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I have done it. All of us have.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THAT SAME DAY, Ilse woke at dawn. Bells whispered in the distance, a soft silvery chorus that reminded her of courtiers massed together. Five bright clear tones rang out—five hours past midnight, two hours at least until the sun rose.
The air in her bedchamber was cold and damp, a true midwinter day in the central plains. Her maid had banked the fire and closed the shutters for the night, but enough of the early dawn light leaked through for Ilse to make her way from the bed to her wardrobe. She huddled into a woolen robe and slippers, then lit a candle and rekindled the fire. The water in her basin stung with cold when she splashed a handful over her face.
Midwinter. One week until Long Night. Three months and more since Armand died.
And today Duenne’s Council would begin its search for a new king. A long and arduous task, she suspected.
Will you attend? she had asked Raul.
I must, if only to represent Valentain.
A hundred different factions would observe the council’s debate, of course. A hundred different members of those same factions had fluttered around Ilse, attempting to gain her support for one candidate or another. Even her friends were not immune. The night before, Emma Iani had come to Ilse privately, to request her presence while they badgered Raul into accepting the crown. Of course Emma had phrased the question far more delicately. “We would like you to stand with us,” she said. “Nothing more.”
“I cannot,” Ilse had replied. “You know that, Emma. The choice must be his, freely decided.”
She stared blankly at the wall, her arms wrapped tightl
y around her body, while the fire hissed and crackled. She would not attend the council session, no. Nor could she take refuge in yet another committee meeting. There would be none today, not until a new king was chosen.
Which might not take place until Long Night or beyond, given the many fierce and uncompromising divisions within court and council.
Abruptly impatient with herself, with Emma Iani and all the rest of Veraene’s politics, she unwound her nighttime braid and brushed out her hair vigorously until her eyes watered. She twisted her hair into a knot, which she pinned securely, and dressed in layers of silk and wool, practical clothing for riding in rough country, and all newly supplied by the seamstresses recommended by Heloïse Kosenmark, and paid for from her own funds, recently transferred by her brother to her newly hired agent in Duenne.
She pulled on a quilted jacket and a wool cap lined with fur. The act of dressing had confirmed her impulse. She would ride. She would escape the palace for the open plains beyond the city walls. Once Long Night came, winter storms would make the roads impassable. She had to take the chance that today offered.
Her maid Theda was awake and relighting the fire in the second of Ilse’s outer rooms. “Send a runner to the stables,” Ilse said. “Have them saddle my horse.”
“Of course, my lady. Will you have breakfast here, or would you like the kitchens to prepare a basket?”
Ilse had intended a brief ride, no more than an hour or two, but at Theda’s question, she had the sudden glorious vision of an entire day free from all constraint. “The second, please. Tell them I shall want provisions for a full day’s outing. Let the stable master know that as well.”
She drank a cup of tea and ate a few biscuits at Theda’s urging, then followed one of the less public routes to the palace stables. Few were about at this hour; the corridors and stairwells were still dark, lit only by a few torches. A monster slumbering, she thought. Once she came to the main floor, however, more servants were about, and the stables themselves teamed with activity. A senior hostler waited with Ilse’s horse already saddled. Next to him stood a young woman, also dressed for a winter ride, with several bulky saddlebags on her own mount.
“My lady.” The woman bowed. She was short and stocky, her thick black hair tucked under a knitted cap, and she wore several visible weapons, including a short sword on her belt. Ilse guessed a search would uncover more.
“I had not requested an escort,” she said.
The woman shrugged. “If you wish me gone, my lady, you have only to say so. I hope you do not. The weather can be treacherous this late in the season. And we thought you might like a guide who knows the best sights.”
A guide who carried herself like a soldier, with weapons at her belt and boot. Ilse thought she detected Duke Kosenmark’s hand in this. He had reminded her, more than once, that the old factions continued to operate in secret. Ilse knew his concerns were borne out by incidents over the past three months, so she did not argue.
“Have you guessed my destination then?” she asked.
The woman’s mouth tucked into a cheerful smile. “Oh, dear no, my lady. I would never presume to guess. However, I trust I have come to you well prepared. My name is Guda Decker, if you should like to address your curses and commands more directly.”
It was impossible to resist her good humor, and Ilse smiled in return. “Then let us put your preparations to good use, Guda Decker.”
They mounted and rode through a series of courtyards, each a pocket of cold air surrounded by walls and towers, and the covered passageway that dipped under the outer wings of the palace, and through one of the many smaller side gates into the busy avenue beyond. The bells were ringing seven, and the skies had brightened, but the streets themselves were thick with fog and shadows, and most of the wagons carried lanterns to light the way.
“Do you wish to visit the winter markets?” Guda asked. “I know a stall with the best grilled sausages.”
Ilse surveyed the streets. The number of guards inside the palace itself had increased over the past month, and more patrolled the streets. The city was restive. Its mood would turn even more uneasy while the council debated the matter of kingship.
“Another day,” she said. “I would like to see something of the countryside. Will your preparations go far enough for that?”
