Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

“Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ane Toc unde sîn kreft…”

Valara felt her gorge rising. Her tongue, like a creature alive, moved to speak. She clamped her mouth shut, but the magic had gripped her like a hand and was prizing her lips open. “He came … He came because I … because I…”

With an effort, she choked out a spell to counteract his. The current wavered—a temporary reprieve. Khandarr had far more skill than she. Already her mouth was twisting open again. She would tell him about the emerald. He would take it and—

“Wenden dir sîn zoubernisse. Nemen îm der wâr unde kreft. Nemen îm der sprâche.”

With a loud crack, the current rebounded. Khandarr sprang backward, clawing at his throat. Valara scrabbled into the far corner as guards streamed into the cell. Her skin burned with magic; the current bubbled through her veins. Dimly, she heard an uproar. One of the guards shoved her against the wall. His sword was a bright blur of motion; its point stopped inches from her throat and poised to strike.

“Stop! Do not kill her!”

Joannis’s voice broke through the din.

“Get back. Everyone. You, hold the prisoner. Nothing more.”

“But my lord—”

“I said, Nothing more.”

Joannis’s mouth was drawn tight. He looked angry, appalled. With obvious reluctance, the guards retreated from the cell, except for the one who held Valara. He did not loosen his grip, nor did his sword waver.

Joannis knelt by a motionless Khandarr. He touched the man’s throat, ran his fingers over the man’s body, murmuring in Erythandran. A sheen of sweat covered Khandarr’s face, and his skin had turned gray. Valara watched with sick dread. She had tried to stop Khandarr’s magic with her own—that much she remembered—but then her recollection failed. There had been another voice, like an enormous bell, inside her skull. Was it her imagination? Khandarr’s magic?

“Send for the chief surgeon,” Joannis said to the guard captain. “Fetch a litter and carry Lord Khandarr to my quarters. Clear the streets first. But do nothing to this woman. We need her alive. Lord Khandarr’s orders.”

Guards appeared with a litter. Nicol Joannis motioned them forward. As they carefully shifted Khandarr onto the litter, his throat gave a convulsive twitch. He turned his head toward Valara and met her gaze—one penetrating look—before Joannis signaled the guards to take him away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HOURS LATER, VALARA Baussay sat in the corner of her cell, knees drawn up to her chest. Her stomach had contracted into a hard painful knot. The guards had not brought supper, nor had they returned her slop bucket. A small grate in one corner would do, but she wished the men outside her cell would look away, just for a few moments.

They wouldn’t of course. These were the second pair to take the watch. They were awake, alert, and angry. She heard them discussing what punishment Joannis or Khandarr would order for her. If they meant to frighten her, they had succeeded.

I trusted too soon. I promised too much.

She had expected Veraene to welcome Dzavek’s enemy. She had hoped they would negotiate with her. Whatever the cost, in money, in concessions, she would have promised it. Once back in Morennioù, she could have renegotiated the terms of their alliance.

They don’t want an ally. They want a hostage. And why not? I would do the same.

The hour bells rang—six clear soft tones. Midnight. Five more hours until dawn. Khandarr would return tomorrow. She was sure of that. Any competent mage-healer could restore the man’s wits. Khandarr himself could do the rest. Once he had recovered, he would bind her with magic and rip the truth from her throat. She had to escape before then.

You tried once. You failed.

Then I must try again.

She had panicked before, that was all. The spells guarding this prison were strong and complex, but she had made a delicate examination of them over the past several weeks. Only the bars and floor stones were steeped in magic. Unless she misread the signs, she could escape to Autrevelye before her magic triggered the prison’s spells. She had been too slow before, too befuddled from the magic Karasek had used to drug her.

She counted to ten to steady her nerves. Her heartbeat slowed as her gaze turned inward.

Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ane Lir unde Toc. Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ane Lir unde Toc.

Magic coursed over her skin. She no longer saw the torchlight or prison walls, no longer felt the stone floor beneath her. She was rising slowly through a viscous ocean. Far above, she saw a vast empty cavern, where shadowy hills rolled and surged toward the horizon. Higher still, a glittering band of lights streamed through the sky. The void between lives, which lay upon the edge of magic.

Noandnoandno.

A force struck her chest. The current scattered. She was falling, falling, falling through darkness while monsters shrilled and the ocean roared.

“—thought that blessed magic was supposed to stop—”