Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

Dizziness swept over her. She pressed a hand over her mouth. No good. Her stomach lurched against her ribs, and she vomited onto the rubble at her feet. Footsteps sounded close by. A hand caught her shoulder before she fell.

“What happened?”

Ilse Zhalina held her steady, offered her a clean cloth, which Valara took gratefully. Her hands were shaking, her skin felt cold beneath a coating of sweat. She wondered how long Ilse had observed her. “Nothing,” she croaked. She wiped her mouth with the cloth. “Dizzy. Seasick.”

A transparent lie. To her relief, Ilse did not press for the truth. “Try some bread and watered wine. Then lie down. We’ve set up shelters from the rain.”

* * *

“YOU SAY SHE lied?”

Ilse leaned into the curve of Raul Kosenmark’s arm. They were alone in their tent, which by unspoken command was set apart from the rest of the campsite.

“I could smell the magic in the air,” she said. “And she had that look, as if she’d returned from a faraway world.”

“But she did not. Try to escape, I mean.”

No, she had not. That was what bothered Ilse the most. This woman, a powerful mage, might have dared crossing into Anderswar in the flesh, then from there into Morennioù, but since that one attempt, back in Fortezzien, she had not tried again.

Secrets and more secrets.

She left those secrets aside. One more day. Or more. They could not tell when the ship might arrive. She would have to take each moment as a gift.

* * *

AS USUAL, DETLEF handed out the watch assignments after dinner. He told Galena once, when she asked in a burst of confidence, that he preferred to give unpleasant news to his soldiers when they were warm and well-fed. If he couldn’t manage warm, he always tried to manage the well-fed part. It was a trick he’d learned from his old commander, the Duke Kosenmark, in their days on the western frontier. He launched into a story about those days—the harsh winter winds, the spring rains falling in sheets, the sand and mud. Mostly, he talked about the mud and how it covered everything and everyone, including the duke.

Galena found it hard to imagine any nobleman covered in mud. And yet this Lord Kosenmark marched alongside the others. He carried a pack, he stood watch, he even took turns digging and filling in latrines. It was his voice that constantly startled her—high and fluting, like a woman’s—no matter how many times she’d heard it before.

“Alighero.”

She yanked herself back to attention. “Sir.”

He grinned sardonically, reminding her of her old file leader, Falco. “You and I take the midnight watch. I hope you pay more attention then.”

She ducked her head, embarrassed. Gervas snorted. Katje rolled her eyes, but that was aimed more at Detlef than Galena herself. The others paid no attention. They all knew her story. Or at least she assumed they did. No one said anything about it to her, except for a few covert glances at the mark on her cheek. At the same time, no one ignored her. They treated her the same as they would treat any junior soldier.

The evening passed quickly enough with chores. Galena spent an hour checking over all their weapons, sharpening the dull blades, scouring away any rust spots. From her vantage point beside the fire,

she watched the to-and-froing of the company. Ilse and her Lord Kosenmark went apart for a time. Ada and Barrent patrolled the streets bounding the plaza and returned with their report. Valara Baussay had set off on a circuit of the empty plaza. Detlef sent Gervas after her, but Ilse Zhalina had intercepted the guard and brought Valara back herself. Katje muttered something about the stink of magic, but Galena merely shrugged. The whole island stank of magic. She couldn’t tell any difference.

Once finished with chores, she slept. At midnight, Detlef woke her by that uncanny internal clock soldiers possessed. Galena buckled on her sword, slid her regulation knives into their sheaths, and set off with her companion on their rounds. They would patrol the neighborhood around the square first, he said as they picked their way through the moonlit streets. Then they would make a wider loop to include the stone wharf and its surroundings. Although Detlef said nothing, Galena had heard the rumors after Katje returned. They were waiting for a ship to take Valara Baussay home. Ilse Zhalina was to go with her.

After the ship sails, I start a new life, too.

Kosenmark had spoken to her briefly. He had promised her a letter of recommendation and directions to a northern mercenary company, along with money for the journey. Her heart leapt at the news, and she paid little attention to his lecture about assuming a new identity. Her thoughts were entirely on her brother Aris. He, too, had gone north. True, he had joined a regular garrison, but mercenaries and garrisons often fought together.

She and Detlef finished the round of the plaza and set off down the main avenue toward the wharves. All was quiet, empty. She and Detlef avoided the wide bright band of moonlight down the center of the street, keeping close to the shadows next to the walls. When they reached the next intersection, Detlef motioned to Galena to turn down a side lane. Here the shadows were thicker, and their progress slower. They both had their weapons ready, and they paused every few steps to listen and scan their surroundings. It was tedious business, but necessary.

Galena’s cheek itched. She scrubbed at it with the back of her hand, but the itching grew worse. Damned magic. If only that cursed ship would come so she might be rid of this torment.

“Eyes up,” Detlef said softly.

Galena lowered her hand at once and shifted her sword. Detlef silently pointed. Ahead lay a silver-lit square, the entrance to the main avenue. She squinted, saw nothing unusual. But when she held her breath and listened, she heard the faint tread of boots over stone. The footsteps ran swiftly, stopped, then others echoed from farther away. It was a pattern she knew well—the scouts advanced, scanned the next stretch, then motioned their companions to follow.

Detlef laid a hand on her arm and drew her close. “Those might be our friends,” he whispered into her ear. “I don’t know. But I don’t like how they travel. Too quiet. You, go back to the campsite and warn the others. I’ll make sure of these.”

Meaning, if these were enemy, he would try to hold them until she woke the others.