
“That is the simplest question I’ve answered today. A better course would let me spend the rest of my days with you. No more hiding. No more pretense. But,” he went on, his voice high and soft, “that course is not one I’m offered.”
“You aren’t arguing with me,” she observed.
“No.” She could hear the briefest catch on that word. “No, I am not your master. I make no cages for you, not even ones of words and wishes.” Then he said, “I love you. I have not said that enough lately.”
Her throat closed. She had to swallow before she could speak. “We haven’t had much opportunity.”
“No, we haven’t. Would you like to change that?”
His voice turned rougher, deeper. It was more than desire that tugged at her. It was … a sense of completeness in his company. More, because she could tell from a myriad of details that her presence wrought the same effect on him.
We need ea
ch other.
And she had just consigned herself to yet another, longer absence.
Raul held out his hand. Hers found it without conscious volition.
“What about…”
“Don’t worry,” he said.
He led her back to their tent. Ilse almost cursed him for predicting this moment, but instead she laughed softly as they ducked through the opening. Raul turned and with a quick movement, untied the cord holding the flaps open. Darkness fell over them. The air turned warm and close.
He drew her close and nuzzled her hair. “I love how you smell.”
“Of mud and sweat and…”
“You.”
His mouth closed over hers in a kiss.
Oh. Oh, I had forgotten.
Forgotten how warm and insistent his kisses were. How he liked to pull her tight against him, so that she lost her breath for a moment. And how he drew back, just enough so one hand inevitably traced a path from her hair to her neck to her breast, where his palm cupped her flesh gently.
“Raul…”
His answer was a mumbled laugh, a cry.
“Raul, I must tell you something. It’s about Osterling.”
“Not tonight,” he said hoarsely. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. It was a promise and a warning.
He touched her cheek with his fingertips. Ilse drew him close into a warm kiss, soon followed by another. Their kisses turned into a hungry feast of caresses, of mouth against skin, until they had shed their clothes and locked themselves in a bubble of passion.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IT WAS A return to their early days in Tiralien—before the affairs of the kingdom intervened and Markus Khandarr executed Dedrick Maszuryn. Before they conceived their separation. If she could put a number to those days, she knew it would be no more than three or four months from the time when they admitted their love, to when Dedrick first approached Raul about spying in Duenne’s Court, and yet to memory’s eye, the interlude seemed an endless ribbon of pleasure and passion and contentment, which curled back upon itself and so continued forever.
We were Anike and Stefan, she thought. Two ordinary people without any concerns for the empire or magic.
Remembering those days, Ilse insinuated her arms around Raul and drew him tight against her chest. His smooth skin—unlike any other man’s—was like fire-warmed silk. His heart beat swiftly against hers, a mirror of her own painful emotions.
“I love you,” Raul whispered into her ear. “I always have.”
“Impossible. You loved Dedrick.”
Dedrick, once Lord Kosenmark’s beloved. Then his friend and spy. Now dead because of that love. For many months, Ilse had not been able to mention Dedrick’s name. Nor could Raul.
We were too new to love, in this life. We had to learn how to trust all over again.
Raul rolled onto his back, a familiar movement that brought her, by habit, to settle under his arm. It was like one puzzle piece fitted to its mate, one word linked to its proper companion.
“No,” he said. “I meant that first time in Andelizien. You were Sonja and I was Andreas. Or at least, that is the first I remember us together. Later, I came to Zalinenka from the emperor as an emissary to the court of Károví. You and he were prince and princess together. I was nothing but a messenger, stupid and young and homesick, but you were kind to me. I thought I would kill myself from desire.”
Her skin prickled at this host of images from her life dream the night before. “You were there? You remember?”
“Of course I remember. And yes, I have always been there.”
Like the earth beneath her feet.
“I’ve dreamed of those days,” she whispered. “Of Leos Dzavek. I had not known…”
“Nor had I.” His voice, high and fluting, whispered back to her. “But lately I’ve dreamed more of those past lives.”
He pulled her close, but not for lovemaking, only to hold each other in warmth while the stars wheeled overhead and the moon swept down to the horizon. They slept, limbs entangled, as in the olden days, days from just a year ago. Toward midnight, Ilse stirred and woke, to find Raul awake. The sky had cleared and a bright moon shone through the canvas. He rested his head on one hand and gazed upon her with a foolish grin. “I should not have such joy within me,” he said.
She kissed him, tasted the salt of his skin, the sweetness of his mouth. “We take joy as we take the sun-bright days of summer.”
Joy.
