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An excellent question, Valara thought, and one that clearly discomfited Miro Karasek, because he glanced away uneasily. “I think … we cannot avoid war. But to answer your question, the most I can do is distract them fo
r a time. I erased your signatures before I followed you. And matters are rather confused in the palace.”
She took in the unspoken implications. He cannot deceive them forever. Which means they will someday discover his part.
Now it was her turn to be discomfited, but she refused to dwell on that. “What about us?” she said. “What do we do next?”
His mouth quirked into a humorless smile, as if he guessed her thoughts. “First we prepare the ground here, in case Markov sends his trackers north. I shall lay down signs for a second camp farther south, and trails leading east to the coast. You have the simplest task. You go home.”
She was vividly aware of two things in that moment—the sudden change in Ilse Zhalina’s expression and her own sense of balance utterly overturned. They were of the same root and branch, she thought, struggling to keep her face under control. We have both lost a great deal. She has lost her Lord Kosenmark. I have lost my magic. Is that too great a sacrifice? The gods do not think so.
The idea of the gods caring struck her as absurd. She smothered a laugh, caught the startled look from both her companions, and shook her head. “I am sorry. But I cannot trust the roads through Autrevelye. I must find another passage home.”
It was the most transparent lie she had ever offered to anyone. She held her breath, expecting Karasek to protest, Ilse to point her sword at Valara’s throat and demand the truth. But no. To her astonishment, both seemed to accept this outrageous explanation.
They would, neither of them, last a week in Morennioù’s court.
No, that was not fair. Ilse’s gaze had turned inward, as if other problems claimed her attention. And Karasek’s eyes narrowed in a different kind of calculation.
“I know what to do,” he said after a moment. “You will head west and south. Once I’ve reported back to my colleagues, I can rejoin you. I can—” He paused, and in a somewhat less natural voice said, “If you agree, I can escort you to Taboresk, where my holdings are. Then to a port city, where ships can be hired for longer voyages.”
Her heart beat faster. Home. He was offering her a passage home. Another inexplicable gift. “Are you making atonement?”
“As you did?” he asked.
A pointed observation. Yes, they had each done the other harm. He, by leading an invasion against her kingdom. She had betrayed her brother and her homeland—Karasek’s homeland—more than once throughout history. If she examined her life dreams honestly, she suspected she would find more instances of her perfidy.
“We are none of us perfect,” she murmured.
“Like children whose tongues stumble before they learn to speak,” Ilse said softly. “So we, the children of Lir and Toc, stumble and fall, from life to life, until our minds and hearts and souls learn to speak with wisdom.”
An old, old quote from a poetess long dead, one even Valara knew from her early days in the schoolroom. She has spent too many lives evading her true love. And now, for this life, it is too late.
Karasek could not know about Raul Kosenmark, but he seemed to have caught the essential meaning. “We were children once. We are no longer. Peace, then,” he said. “Between all our kingdoms.”
As if his words released them, they all stood and set to work. Karasek had brought ample supplies. He and Ilse had gathered more dried peat while Valara slept, and had cooked a meal of dried fish and oats—plain but hot and filling.
They ate with good speed, then worked together to divide Karasek’s gear into two heaps. Most went into a pack he designated for them; the rest went back into his remaining saddlebags. Under his direction, they buried their garbage and covered the campfire with loose dirt, stamped the dirt into smoothness, and scattered more dirt and gravel over that. Karasek paced around, inspecting the site. As he did so, he murmured the words in Erythandran to erase all traces of their presence from the past.
“Will that suffice?” Ilse said.
“If my other plans succeed, it won’t have to,” he answered. To her questioning look, he said, “I’ll fabricate a larger camp farther south, and lay down trails from there to the eastern coast to mislead any trackers, before I circle back to Rastov. You two should head southwest toward the mountains. Here is the route you must take.”
He outlined the landmarks they should watch for: the village called Kámenmost, with six houses and a sizable goat pen, where they should turn due south; the stream, almost a ditch, that they should follow; and the stone outcropping that marked the wooded ridge where they should make camp. He makes a good general, Valara thought, as she took in these precise and ordered details. Even of such a small army.
“The country’s wild,” he said. “You won’t meet up with any cities or towns, and very few farms, but I would caution you not to use any magic, and to keep a constant watch.”
I have no magic, Valara thought. Again pain lanced through her. It was as though the gods had scooped out her vital organs, leaving nothing but a void. She drew a long breath to calm her nerves. It was not a subject she wished to discuss with either Karasek or Ilse Zhalina. Not today.
She had no need to just yet, because Ilse had taken over the conversation. “When should we look for you?” she said.
Another interval where he calculated plans and counter plans. “Ten days,” he said at last. “Whoever arrives first waits for the other—but no longer than three days. Longer than that, and you must consider me lost.”
Lost. Almost the same words she had used to Ilse Zhalina the day before. Valara suppressed a shudder, not needing further explanation. They had left several other important subjects untouched. No questions about Markov’s spies, nor what Valara and Ilse might do if the other councillors doubted Karasek’s story.
“So we have another parting,” she said.
Karasek gave a brief smile. “We’ve had several.”
