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“Ilse …”
“Yes, Raul.”
“I … Ah … I need a very great favor.”
“What is it?”
“A way … with magic. Something Benno showed me. Might bother you.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Raul wheezed out a laugh. “Good to know. Especially after I— Ah, damn it that hurts. Come here, then. Be careful of your arm. Closer. Put your hand right … there.”
Ilse settled herself next to Raul, her injured arm draped over her lap. This close, she could see the dark ugly bruises mottling his chest and side. She had to lean into the crook of his arm and reach around to the injured ribs. Placing her hand over the bruises, she felt the bones slide beneath her fingers. Raul hissed, but when she started to draw back, he shook his head fiercely. “Keep your hand there. Please.”
He shifted his weight. Ilse tried to relax against him. She almost jumped when he put his free arm around her shoulders.
“You see why I asked?” he murmured.
She nodded. “I see.” But they would need to be close if he was to guide the magic current from the air, into her, and then back into himself. Bracing herself, she rested her head against his chest. His breath stirred her hair as he whispered the summons for magic. He smelled of sweat and blood, with traces of wood smoke and cedar. His skin was softer than she had expected—smooth like a woman’s—but no one could mistake him for anything but male.
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm. Komen mir de maht. Komen mir de viur …
Warmth fluttered inside her—warmth and the glimmering of desire. Just as she became aware of it, a flood of magic subsumed everything else. Her blood was alive, buzzing with magic. She could sense it flowing through the air, through Raul’s hands and into her body then back into him. His magic. Her magic. Theirs. Without thinking, she leaned her face against his chest. A warm soft touch against her hair. Raul had stopped speaking, but she heard the echo of his words inside her mind.
Komen mir. Komen mir.
Gradually the voice changed. She no longer felt Raul’s hand on her shoulder, nor his chest against her cheek. She was walking through a dark void filled with magic’s current. Bells rang out, high and clear, and overhead a hundred thousand voices sang a strange ethereal music. Here Toc had once walked, as he passed from life into death and back into life. Here, she could reach back into past lives. A lover’s face flickered past, dark and lean. She cupped her hands, seeing within her palms three bright spots of colors. Magic, stronger than she had ever imagined. She lifted her hands high and the points of color became flames …
Ilse. Ilse, can you hear me?
With a blink, her vision shifted from eternity. Her head spun from the sudden change. Sparks and specks of darkness whirled before her eyes, and she still heard the echo of music from the void. Gradually, these remnants of the magic faded, and she became aware of her surroundings. Raul still had his arm around her, and her cheek was against his bare chest, as though just a few moments had passed, but the candle had burned out, and a faint gray light streamed through the window.
“Thank you,” he said.
With his help, Ilse sat up. “Did it help?” she said, carefully avoiding his gaze.
“Very much.”
She glanced at his chest and away. His eye had swollen shut, but his color was much better, and he moved without obvious pain. “We should go,” he said. “It’s just past dawn, and we’ve mended enough to travel faster. Dedrick …”
Belatedly she remembered Dedrick, his impulsive flight through the streets to lure Khan
darr’s men away. I forgot him entirely. Guilt brought her a fresh wave of queasiness.
“He will have escaped or not,” Raul said. She noticed he carefully kept his gaze averted. “But once we are home I want to send a messenger to his father’s house.”
Ilse closed her eyes. He might be dead, she thought. Wounded or taken prisoner. All because he loves this man.
Both of them moving stiffly, they gathered up their belongings. Outside, the streets were empty. Wisps of fog blurred the corners and gutters and potholes. Closer to the river, it rolled over the banks, making it nearly impossible to see their footing. When Ilse stumbled and wrenched her sore knee, Raul supported her with an arm around her waist. “I’m sorry. We cannot stop to rest.”
His arms were strong, and in spite of his words, he did not set a cruel pace, but before long, she was stumbling from weariness. Her arm throbbed, her head ached, and her knee buckled with every third step. She no longer could tell which direction to take and had to trust Raul to guide her. By the time they reached the pleasure house gates, the sun was up and the first delivery carts were making their rounds.
Just as they came into view of the gates, two figures appeared behind the bars, their weapons ready. “Who is it?” one called out.
“Lord Kosenmark and Mistress Ilse Zhalina.”
The gates swung open, and the first guard ran out. “My lord. Let me help you.”
