Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

Gerek glanced back at the other shops, as if considering whether or not to move on. Pretending boredom, he sorted through the bin a second time. It was a cookbook. The title—engraved in thick woodcut letters—mentioned ornamental dishes from the court. He dug past the book to an assortment of heroic poetry volumes, then back to the cookbook itself.

Its condition was better than he would have expected. Water stains covered several pages, but the parchment showed no signs of worm or decay. If the date was correct, the volume dated from the later empire days. If not … well, it made an interesting curiosity.

“Ten silver denier,” the vendor said immediately. “Which is a true bargains for such a rare—”

“Ten copper,” Gerek countered.

The vendor wailed about his poverty, the wife and ten children he fed from his meager earnings, etc., etc. They dickered back and forth a few more times, until Gerek finally handed over two silver denier. The price was robbery, but he thought Kathe might like the book. He knew she studied all manner of cookery. Sometimes Lord Kosenmark liked to hold historical feasts for his noble friends.

He ordered the book wrapped in clean brown paper and added it to his satchel. And because he liked the man’s looks, he added a third silver denier to the sum.

My father was right, I am a fool, he thought, as he accepted the man’s thanks.

But the thought of Kathe’s pleasure overrode everything else. He spent most of the walk back to the pleasure house imagining her delight when he presented this gift.

Except he was not entirely certain of her delight. To be sure, Kathe smiled whenever she greeted him. But she smiled at everyone, including the rag and bones man. Well, she might like the book, even if it comes from me. He could write a note. Say he’d come across the book by chance, which was true.

It was late afternoon when he returned. Guards nodded as he passed through the front doors. Inside, he heard the maids at work in the common room. Gerek was fumbling at the door latch to his rooms when a runner came round the corner. “Maester Hessler. Lord Kosenmark requires your presence.”

“Right away or—?”

“Now, sir.”

Kosenmark never acted without reason. And Gerek had noted how Kosenmark had withdrawn into a deeper privacy over the past week. Could there be a crisis with the kingdom? Gerek thrust the book into the runner’s hands and asked him to deliver it to Mistress Kathe. He would write a note later, he told himself, as he jogged up the stairs to Kosenmark’s office.

Two guards stood outside the door, and another inside—Detlef Stadler, the house’s senior guardsman. But it was the pair farther inside the room that captured Gerek’s attention.

Kosenmark sat at his desk. A stranger stood in front of him—a young man with thick black hair tied in braids. Dressed in salt-stained clothes and carrying the strong scent of fish and tar, he appeared to be a common sailor. At Gerek’s entrance, the young man glanced toward him. His face was marked with bruises and what appeared to be a half-healed burn, which showed bright pink against his dark complexion.

Kosenmark gestured for Gerek to take a seat. “Tell us your report,” he told the young man, adding, “Names are not necessary just yet. You came with news about Osterling.”

The young man nodded. “I did. Three months ago, the royal fleet sighted Károvín ships sailing east. A week later, three of those ships foundered on Osterling’s reefs. In the skirmish that broke out, the garrison troops prevailed. They took a number of prisoners, including a young woman the Károvín had drugged with magic.”

“You have spies within the prison.”

A shrug. “That follows, yes. I learned this woman made several attempts to escape. None succeeded. The old prison uses particular spells to guard against particular kinds of magic. Unfortunately, those spells did nothing to prevent Lord Khandarr—”

“No names,” Kosenmark said.

The young man regarded Kosenmark with evident curiosity. “Very well,” he said slowly. “Then let us say a certain man questioned this woman about her identity, her allegiances, and so forth. The young woman did not cooperate. As is usual with a man of his character, he resorted to forceful magic. The woman defended herself with even stronger magic that struck the man insensible. He had not yet recovered when the woman escaped in the night, leaving the entire garrison, including the other prisoners, either dead or unconscious.”

He paused and drew a deep breath. “I cannot continue without using names, my lord.”

“You can and you will.”

The young man’s lips parted in a bitter smile. “Are you afraid of names, then?”

Kosenmark merely stared at him. Gerek knew that stare and he wasn’t surprised when the young man lowered his gaze. “No names,” he repeated. “Very well. She escaped, this nameless woman. Her path crossed that of two other nameless women in the city. As you can understand, that attracted my attention.”

“Yes, I do understand that,” Kosenmark murmured.

His comment seemed to provoke faint amusement. “Yes. Well, as you can also understand, I offered my assistance. My colleagues organized several distractions. We fabricated evidence that more prisoners had escaped from the garrison. A supposed murder took place in a certain pleasure house. In the confusion, I sailed here by a convenient boat. Your friend—I gather she is your friend—sends a message. She desires a ship for distant ports. She will send further word by the usual channels.”

If he had not known Kosenmark, Gerek would have missed the brief flicker of tension in the man’s mouth. There and gone, like a speck of snow in a fire. He is afraid, Gerek thought. Not of this stranger, but for Ilse Zhalina.

Kosenmark’s voice, however, betrayed nothing. “Did she mention which channels?”

“The usual, my lord. Just as I said.”