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“None of us thought. I’m sorry. Here, drink the rest of the tea and let us consider what to do. How late is it, do you know? Shall we ride for Duenne, or do we remain here?”
“No later than six bells, my lady. Let us ride for Duenne. We can make it before the roads are impassable.”
It was a near thing, in spite of Guda Decker’s assurance.
They extinguished the fire and set off to the east, using a lamp Guda had brought to light their path. When the snow turned thick and impenetrable, Ilse called up magic to burn a path before them, but it was close to midnight before they regained the city walls, and another half hour to the palace itself. Stable hands on watch took the horses and bundled both women into warm dry clothing. They had strong spirits and tea at hand, and administered both in small doses until both women had ceased shivering.
Ilse clasped Guda Decker’s hands in hers. “Thank you, Captain Decker. Oh, yes, I could guess your rank. If I could have petitioned the gods for a companion for today, you would be her.”
Guda returned the grip. “And you for me, my lady. Though…” And she was laughing, though it was a high, tremulous laugh. “I would have asked for more warning about the magic.”
Ilse hugged her close and kissed Guda’s cheek. Then she was hurrying to her rooms, to where Theda no doubt waited anxiously. The day had changed nothing, while she did not know her future, a strange exhilaration had taken hold of her. She hardly noticed the emptiness of the hallways, or the stares from guards as she passed.
Theda waited in the corridor outside her rooms, her hands knotted together. At Ilse’s approach, she gave a smothered cry. “My lady. They sent word you had returned. I am so glad. You have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Ilse paused and took in Theda’s agitation. “Who is it? What has happened?”
Theda gestured wordlessly at the doors. A death, Ilse thought. Assassins. The duke himself or Raul … Her pulse leaping, she ran through the entryway, which was dark and quiet, and into her public sitting room.
Raul stood with his back to her, facing the series of high narrow windows that overlooked the eastern quadrant of the palace grounds. The shutters stood open, and a storm of snow blew in an unending cascade against the glass. A fire blazed in the hearth; on a sideboard stood a branch of candles. As she crossed the threshold, he turned and stepped toward her. Gems flashed in his ears. Firelight streamed up and around his collar, picking out the layers upon layers of formal robes.
“Ilse.”
He was like a ghost of shadows, edged by silver and firelight. She … she had no idea how she appeared. She only knew that her breath came short and sharp with sudden apprehension.
“What is wrong?” she whispered.
They both stared at one another. She wished she could read his expression, but the fire at his back made that impossible. He was like Toc in the everlasting dark, like a soul wandering through an endless void.
“They have made me king,” Raul said at last. His voice was harsh and soft and deep. Nothing like the contralto voice she remembered from years past. He gestured sharply, the firelight rippling over the gems he wore. “No, that is wrong. They offered. I accepted.” In a softer voice, he said, “I never thought they would. I never thought I would agree.”
He was shaking. His face was drawn into a mask.
“Sit,” Ilse told him. “I will fetch wine.”
He dropped into the nearest chair, quickly, as if a god had snipped the strings that held him upright. Ilse touched his hand, which felt cold, then glided out to where Theda waited. “Wine,” she said. “Wine, water, cups…”
“I sent for them already, my lady.”
Ilse hurried back to the sitting room where Raul had not stirred. She watched him, thinking she had not seen him so unstrung since Benno Iani came with news of Dedrick Maszur
yn’s death.
Has he come for comfort? Or wisdom?
She did not think she had either to offer. She paced back to the front door. Runners had arrived with carafes of water and wine. Ilse took the tray and dismissed her maid for the night. She carried the tray into the sitting room where Raul sat, head resting on his hands.
“Your wine,” she said softly.
His head swung up. He watched as she poured two cups, then accepted one from her hands.
“I worried,” he said. “They told me you left the palace before sunrise.”
“And never returned. Did you think I had run away?”
“Yes.”
Ah. Oh. She ought to have left word. Except she had not known herself how long she had intended to be absent, nor had she predicted that impulsive visit to Anderswar. She certainly had not expected Duenne’s Court to choose a king today.
