had sealed the edges with plain yellow wax. Very ordinary. Very convincing. Anyone might think him too busy to bother with other precautions. Ilse knew better. She tested the paper and detected several layers of spells, keyed to her touch. Ah, interesting. Someone had attempted to break the spells, but failed. Probing deeper, she sensed two magical signatures, one strong and intoxicating, as bitter and pungent as alcohol. The second was warmer, softer and thinner, like a ribbon of worn velvet. She was not certain which belonged to which man.
Wax and magic remained intact, however. She touched her thumb to the wax and felt the magic ripple over her skin as the spell yielded to her identity.
Inside was a single sheet of fine parchment, with one line in Joannis’s distinctive script. I can spare you half an hour tonight. Come directly to the palace.
Ilse brushed a hand over her face. Alesso was still on watch, no doubt. She could do nothing about him today, however. It was more important that she speak with Joannis.
She made herself as presentable as possible in a few moments, then went below. The halls and common room were silent. Only a few maids moved about, picking up dishes and wine cups from the tables. The scents of stale incense and smoke hung in the air. One of the maids fetched a lantern for Ilse. The girl was plainly curious, but of course she asked no questions. Mistress Andeliess hired only those who proved discreet.
Outside, the steady ocean breeze cleared Ilse’s head. She crossed the market square, and turned onto the boulevard leading toward the garrison. The moon and stars illuminated her way, but in the darker alleys around the old Keep ruins, she was glad for her lantern. Osterling was a different city in the night. Lonelier and stranger, with hints and whispers from centuries gone by.
She rounded the Keep’s old walls and followed the main avenue to the governor’s palace. Dozens of windows in the palace blazed with lamplight. So, too, did the city garrison, while the fort above was mostly dark. Odd.
The palace guards expected her. One of them escorted her across the outer courtyard and through the gaudily painted grand entrance hall, all rose-pink and bright gold, up the winding stairs to the governor’s office. As she followed, Ilse noted the guards at every intersection, the many runners who passed them in the corridors, the glances directed at her then away. If tension had a scent and flavor, it was here.
“Mistress Ilse Zhalina to see Lord Joannis,” her escort announced to the guards outside.
A look passed between the two guards. Both glanced uneasily at the closed door. Ilse heard voices inside. She was about to say she could wait elsewhere, when the door swung open and Ranier Mazzo exited the room. He stopped when he saw Ilse, and his eyes went wide.
Commander Thea Adler appeared immediately behind him. Fatigue lined her face. Her mouth was set in a thin angry line. The moment she saw Ilse, however, her expression smoothed to a blank. “Come with me,” she said to Ranier.
She stalked down the corridor. Ranier followed his commander. Ilse could almost hear the vibration from their passage. More bad news from the invasion? A difficulty with the prisoners?
“Lord Joannis will see you now,” the escort said, ushering her inside.
Her first reaction was surprise. She had expected a grand official chamber, such as Lord Vieth’s in Tiralien, filled with cold empty air and expensive statuary. Or an old-fashioned office like the one she had visited in Melnek as a child. Chandeliers swarmed like twisting snakes from the ceiling, making the room seem low. A huge desk occupied one entire side of the office, and tables crowded the floor, all of them stacked high with scrolls and books and leather-bound volumes. There were no windows—no distractions—only bookcases fronting every wall. A few patches of plaster showed between the shelves, but these surfaces were painted a rich yellowish-white, the color of skimmed cream. Nothing like the vivid colors she had grown used to over the past months.
Joannis stood with his back to her, gazing at a large map that showed the surrounding region. It reminded Ilse of the maps Raul used. “You’ve come about Galena Alighero,” he said, without turning around.
“Yes, I have.” She paused. “You already know what happened.”
He nodded. “I know what happened in the battle, and I can guess in part what you’ve come to speak about. But I’m curious, too. Curious