Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

She made herself as presentable as possible in a few moments, then went below. The halls and common room were silent. Only a few maids moved about, picking up dishes and wine cups from the tables. The scents of stale incense and smoke hung in the air. One of the maids fetched a lantern for Ilse. The girl was plainly curious, but of course she asked no questions. Mistress Andeliess hired only those who proved discreet.

Outside, the steady ocean breeze cleared Ilse’s head. She crossed the market square, and turned onto the boulevard leading toward the garrison. The moon and stars illuminated her way, but in the darker alleys around the old Keep ruins, she was glad for her lantern. Osterling was a different city in the night. Lonelier and stranger, with hints and whispers from centuries gone by.

She rounded the Keep’s old walls and followed the main avenue to the governor’s palace. Dozens of windows in the palace blazed with lamplight. So, too, did the city garrison, while the fort above was mostly dark. Odd.

The palace guards expected her. One of them escorted her across the outer courtyard and through the gaudily painted grand entrance hall, all rose-pink and bright gold, up the winding stairs to the governor’s office. As she followed, Ilse noted the guards at every intersection, the many runners who passed them in the corridors, the glances directed at her then away. If tension had a scent and flavor, it was here.

“Mistress Ilse Zhalina to see Lord Joannis,” her escort announced to the guards outside.

A look passed between the two guards. Both glanced uneasily at the closed door. Ilse heard voices inside. She was about to say she could wait elsewhere, when the door swung open and Ranier Mazzo exited the room. He stopped when he saw Ilse, and his eyes went wide.

Commander Thea Adler appeared immediately behind him. Fatigue lined her face. Her mouth was set in a thin angry line. The moment she saw Ilse, however, her expression smoothed to a blank. “Come with me,” she said to Ranier.

She stalked down the corridor. Ranier followed his commander. Ilse could almost hear the vibration from their passage. More bad news from the invasion? A difficulty with the prisoners?

“Lord Joannis will see you now,” the escort said, ushering her inside.

Her first reaction was surprise. She had expected a grand official chamber, such as Lord Vieth’s in Tiralien, filled with cold empty air and expensive statuary. Or an old-fashioned office like the one she had visited in Melnek as a child. Chandeliers swarmed like twisting snakes from the ceiling, making the room seem low. A huge desk occupied one entire side of the office, and tables crowded the floor, all of them stacked high with scrolls and books and leather-bound volumes. There were no windows—no distractions—only bookcases fronting every wall. A few patches of plaster showed between the shelves, but these surfaces were painted a rich yellowish-white, the color of skimmed cream. Noth

ing like the vivid colors she had grown used to over the past months.

Joannis stood with his back to her, gazing at a large map that showed the surrounding region. It reminded Ilse of the maps Raul used. “You’ve come about Galena Alighero,” he said, without turning around.

“Yes, I have.” She paused. “You already know what happened.”

He nodded. “I know what happened in the battle, and I can guess in part what you’ve come to speak about. But I’m curious, too. Curious why Galena Alighero failed to report a missing enemy. More curious why she chose to tell you and not her senior officers.”

His tone was light. Detached. Unsettling.

“Galena came to me because she trusts me,” Ilse answered.

“Trusts you to lie for her?”

Warmth flooded her cheeks. “No. I came to tell you about the Károvín officer. And that Galena Alighero regrets her actions. She is understandably anxious about admitting her fault.”

Joannis turned around. His dark face was creased with lines, and the skin beneath his normally bright eyes looked puffy. He gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit. Please. We need to talk.”

They sat, he behind his massive desk, and she in the ornately carved chair placed before it. A supplicant to her master. She dismissed the thought as unfair and accepted the cup of coffee Joannis offered.

“It was Mazzo who reported what happened,” Joannis said. “He saw Alighero engaged in a single combat. Alighero went down, and Mazzo tried to fight through to her side, but failed. When he saw her next, Alighero was charging into the battle. Naturally, he assumed she had killed her opponent. It was only later, when he and Tallo were talking over the morning, that he realized the man must have escaped.”

“My interview is useless, then.”

He tilted a hand to one side. “Not entirely. I am happy to know that she expresses regret, though I wonder if her regret is for her mistake—a very grave mistake—or for the punishment that must follow.”

Ilse could not answer that one. “There is another reason I asked to speak with you,” she said. “Galena mentioned a prisoner, a woman who was clearly not Károvín. I thought you might—”

“There are many things I might do,” Joannis said. “And many subjects we might discuss. However, you must know that certain subjects, certain acts, are fraught with difficulty.”

So. A clear warning against mentioning Raul Kosenmark.

She considered his position as a representative of the king—a governor of Fortezzien, a province that turned restless from time to time. Baerne of Angersee had hoped to quell that restlessness by appointing a nobleman of Fortezzien ancestry to this high post. Amazingly, his grandson had not overturned that appointment upon taking the throne.

He knows Armand watches him. He must tread carefully.

“I understand,” she said. “Would it be possible to discuss Galena Alighero’s punishment?”

“You do not intend to plead for mercy?”