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“No,” Miro said at once. Then, in a milder voice, “Not … not today, Ryba.”
Ryba’s gaze met his cousin’s. The fleeting vulnerability of moments before had disappeared, and once again he faced the blank courtier’s mask.
I said I did not wish to know, Ryba reminded himself.
Still, he had to ask.
“Is there anything you would tell me?”
Miro smiled. “No. Nothing.”
Ryba hesitated only a moment lo
nger. “I love you,” he said, and hurried out the door.
* * *
VALARA HAD INTENDED to rise with the sun. Miro would, she knew. She wanted to speak with him in the daylight, to discuss in blunt practical terms how they might counter this latest, unwelcome news from Rastov. They would need privacy, an hour at least, to work through all the tangled choices he and she faced. They could not risk the cousin or that man Skoch interrupting.
But once Miro had closed the door, Valara had wandered between the two small rooms of her apartment, unable to fasten her attention on the task of undressing for bed. When the hour bells rang two past midnight, she had finally collected herself enough to remember Ilse. She owed Ilse too much for comfort. If not for Ilse and her connections, Khandarr’s soldiers would have recaptured Valara within a mile of Osterling Keep. If not for her, Valara might have attempted to gain all three of Lir’s jewels for herself—at what cost to her kingdom and her future lives, she did not wish to imagine.
Debt she understood, though she disliked it. Gratitude was more difficult to process.
She paced the corridor once, twice, before she at last fetched up at Ilse’s door. A lamp burned within, its light leaking around the edges of the door. Valara raised her hand to knock. And stopped.
What could she say? That Miro Karasek’s plans were overturned? That his vows of protection no longer counted for anything? Ilse knew it already. Perhaps she, too, was restless and wanted these quiet hours to consider her future.
So Valara had returned to her bedchamber, there to stare into the dark until sleep overtook her.
Now. Now the bells rang midmorning.
Valara washed and dressed. She refused her maid’s offer to bring a suitable breakfast tray. “I would see my lord cousin, Duke Karasek,” she said.
The girl’s expression never changed, but Valara thought she detected a certain hesitation.
“Is my lord duke in residence?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady. I shall send him your request at once.”
A palpable lie, but clearly the girl was under orders. With an effort, Valara attempted a smile. “Thank you,” she said. “I believe I would like tea.”
The tea arrived quickly, hot and fragrant and blessedly strong. She drank the entire carafe. Suppressed her impatience and allowed the girl to brush her hair, which badly needed attention after the previous restless night. At last, her hair was properly braided, herself dressed in a loose gown and jacket, tied with an embroidered sash.
No word had come back from Miro.
I could insist.
The thought died with its birth. She had to trust he had spent the night to better advantage than she. If only, if only …
She mentioned her wish to take a turn about the garden. Her maid returned with walking boots to replace her slippers, a hood to cover her hair, and a cloak. Valara escaped the household at last and hurried through the gates to the garden beyond. There an attendant waited, but he did not follow her into the leafy pathways beyond.
Once she rounded the first corner, she closed her eyes and blew out a breath. Took in the faded scent of dying wildflowers; the stronger scent of pine needles, crushed beneath impatient feet; the far, far fainter scent of damp earth and wood chips. No one observed her here, but this was only a temporary reprieve. If she did not proceed, Skoch’s minions would observe the delay. Skoch alone was nothing in Rastov’s Court, but Miro said the man reported to Duke Markov, a man with influence and power.
The network of paths extended in six directions. The ends of most were obscured by greening foliage, but others opened to the clear blue sky of late summer, early autumn. Valara took the path lined by pine trees left to their natural state. It wound through a sweet-scented glade, along an artificial brook, and to an open field that overlooked Taboresk’s household and its neighboring village.
If only she could escape Károví so easily.
“My lady.”
