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East from the Veraenen coast lay the open seas—there were no known islands, no continents. Nothing, Ilse thought, except an impenetrable magical barrier, and the lost kingdom of Morennioù. Again she had a shiver of premonition.
Legend said that Lir had drawn a curtain around the island province. After the second wars, when Dzavek had invaded Veraene in his search for Lir’s jewels, Veraene had sent ships to contact the islands. None had returned. Fishermen brought wild tales of a burning wall in the open ocean to the east. Lir’s Veil was its name. The Károvín had their own name for it, most likely.
“Did you take prisoners?” she asked.
“Yes. Thirty-four. Soldiers and sailors.”
Ilse did not miss that last phrase, or the pause before Galena had answered. Falco, too, had been strangely reticent when asked about prisoners.
“Thirty-four soldiers and sailors,” she repeated. “And who else?”
Galena’s fingers tightened around her wine cup. “Who told you?”
“No one. I guessed. Can you tell me anything, or did you swear to secrecy?”
She hardly needed to hear the answer. Galena’s panicked expression was enough. “We didn’t swear an oath,” Galena said. “But Lord Joannis was there. He told us to be discreet.”
So the matter was important enough for the regional governor.
She offered more wine to Galena, who refused. “I promise not to spread any rumors,” Ilse said. “Or would you rather talk about the fighting?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Then she added, “They fought hard in spite of everything.”
“What do you mean?”
Galena’s gaze flicked toward Ilse and away. “Just what I said. They’d fought at least one battle already that day. And they were exhausted from the storm. Still, they didn’t want to yield. When we tried to take them prisoner, a dozen or more fell on their swords. The ones we did take—Ranier and Tallo knocked them over the head. Then there was that woman…”
She drew a long breath and fixed those unnaturally bright eyes on Ilse. “I’ll tell you. But you must promise not to tell anyone else. My father thinks that woman is not Károvín. He says she answered in Károvín, but slowly. As if she had learned it from a book.”
The notes of a flute drifted up from the common room, and one of the courtesans, Luisa, began to sing. Ilse could not distinguish the words, but she knew the melody. It was a popular ballad, recounting the history of two lovers separated by chance. Several verses described their anguish, but toward the end, the song spoke in minor keys, how their grand passion died, extinguished by nothing more than neglect. Ilse released a sigh, and drank deeply of her wine. I wonder why Luisa chose that one.
Galena, too, was listening intently, her empty cup finally at rest. “Commander Zinsar died,” she said softly. “Lanzo lost an eye, and Piero took a sword thrust beneath his mail. The surgeon said he lost too much blood, and the herbs haven’t taken hold.”
Ilse knew the surgeon. Aleksander Breit was more skilled and conscientious than most. If his patients had any chance, he would give it to them. Still, his best herbs and spells might not be enough. “How is Marelda?”
“Angry. Frightened. She went back to the hospital as soon as our captains dismissed us.” Galena’s eyes narrowed. “I hated the fighting. I wish—” She broke off with a frown.
Ilse waited through a long silence. Luisa had reached the last section of the ballad. Someone joined in with a guitar, drowning out the flute. Another moment and the new musician gained control of his playing, the two instruments blending into a seamless harmony. Above them, Luisa’s sweet contralto swelled to pure and unfaltering tones.
“I heard Lord Joannis wants to celebrate your victory,” Ilse said.
Galena shifted uneasily, but said nothing.
I’ve struck close, Ilse thought. “Would you like more wine? Or coffee?” she asked.
Galena shook her head. “Water. Just … water.”
Ilse fetched a carafe of water and fi
lled Galena’s cup. She watched as the girl drained it, then wordlessly refilled it when Galena held out the cup for more. Around them, the pleasure house was quiet for the moment, but Luisa’s song, of love and lovers lost, still ran through Ilse’s mind.
“Ilse, why did you come to Osterling?” Galena said softly.
The change in conversation took Ilse by surprise. She sent a covert glance toward Galena, but saw nothing in the girl’s expression except ordinary curiosity. What would Galena say if Ilse told her the truth? That she had come to teach herself magic, to find Lir’s jewels so that these endless wars between Károví and Veraene would end. So that one day, she and Raul Kosenmark might marry.
But the reasons started long before she met Raul Kosenmark. She had come to Osterling by a series of hard choices, each seemingly inevitable, that had led her from Melnek to Tiralien, from Raul Kosenmark to Osterling Keep. Galena would not understand, and so Ilse gave the simplest answer. “I came because I needed employment, and Adela offered me a position as her steward.”
Adela Andeliess had been delighted to hire a steward with experience at pleasing a duke’s heir. So she told Ilse, proving it by raising Ilse’s salary twice in the past four months.
