I’m gone.”
He locked the desk and laid a hand over its latch. His movements were so slow and deliberate, she decided he was avoiding the question. “Well?” she asked.
Raul shrugged. “Tell me about the mark on her cheek. The word says Honor.”
“You are ruthless,” she murmured.
“Of course. Tell me.”
With a sigh, she recounted Galena’s story. She told Raul about the girl’s infatuation, her quarrels with Ranier Massow, the moment of cowardice during the battle, and how she wanted Ilse to lie for her. After briefly describing Galena’s punishment, including the mark, she went on to the night when Valara escaped. How Alesso meant to kill Galena, and the moment in Osterling’s streets when Galena realized it. She offered more detail about the journey, and how they would not have reached Emmetz without Galena’s experience in tracking and hunting.
“She is foolish, impetuous, and far too willing to avoid responsibility,” Ilse said. “And yet…”
“And yet you think you ought to help her.” Raul blew out a breath. “Very well. Let her travel with us. Detlef can give her regular duties. After we accomplish our meeting with the ship, I’ll write her a letter of recommendation to a mercenary company. You say our friend the queen has promised to remove this mark?”
“Yes. Or at least she claims she can. We didn’t dare use magic before, in case they tracked us with mages.”
He nodded. “A good decision. My guess would be that removing it requires extraordinary magic—it would be a glaring signal to Khandarr and any other mage. I’ll have Detlef tell the girl we can’t do anything for her until the ship.”
The ship. Always the ship.
“How long do you think we have?” she asked.
Raul gathered her hands within his. “Ten days. Possibly two weeks. We’ll hire a boat and sail to Hallau. The rest depends on how long Gerek requires for his part.”
Of course. So much depended on these arcane transactions. She had the important details, however. Ten more nights, possibly a handful more, until she began a longer and more distant exile.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE MIDDAY SUN streamed through the windows of Duke Miro Karasek’s apartments in Zalinenka castle. Karasek sat at his desk, writing letters. It was quiet, the servants momentarily busy elsewhere, and the scrape of his ink stick against the inkstone sounded unnaturally loud. He had packed his gear and weapons the night before, and between the silence and emptiness, the rooms had a deserted air.
… the king’s runner had knocked on his door at midnight. Come. No delay. He had paused long enough to scrub the sleep from his eyes, then followed the messenger at a run. It was not fast enough. Dzavek paced the length of his study, his shadow flickering in the light of a dozen candles. The moment Karasek crossed the threshold, the king swung around to face him …
Karasek added water to the ground ink and mixed it thoroughly. A few more lines, rapidly brushed, finished off the letter to his secretary. He dusted the paper and laid it aside to dry, then wrote a second letter to his steward. He trusted both men to know their duties, but it gave him a small measure of comfort to send these last instructions.
The orders had come late the night before.
… You sail tomorrow, the king said. Karasek bowed his head. What else could he answer? But his acquiescence was not enough, apparently. You don’t ask why, Dzavek said. Look at me, Miro.
Miro lifted his gaze to the king’s. They were of a height—both tall and lean, both with dark deep-set eyes, black with a hint of indigo, like the storm clouds in summer. Karasek had seen portraits of the king through the centuries, before the deep lines marked his face, before his eyes turned cloudy with age. The resemblance was strong between them. More than once, he had wondered if they shared an ancestor. Or was the king himself Miro’s ancestor?
I have found my brother, Dzavek said. The Morennioùen queen. She rides with companions to the coast where she hopes to take a ship home. You must stop her.
Simple orders. Why had they bothered him so?
Because you once loved her. Because you betrayed her once before, in the king’s name, the emperor’s honor. At the cost of your own.
Bells from the palace towers rang noon. Two more hours until they sailed. There was little else to accomplish, to distract himself from worrying. He and Grisha Donlov had already reviewed the final preparations. A ship waited for them