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“It is necessary,” she repeated.
Karasek nodded, but said nothing. For a terrible moment, she wished she could read his thoughts. For an equally terrible moment, she hoped he could not read hers.
* * *
MIRO KARASEK WOKE Ilse a few hours past midnight for her turn at watch. The skies had cleared, true dark had fallen, and the stars were bright pinpoints against the black expanse. Ilse dragged herself from the depths of much-needed sleep and rolled over to one side. Karasek offered her a mug of hot, spiced tea. Ilse downed a swallow, coughed, and drank the rest. Her mind cleared at once. “What is that?”
“A special brew, concocted for soldiers in the garrison. Are you awake now?”
“Awake enough.”
She staggered to her feet. At some point, she had reassumed the coat and cap she had stolen from the dead courier. She fastened the buttons with clumsy fingers.
Miro crouched next to the low-burning fire, his hands splayed as if to capture its warmth. “You had some trouble in the past few weeks,” he said quietly.
Ilse shuddered. “Once. We … I had to kill him.”
“Was he a soldier?”
“A courier, we think.”
She went on to describe their encounter with the solitary man who thought two women alone were defenseless. Ilse had proved him wrong. She had blinded him with magic, then run him through with her sword. Together she and Valara had removed every bit of identification from his body, and examined his saddlebags for further clues. They had found one packet wrapped in oilskin, with a message that contained a report of the king’s death.
“Do you have the packet, or did you burn it?” Miro asked.
Wordlessly, Ilse handed the letter over to Miro, who scanned its contents, then set it aside. For a long interval, he said nothing, but studied the star-speckled skies. He seemed lost in contemplation of some faraway puzzle.
“How do they take the news in the garrisons?” she said at last.
“Badly,” he said. “They are afraid. I am afraid. We’ve grown so accustomed to this one king that his sudden disappearance has loosened our customary restraints. I expected maneuvers from Markov, but not the others. That was a mistake…”
He shook his head. A dismissal of one problem, before he addressed another.
“I have been thinking about how to introduce you into my household,” he said. “Let us say that you are two sisters, cousins from my mother’s family. You are seeking a place with a distant relative along the coast. I invited you to visit me first at Taboresk, but bandits attacked your entourage. Only you and your sister escaped.”
Ilse nodded. “That … could work. What about your servants, however? Do they know your mother’s family very well?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”
Ah, that question about his mother had scraped against some deeply buried grief. “But two strangers arriving just weeks after Dzavek’s death. Will the coincidence be too strong?”
His glance dropped to the ground. He wasn’t certain either, she could tell, but he only said, “It will serve for now. The current rumors speak of one young woman from foreign parts, not two. The queen’s appearance is nothing like a Károvín, but I have a plan for that as well. We can discuss all that tomorrow. There is one last thing I must tell you, however.” A long pause followed. Ilse thought he had lost the thread of their conversation when he said, almost unwillingly, “He lives.”
Ilse’s head swam. She dropped into a crouch and stared at Karasek. “What do you mean?”
“He lives,” Miro Karasek repeated. “My captain reported the news to me in Rastov. Your Lord Kosenmark lives.”
Though he continued to speak, Ilse could not take in the rest of his words. He lives, she thought. Raul lived. He had survived that impossible battle on Hallau Island.
“I can go home,” she said.
“No. Not yet.”
Her gaze swung up to meet his. “Why not?”
“I need … a very great favor.”
More promises. More expectations.