Unexpectedly, a pang shot through her—so sharp and strong, she had to bite her lip to keep from weeping. She shook her head and her unruly hair tumbled loose between them. Later, she would have to braid it fresh for the night. Such an ordinary thought, for such an extraordinary day. She found she could not hold back the tears, and she wept. Wept for their newly rediscovered love, for the new exile she had chosen, for any number of reasons that she and he could not be Stefan and Anike, simply living together.
I chose my new exile, she told herself. I chose it, and he agreed.
And yet she could see no other path.
“Hush,” Raul whispered into her ear. “We have not reached the end of this life together. Do not give up hope.”
“How long?” she managed to say. “How long until the ship comes for our queen?”
“That depends on my secretary.”
The words acted like an antidote to sorrow.
“You have a new secretary?”
Raul laughed softly at her surprise. “It wasn’t my idea. He came to me three months ago with a raft of well-written recommendations and a story of how he disliked the northern winters and wanted to try a post in the south for once. He was very clever. It took me weeks before I discovered he was Dedrick’s cousin.”
A cousin? The news shook her unaccountably. She had known about Dedrick’s sister in court, and his unrelenting father, but she had not suspected a wider world of relatives. It was a fatal error to think all families were like her own, small and insular.
Raul went on to describe the new secretary. He had given his name as Gerek Hessler, but his true name was Lord Gerek Haszler. He was Dedrick’s second cousin, from a minor branch of the family. The man had infiltrated Lord Kosenmark’s house, and during Raul’s one brief absence, had gained access to Raul’s private chambers. Raul described his own discovery of the man’s identity, and their confrontation when Raul unexpectedly reappeared.
“He is a good man,” Raul said. “Clever with words and languages. Not so clever with his tongue. I believe he cares about Kathe.”
Another unexpected bit of information, which Ilse needed a few moments to digest.
“What does Kathe think?” she asked.
“Ah, that I have not dared to inquire,” Raul said. “These days, she glares at me as if I were a recalcitrant kitchen girl. Even her mother dislikes crossing her. If I were bold enough to guess, I would say she is disappointed.”
“Because of this Gerek?”
“I do not know. That would be prying.”
His tone was so prim, she had to laugh out loud. “You. How dare you pretend not to pry?”
He laughed, too, his face buried in her hair. “And you, you are too good for me.”
“How, good?”
“Honest, then,” he said.
The brief wave of mirth vanished at the word honest, and Ilse pressed her face into Raul’s shoulder to stop her tears.
Once, she had thought herself honest. Raul had told her he depended on that quality.
Once, she and Kathe had shared confidences. They were friends, from the first days, when Ilse came to the pleasure house, and Kathe had tended her through her sickness and losing the child. She had remained her best friend throughout Ilse’s transformation from kitchen girl, to secretary, to the days when Ilse and Raul had become lovers. But Ilse and Raul’s plans had required a complete deception of the pleasure house and all their friends. That had included Kathe.
Time, and necessity, had worn away her honesty.
&nbs
p; Not quite trusting her voice, Ilse said, “Will you promise me something? Tell her … tell Kathe the truth. But only when it’s safe. Please.”
Raul drew her into a tighter embrace. “I promise. I will tell her the truth the moment I return to Tiralien. Speaking of messages, I have a confession to make…”
His voice went high and light, like a bird’s.
“What is wrong, then?” she asked, trying to keep the anxiety from her own voice, and failing.
He exhaled sharply, as if bracing himself for an unpleasant confession. “Do you remember a man named Alesso Valturri?” he said.
She was so intent on him and his moods that she missed the name at first, and its import. Then, “You know Alesso? He’s the one—”
“—who brought me word of your escape. I know. He also works for me.”
It took her several moments to comprehend what he said.
“You sent him to Osterling.”
“No. He was born there. I knew him through various reports. Lord Joannis and … others.”
Meaning his network of spies. Her first impulse was to rage at him. How dare he set spies upon her? Raul must have guessed her mood, because he loosened his embrace and drew back.
“I have no excuse,” he said. “None except worry about your safety. After Dedrick—”
Yes, Dedrick. She checked her first furious response. “I understand.”
He kissed her, lightly and tentatively. “I doubt it.”
She nearly did strike him then. “You—”
“Idiot,” he said immediately. “Idiot. Fool. An interfering creature who pretends omniscience, when he wants to hide how afraid he is.”
She wanted to laugh again, but her heart was at war with the rest of her nerves, and she could only clutch him tightly while she brought her emotions under a semblance of control.
“Who is he?” she whispered. “Who is he really?”
“Exactly what he seems, but more. He’s a kitchen boy and serving man in Andeliess’s pleasure house. He’s also a rebel who works for a collection of the disaffected in Fortezzien. He agreed to watch over you. Your safety, I mean. In return I promised to consider his cause if ever I gained more influence in Duenne’s Court.” He added, “He is a persuasive young man.”
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