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“It’s me,” she said softly. “Ilse Zhalina.”
“I … I know you.”
His voice was hoarse, his words barely intelligible.
“Who was that, Josef? The one you called Mathis?”
A shudder ran through his body.
“My brother. He died of a fever. Ten years ago. I was never meant to be the heir.”
He broke into weeping again. Ilse held him close as he rocked back and forth. She glanced around the courtyard. No sign of Iani. Had he mistaken their goal? Did he wander through the void even now? Even as all the possibilities tumbled through her mind, she held on to Josef Mann and whispered words of comfort.
And then …
The darkness rippled. A strong scent of magic rolled through the air. Then came a movement nearby, and a shadow rose from the ground. Iani. Benno Iani awake and eager, as she had never known the man.
She waited until he staggered upright,
caught himself, and stared upward at the moon and stars. “Where are we?” she demanded.
Iani started at her voice. Then he grinned down at her with far too much cheer. “In Duenne,” he replied. “And in good time. No more than a day or two lost. Come, we must hurry to the duke’s household.”
“Can you?” Ilse asked Mann.
He shook his head, but then drew himself together. “I can. It was just…”
Just a moment confronting your terrors, Ilse thought. “Tell me later if you like,” she said. “We will not either of us die before then.”
She helped him to his feet. Benno took them from the courtyard into the next main street. There he paused, uncertain. “I do not know this quarter.”
Mann did, however—another surprise to Ilse, who had not expected him to be so familiar with parts outside the grand palace or its immediate environs. Evidently he had recovered from his distress, or postponed it to a later, more convenient hour. With a gesture, he took the lead and guided them through a maze of streets and alleys, to a wide boulevard. Ilse had no more than a moment to take in the sight of the palace, far to the southeast, its towers and walls illuminated so that it appeared a great golden crown against the deepening twilight. Then Mann took hold of her wrist and dragged her down another dark street, with houses leaning together overhead. She heard a flute whispering, the buzz of voices speaking in unfamiliar dialects, then they were running down a tunnel smothered in darkness.
One, two, a dozen intersections passed, and several dozen turns taken, so many that Ilse could not keep count. Then, unexpectedly, they fetched up beside a blank, stone wall.
Ilse stopped and tilted her head back. Far above, starlight edged a high, domed roof. The lower stories were as blank as the outer wall, but just under the gutters and waterspouts ran a row of brightly lit windows. She loosed a long-held breath, drew another and caught the rich mélange of incense and magic that enveloped the grounds. The duke, or his mages, had laid numerous spells to protect this house.
“Here,” Mann said. “Or rather. Once we come to the gate.”
They circled around the walled compound, feeling their way through the deepening shadows. Ilse stumbled once or twice. Mann caught her elbow before she fell. Each of us supporting the other, she thought. Mann whispered a question, but she could barely attend. She had achieved Duenne, in spite of so many impossible obstacles.
An unexpected barrier led them back into a maze of streets. Mann swore with an energy that belied his earlier terror. Then Ilse sighted the glare of torchlight up one narrow passageway. She darted ahead of her companions. Yes, there ahead were the walls to the duke’s compound.
The next moment, a squad of guards materialized in front of her. Metal hissed against leather as they all drew their weapons.
Ilse froze. She heard footsteps behind her. An argument broke out. She recognized Mann’s voice rising above a woman’s demand that he stand back and not interfere.
“Josef,” she called out. “Do what she says.”
To the guards, she said, “My name is Ilse Zhalina. I must speak with the duke about his son.”
* * *
SHE HAD EXPECTED an argument, or some demand for proof of her identity, but the guards sheathed their swords at once and offered their apologies. “Come with us, you and your companions,” the senior officer said. “The duke will see you at once.”
You should not trust so easily, Ilse thought, but perhaps the guards believed no one would dare such a ruse, or that there were other, better defenses set within the household. She had no time to speculate. She was already hurrying after the guard. A runner sped ahead, and disappeared into a side corridor. Ilse, Mann, and Iani were guided into a wider passage decorated with mosaics.
The passage soon joined a large one. Tapestries alternated with painted scenes from Veraene’s history, and instead of torches, sweet-scented candles burned in their sockets.
