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They think the same as him. They just don’t say it.
Harbor patrol had turned out to be a kindness. She bunked in different quarters. She stood guard with almost-strangers who ignored her. She could almost pretend that she’d transferred to a new garrison, far away from Osterling Keep, where no one knew about her shameful past. If they asked about her mark, she could claim it was a badge of honor.
Except you know you can’t. The magic won’t let you.
It was a pleasant dream, nonetheless. So she lay there, eyes closed, imagining herself with new friends, a new regiment. A chance to prove herself …
The garrison bells tolled. Galena’s reverie broke. She sighed. Two hours until watch. No more sleep tonight, that was certain. She could lie here in misery, dreaming of the impossible. Or she could report to the harbor early. Old Josche wouldn’t mind. He’d set her to work cleaning weapons or some other useful task. He might even tell Commander Adler.
She dressed in silence and gathered her weapons and gear. Outside the garrison, moonlight washed over the streets and towers. The prison building was dark, except for one window. The fort above was little more than a looming presence on the cliffs. A quiet night, the guards outside the barracks gate told her.
Quiet and empty. She had come to love the night watch, though she had not expected to. Osterling had a different face, painted in moonlight, inked in shadows. As she jogged down the main avenue, she spotted a few lamp-lit windows, but otherwise the city slept. Harbor duty was much, Josche told her the first night. Except when it was. Then he told her stories about when raiders swooped through the shoals to attack.
She had just crossed the second market square—not far away from Mistress Andeliess’s pleasure house—when a movement off to one side caught her attention. She stopped, hand on her sword, and peered into the darkness. Runners often carried messages between the city walls and headquarters, she told herself. But a courier or runner would not hide in an alleyway.
The stranger darted from one doorway to another. Suspicious now, Galena sprinted toward the alleyway’s entrance and peered down its length. Tall buildings blocked out the moon. All Galena could see were shapes and movement. And one tall lanky figure. A young man, judging from his height.
The boy glanced over his shoulder and took off at a run. That decided her. He was a thief. Galena launched herself after him. The boy dodged right into the next street, then right again. The chase took them back toward the main square, past the inn and the pleasure house, and into the merchants’ quarter, where the boy veered into a side alley. Galena followed, laughing to herself, because she knew how this chase would end.
She rounded the corner into the courtyard. There were no exits, just one door chained shut. The boy was scrabbling at the latch, muttering strange words, but swung around to face Galena, hair swirling in a dark cloud. A forgotten lamp burned in a window overhead, casting a dim circle of light over him.
No, her.
Galena stopped, her heart thudding faster. I know her.
It was the woman she had sighted on the beach, the day of the battle. She was bone-thin and nearly as tall as Galena. Her eyes were dark and narrow above flat cheeks, her complexion like the dark golden sands of Osterling’s shores. She wore a prisoner’s uniform underneath a shapeless tunic with a guard’s badge sewn at one shoulder. Her feet were bare.
The woman raised both hands. The sleeves fell back, revealing two wrist sheaths and their knives. Galena paused, wary. She drew her sword and rocked on her feet, ready to defend or attack as she needed to.
“Ei rûf ane gôtter,” the woman said. “Komen mir de kreft.”
The air turned dense, like the morning fog rolling in from the sea. Galena scrambled backward, but not quickly enough. The cloud swept over her, and the world went blank.
When she came to, Galena lay at full length on the hard paving stones. Her head throbbed, her eyes refused to focus. She groaned and stirred. That was a mistake. Pain lanced through her skull. She choked back a surge of bile and groaned again.
Cool fingers pressed against Galena’s temples. A woman murmured in an unknown language. The fresh green scent of pines filled the air, taking away the nausea. More words spoken in that unknown language, like water trickling over stone, then a command delivered in Veraenen.
“Stand up.”
Galena blinked and focused on the woman standing over her. The prisoner. She fumbled for her knife, only to find the sheath empty. Sword gone. Both knives missing. The woman had taken everything.
“Stand up,” the woman repeated. She held a knife to Galena’s throat.
“What do you want?” Galena croaked.
To her surprise, the woman gave a soft laugh. “What do I want? Too many things.” Then all the humor vanished from her face and she leaned over Galena. “I want a way out of Osterling. Get me past the gates.”
Galena noticed she hadn’t promised to release Galena after she escaped. So she was smart, too. “What if I say no?”
“Then I make certain you can’t warn anyone else.”
Her tone was cool and composed, but the hand gripping the knife shook slightly. Desperate enemies make dangerous ones, her father always said. “What did you do to the others?” Galena asked.
A heartbeat of hesitation. “They sleep.”
She killed them.
Galena squeezed her eyes shut against renewed dizziness and considered her situation. This young woman knew a great deal of magic. She’d killed a dozen guards or more. She’d broken free from a prison with strong magical shields. Even if Galena took her by surprise and wrestled the knife away, the woman could probably murder her with a single word.
