Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

They lapsed into another silence, an easier one this time. Gerek pretended to be absorbed in an altercation in the marketplace below—a man driving pigs through the square had lost control over his animals. The pigs were dashing between carts and stalls, upsetting wares. Others were screeching at the hapless swineherd.

Kathe’s unfinished sentence teased at him. He wanted to ask what she thought about words. He wanted to ask what she’d meant the day before, about not needing to apologize. But words were more than flesh and air, no matter what Kosenmark claimed. If he spoke, he might disturb the easy silence between them. It should be enough, he thought, to sit companionably with a friend.

Down below, the swineherd drove his pigs from the marketplace. A few shrill grunts floated up on the breeze, then the noise died off, leaving just the dull, indistinct roar from the crowds. Kathe touched his arm. “I must go back to the house. Will you come back for supper? Or shall I tell them to expect you later?”

Several different answers hovered on his tongue. In spite of what he thought earlier, he had the impression of a rare chance offered. Gerek swallowed and made a silent prayer to Lir. “Would you— Would you like me to carry your basket for you?”

There was just the briefest hesitation from Kathe. The pause lasted long enough that Gerek cursed his impulse. But then she smiled. “That would be kind of you. Thank you.”

Gerek slung the larger basket over one arm and made certain its contents were secure. He took the second from Kathe’s hands. They felt as light as a bundle of cotton. I am an ox, he thought, recalling his mother’s words.

His mother had always used the name with affection. Even so, Gerek hated how it made him feel—large and awkward, a lumpish beast. But today the sky was bright, the breeze clean and brisk. And there was Kathe, holding out her hand.

CHAPTER TEN

WHEN SHE FIRST arrived in Osterling Keep in winter, Ilse Zhalina thought she had unraveled the days and miles to a summer’s day in Melnek, where she had lived as a child. The sky was the color of pale blue ink suspended in water. Dusty green trees fringed the cliffs above the city, and only at night did she sometimes light a brazier to warm her bedroom.

As the season turned into spring, the seas glittered beneath the sun, and fishermen spoke of the coming summer storms. Fleets of merchant ships hurried down from the northern ports to complete their passage before those same calm seas turned rough and wild. Those with a few hours of leave visited the pleasure house, and Ilse worked into the night to keep the house well supplied.

Still, for all the orderly, ordinary succession of her days, she had the impression of a smothering weight over the city. Riders had taken word of the battle and the escaped officer to garrisons along the coast, and Lord Joannis had sent word to Duenne by ship and land. The effects were immediate—more guards in the harbor and around the city garrison. Rumor also talked about an influx of reinforcements due from Konstanzien, up the coast.

Ilse herself stopped using magic entirely. Be cautious, Nicol Joannis had warned her, in his oblique fashion. No more journeys to Anderswar. No more searching for Lir’s jewels. She even stopped using the ordinary spells for lighting candles.

Nor did she meet with Alesso again.

That, however, was not her doing. Two days after their confrontation, Alesso transferred to the late-night shift. Ilse learned about that from the kitchen maids. Interesting, she thought. If he had frightened her out of complacency, perhaps she had done the same with him.

This day and hour, however, her attention was wholly on the pleasure house and its books, not the far-off doings of armies or kings. She sat with the chief cook in the woman’s office, reviewing the monthly accounts. It was midafternoon. The sunlight was white and unforgiving, and the room echoed with activity from the kitchen next door.

The cook, used to the noise, pitched her voice louder. “Fish,” she said.

Fish, hook, net, snare. The old game of word links came effortlessly to Ilse’s mind. She smiled to herself. Ghita Fiori was an utterly plain woman, unimaginative except when it came to her cookery. She would not appreciate a game about words.

“Fish,” Ilse repeated. “I never knew how many kinds of fish lived in the sea, until I came here.”

Ghita snorted. “We only care about the edible ones. Speaking of which, fish needs salt, and the king has raised the salt tax again.”

Taxes. Ilse sighed. “How much?”

“Thirty copper denier for a hundredweight.”

A small sum, except when you considered how much fish and meat the customers consumed in one year. Ilse calculated the probable increase in expenses and sighed again. “That means higher taxes for freight and shipping. Mistress Andeliess might have to increase her prices, too.”

“That is her business, not ours.”

“True. But she’ll want the numbers from me. So, then. We require fish, bought fresh from the wharves, in all varieties that you have so helpfully noted in your expenses and projections. Three hundred silver denier for the past month, including taxes. Next is beef … Yes, Rina?”

It was one of the house runners—Mistress Andeliess’s grandniece, recently hired to begin her internship in the family business. The girl bounced on her toes. Her eyes were shiny with excitement. “I came for Mistress Ilse,” she said. “You have a visitor. In your rooms.”

Ilse frowned. “You took them to my rooms?”

“It wasn’t me.” The girl’s voice squeaked high. “Fredo took them up. But come. You’ll see he had no choice.”

Fredo was the house’s senior runner, old and trusted and wise in discretion. If he had elected to bring this

unnamed visitor directly to Ilse’s rooms without notifying her first, it argued for someone both important and well-known to Fredo.

Lord Joannis. He was the only person who could produce that kind of reaction. But why would he come to her? Perhaps he’d sent word to Raul in spite of his own warning to her.