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CHAPTER FIVE
LATER, MANY HOURS after she watched the soldiers march from the garrison, Ilse bent over her desk, hard at work on her quarterly report for Mistress Andeliess. She wrote steadily, rows and rows of numbers, in the neat hand she had learned as a merchant’s child. Light from the dying sunset streamed through her open windows, casting long sharp shadows across her desk.
A woman’s voice sounded loudly in the corridor outside. Another woman answered—one of the courtesans. It was a busy evening in the pleasure house. From the rooms beside and below hers, she heard murmurs, faint laughter, and the more intimate sounds of lovemaking. Usually she could shut these out—they reminded her too strongly of Raul’s pleasure house in Tiralien—but not today.
Ilse laid down her pen and rubbed her eyes. I’m tired. That’s all.
Tired and distracted by the day’s extraordinary events. In between her duties as steward, she had gathered details—the three Károvín ships, the storm which drove them onto the rocks, the outbreak of violence and the bloody skirmish that followed. Rumors flowed through the corridors and bedrooms, delivered from visitors to courtesans in private, then dispersed throughout in murmured exchanges. Even better, Falco had visited the common room that afternoon. Ilse had stationed herself close by his chair, and overheard his comments about the fighting. The captains and commanders were still dissecting what happened, he said.
Ilse thought she knew. Last summer, she and Raul Kosenmark had received word from their Károvín spies about strange maneuvers on land and in ships. Today’s events had to be connected. Would the regional governor see that? Would he send word to Raul?
A year ago, she would have said yes with assurance. Now, she wasn’t quite as certain. Lord Nicol Joannis had once been a member of Raul’s shadow court. He had served as a conduit for information from Fortezzien and the southeast. Well before she left Tiralien, however, Joannis had withdrawn from their regular correspondence. A matter of precaution, Raul had said in passing, though whether the caution came from Raul or Joannis, she had never learned. Nevertheless, Raul had trusted Joannis enough to suggest that Ilse come here for her temporary exile.
In case Markus Khandarr did not believe our fiction.
In case of other eventualities she and Raul could not foresee.
Their plan had been a good one, a sensible one. But those dispassionate discussions last autumn seemed far removed from today, and this crisis. She had not dared to approach Lord Joannis since her arrival. Why should she? She was nothing more than a commoner, a discarded lover who now earned her wages as a steward.
Useless, useless second thoughts.
Ilse wrote the last sum, blotted the page, and set the sheet aside. She was still sifting through the details she’d learned when she heard a scratching at her door. Ilse paused, almost certain she’d imagined the soft noise, when there came a tentative knock. One of the courtesans with gossip? A runner from Mistress Andeliess?
But it was Galena Alighero who stood outside, a tall pale ghost. “A few minutes,” she said quickly. “That’s all I want.”
Ilse hesitated.
“Please,” Galena said. “It’s not about— Please.”
Even in the corridor’s half-light, her distress was obvious. Reluctantly, Ilse stood aside and motioned for Galena to enter. Instead of taking a seat, however, Galena circled the small room. Her gaze flickered over the walls and bookshelves as though tracking an invisible enemy.
“What’s wrong?” Ilse said.
“Nothing.”
A lie. Ilse let it go. “Sit down,” she said. “We’ll have some wine.”
She filled two wine cups and offered one to Galena. Galena took it and abruptly sat down on the couch. Her hands were shaking so, the wine rippled in the cup. She wasn’t acting, Ilse thought. Was it battle fever? She tried to recall if Galena had ever seen action before.
She took a seat on the same couch—but not too close—and waited for the girl to speak.
The quarter hour rang outside, a thin soft peal. Galena shivered, as if the bells had stirred unpleasant memories. “You know about the Károvín,” she said softly.
“I heard. There were three ships. Or was it four?”
“Three. They sank. Foundered on the rocks.” She gulped down some wine. “You heard all that from Falco already. I should go.”
Ilse laid a hand on her arm. “Stay. I’ve heard a few stories, but not yours.”
Galena flinched, but sank back onto the couch. “It’s the storm,” she said. “Or that’s part of it.” Her voice went breathless, higher than usual. “It was magic. The captains think a mage on the ships called up the storm for cover. The Károvín sent at least twenty ships into the eastern current just last week. If the storm had hit us earlier, we might not have sighted them at all. They could have taken the city.”
“With just three ships?”
“No, with all twenty.”
Ilse felt cold wash over her skin. Károvín soldiers, here in Osterling, after centuries of calm. Falco had not mentioned that detail. “How did you know they were the same ships?”
Galena hesitated only a moment. “My father said the report came from the king’s patrols. No other ships were sighted in those waters. They’re certain it’s the same fleet. The captains think they meant to head around. Except they haven’t, not yet. Commander Adler doubled the watch just in case.”
