Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

Galt could not find her, she told herself firmly. He did not know her new name or identity.

She levered herself up to a sitting position and assessed her condition. It was enough to send shudders through her body. Dark bru

ises covered her forearms. Her throat felt tender to her touch, and her body ached throughout, but especially her shoulder. Remembering how the creature had bitten her, she unbuttoned her gown.

Four crimson spots, surrounded by darker bruises, marked where its teeth had punctured her skin. Ilse flexed her shoulder and hissed. These were no pretend bites. She would have to find a healer.

Even as the thought occurred to her, the wounds closed, the bruises faded. She caught a whiff of magic in the air. It had an unfamiliar signature, not like any human one she had encountered. Anderswar and its magic. It wounded and healed without reason. Or rather, for reasons of its own.

A rap at the door startled her.

“Ilse?” called out a voice.

Alesso. One of the kitchen servants. He had come with Ilse’s customary morning tray. It was far later than she had guessed.

Ilse lurched to her feet in spite of her aching shoulder. Just in time, she recalled the magical guards. “A moment, please,” she croaked.

Her skin felt sticky with sweat, and she still wore the same gown from the day before. She dashed water over her face, and fumbled a robe from her clothespress to cover her gown. A few words dissipated the magical guards, a few more erased all traces of her magic. She hurried, unsteadily, to the outer door of her rooms. More locks, magical and otherwise.

She called up the semblance of a smile as she opened the door. “Alesso. Good morning. Please come inside.”

Alesso glanced at Ilse briefly as he passed into the room. He was a young man, slim and dark. She had noticed him the first day, thinking he could be a warrior or a dancer, and wondering why he had chosen to work in the kitchens of a pleasure house. Mistress Andeliess had told Ilse his history. Mother a soldier. Father a cook in the local taverns. Six years ago, the mother had taken a new posting in the next province. The father had followed, leaving the child Alesso behind with his aunts and uncles. Not long afterward, Alesso Valturri had applied to Mistress Andeliess and had worked for her ever since.

Ilse leaned against the wall, watching him as he laid out the dishes for her breakfast and poured a cup of tea. Her shoulder was still sore, and she felt as though something had scooped the strength from her body. She yawned, then realized Alesso had finished his work and was studying her with bright black eyes.

“You look terrible,” he said. “What happened?”

Ilse stifled a second yawn and shrugged. “I didn’t sleep well.”

His eyes narrowed. He was smiling, but there was an unusual alertness to his gaze. “Did you sleep at all?” he said. “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday underneath that robe, and you can barely stand up—”

“I’m fine,” Ilse snapped. Cursing silently, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Exhaustion had led to her outburst. Perhaps she could use it to undo the mistake. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I stayed up far too late, reading, and fell asleep in my clothes.”

Alesso appeared unconvinced. However he said nothing more, and when she mentioned the hour, he smiled politely and withdrew. Ilse pressed her ear against the closed door and listened. Alesso did not linger. Still, she waited until his footsteps retreated toward the stairs, then sank onto the nearest stool. Too close. And far too suspicious. What if he knew about magic?

Stop it. He’s curious. Kind.

Or someone who wished to gain her trust.

Ilse rested her head on her hands. She was trembling with exhaustion and fear. I cannot live like this. Not everyone is a spy for Markus Khandarr.

The thought of Markus Khandarr propelled her to the table and her breakfast. The best way to divert suspicion would be to attend drill practice as usual. Alesso had brought her coffee, fresh flat bread, a plate of soft white cheese, and bowls of fruit and olives. Ilse filled her mug, then nibbled at the bread. The strength seeped back into her body. A warm breeze blew from the ocean through the open windows, carrying with it the strong scent of low tide.

Perhaps she ought to leave off magic for a few days.

Excuses. You’re just afraid of that monster.

It was hard to tell when discretion crossed into cowardice. She was afraid, that much she had to admit. Remembering the monster’s rank scent, its jutting sex, Ilse shuddered. I know where all Lir’s creatures are, it had said. But it had lied, and flung her away into the void.

Then I shall just have to try again.

Outside, the city bells rang eight times. Ilse cursed. It was far later than she had thought. Weapons drill had already started. She raced into her bedroom, unbuttoning her gown as she ran. She had promised the garrison commander diligence. Only then had he permitted her to take part in morning drill.

It took but a few moments to throw off her gown and pull on a loose shirt and old pair of trousers. Next came the belt with its sword in sheath. Ilse was never certain what the soldiers thought of her, a woman with money and education, who chose to drill alongside them, earning sweat and bruises and cuts from sword practice. A pet to be humored, she guessed. A mascot. For some, a potential lover.

Like Galena Alighero.

Young Galena who watched Ilse at drill with her pale green eyes. Who smiled quickly at whatever Ilse said, and who found any number of excuses to visit the pleasure house during her free hours, though she never hired one of the courtesans. Ilse recognized all the signs of an infatuation. She had tried to discourage Galena gently, but without any success. She would have to speak plainly to the girl, and soon.