Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

It is because we died and thus forgot. Our king, however, lives on.

He had lived on, gaining strength and youth from Lir’s jewels. Later, the jewels gone, Leos Dzavek had continued to extend his life, using the magical knowledge acquired during that first century. He drew the years with a sure hand, like a smith would draw a thread of forge-heated gold, long past all expectation.

But no man can live forever. Not even Toc could deny death. And he knows it, Ryba. I see the terror in his face, when he holds Lir’s ruby in his hands. He knows that even with the jewels, he will die someday.

A thought he could not share, even with his cousin, even in a letter never written.

A shadow fell across Miro’s desk. The sun had risen higher in the sky. He would need to go soon before the next bell rang. Taking up his brush, Miro continued his dual letter. As he wrote of Taboresk’s ordinary concerns, his second letter continued his thoughts about Dzavek’s intentions.

We forget, you and I, that Leos Dzavek, for all his achievements, is a man with faults and flaws like any other. He nurtures a bitter hatred toward Morennioù’s queen—the woman who was once a man, once his brother. They trusted each other. They betrayed each other—several times over, if the histories are true. And because they did, Leos Dzavek would fashion me into a blunt tool, just as he did with Anastazia Vacek. He would bloody me, wipe me clean with a rag, and cast me to one side. I fear I will never be able to eradicate the stain.

Miro pressed both hands against his eyes. I swore an oath to Leos Dzavek and Károví. I swore another to my father as his heir.

He thought of his father, whose conversations remained guarded, even in private interviews with his own son. Alexej Karasek had served Dzavek for a lifetime. He’d spoken of the king’s insight in council, of his farsighted plans for Károví, both within the kingdom and in the greater world. Honor and glory and strength, his father had said. He wants a gift for the future. And yet his father had also spoken of doubts.

Miro sighed and read through the half-finished letter. There was little to add, except a postscript inviting his cousin for the hunting season next autumn. He folded the paper, sealed it with wax, and wrote the address on the cover. That he used no magic would signal to Ryba that the contents were public. And since Ryba knew Miro as well as any brother, he would know to read between the written lines, to the invisible letter Miro had composed in thoughts alone.

It would be safer if he could not.

He summoned a runner and handed her all three letters. “Letters to Taboresk and Vysokná,” he said. “Deliver the first two into my steward’s hands, the third to my cousin, Baron Ryba Karasek. Use the fastest courier you have.”

The letters dispatched, Miro turned to the one remaining trunk of clothing. He removed his fine woolen trousers, the silk shirt, and the loose tunic with its satin trim and embroidered sash. In their place, he donned the knitted undershirt, the tunic of fine-linked mail, the gloves fashioned of the same material. It was appropriate. If he was the king’s chosen weapon, he would look and dress the part.

I will make Valara Baussay my prisoner. By sword or magic.

Anything less would be treason.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE HOURGLASS SPUN over. As its sands flowed through to the empty glass, Gerek heard the bells from the nearby tower counting the hour. Three, four, five. Late afternoon.

He stretched his arms and shoulders, then addressed himself to the papers on his desk once more. Water casks. Those were like barrels, he guessed. He had not expected barrels to cost so much. Three had sprung leaks during the last voyage, and the captain spoke in strong language about the necessity for replacing them before the new owner undertook any extended voyage.

But how long a voyage? And where?

Not that Gerek knew. He cursed softly. How pleasant to solve an equation with so many unknown factors, especially if you did not have to solve it yourself. Oh yes, he appreciated the elegance of mathematical theory—he had known a number of mathematicians at the Little University during his previous stay in Tiralien—but his appreciation was like an appreciation for cashews, or modern sculpture, or weapons drill at sunrise. Others might adore such things. He did not.

He wrote a note, authorizing the purchase of three new water casks, then moved on to the next item in the captain’s list. Provisions. Specifically, barrels of salt pork. A dull pain settled below his ribs. He had not eaten properly in several days, and the thought of salt pork gave him indigestion.

Many times in the past three weeks, he had wondered why he remained in Lord Kosenmark’s service. It wasn’t the money. He might be the younger son of an unimportant lord, but he had an independent sum, enough to live on simply without his father, or his brother, or this irritating son of a duke, who gave him orders with such airy assurance.

No, he knew the answer. He remained here for Dedrick’s sake. Because Kosenmark had offered him trust, as no one else had.

Then why do I want to bash him with an ax?

A question others undoubtedly had asked before.

Hiring a ship should not have proved so difficult in Tiralien. Hundreds of merchants shipped their goods through this port. The royal fleet had their own dock for refitting and repairs. Then there were the privateers, the pirates and smugglers (operating under the guise of ordinary business), the smaller packets that plied the coastal trade, the courier ships taking messages to Osterling, Klee, Pommersien, and beyond. With all this wealth of seagoing traffic, Gerek expected to find at least one ship fit for deep-water sailing.

No, finding a ship to hire was not difficult. What made the matter complicated was Kosenmark’s need for secrecy. Do not link my name to this ship, the man had said, more than once, in the hours before he rode off to find Ilse Zhalina. Markus Khandarr will have set a watch on this city and this house.

So Gerek worked through a chain of several agents. Within a week, he had located a vessel that matched Kosenmark’s needs—a ship built for deep-water sailing, with only minor repairs needed. His heart thumped, remembering the terrifying moment when he signed the paperwork, authorizing payment of six thousand denier to the old owner, also the captain. At least the ship came with its own crew.

Back to provisions. The captain recommended salted fish, which he could obtain for a good price from certain suppliers. Gerek signed the request, glanced at a second stack of papers. He had spent the past three days buried in paperwork for licenses, bills for provisions, more bills to finish the ship’s repairs, the hire of new men to replace those who had left when the ship changed owners, and a mountain of other minutiae.

A rapping at his door interrupted him. “Maester Hessler? You have visitors.”

It was one of the house runners, with news that two of Kosenmark’s guards had arrived from distant parts. Immediately all Gerek’s weariness dropped away. “Send them to me at once.”