Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

“When did you find it?”

Valara opened and shut her mouth. Then she wiped a hand over her eyes and smiled, a strange sad uncomfortable smile. “Last year. Shortly before my mother and sister died. When I became my father’s heir. You must understand…” She stopped a moment, pressed her lips together and sent a glance upward to the cliffs, as if she would find an answer there. “Or perhaps you cannot understand. You were not there, after all, through these past three hundred years. You see, in Morennioù, we have certain conventions. There are magic workers, mages, wizards, whatever you like to call them, but none of them are kings or queens. Even the nobles do not cast any spells other than the simplest ones. Lighting a candle, sealing a letter.”

“Those are not necessarily simple spells,” Ilse murmured.

Valara gave a soft laugh. “No. Over the years, the definition for ordinary has stretched and twisted and changed. But I can assure you that powerful magic—including a journey to Autrevelye, to Anderswar—is strictly forbidden. I broke the conventions because I was curious, at first. Later, when I discovered that Leos Dzavek was my brother, and I the one who hid Lir’s jewels, I studied more magic so that I could reclaim the jewels for Morennioù. I knew that one day, Luxa’s Hand would fail us and we would have to face the world. I did not wish to do that without a weapon at hand.”

She twisted the ring around her finger. “I had not realized that day would come so soon.”

Luxa’s Hand. What the Veraenen called Lir’s Veil. It had stood so long—three hundred years—they had all forgotten to question its existence.

Except Leos Dzavek. He forgot nothing, whether good or evil. Was that a factor of his long life? Or of himself, his own nature, refusing to take anything for granted?

She knew the answer already, from her life dreams. So did Valara Baussay.

She turned back to her questions. “Dzavek sent his soldiers after you and the emerald. Did Markus Khandarr know?”

Valara’s mouth tensed at the mention of Khandarr’s name. “No. He would not have allowed me to live so long, I think.”

Very true. Ilse could understand this woman’s reluctance to speak openly. She was a queen among her enemies.

It would have been simpler if she had trusted us. But then, we did not entirely trust her.

A savage ache had settled between Ilse’s eyes. She was hungry, weary, frightened. Angry with herself for not guessing the truth earlier. For trusting too much and not enough, all at the same time. Absently she rubbed her free hand over her forehead. Smelled the lingering scent of smoke and blood, overlaid with the strong scent of magic that permeated the air. I cannot stop the questions yet. She is speaking at last.

“Did anyone else in your court know about the emerald?” she asked.

Valara shook her head. “Not at first. I had not decided when, or how, to introduce the matter. It is a delicate subject.”

And you were not certain you wished to share this information.

Ilse kept that thought to herself. “You say not at first…”

“I told no one at first. It was too dangerous—dangerous the way I used to understand such things. Court dangerous. Politically dangerous. There were several factions who— Well, never mind about them. I told my father and his mage councillor, but not until that very last day. They are both dead now.”

More glimpses into the woman’s life and Morennioù’s Court. Ilse had the impression of a strict and cold existence, of a life requiring exquisite balance. Like walking the knife edge above spinning worlds in Anderswar.

Which reminded her of another question. “What about now? Why did you remain in Veraene? Why bargain with us at all?”

“Ah, that.” Valara lifted her hand to show the ring. “Because Daya would not allow me. She—he—they told me clearly they wanted deliverance, for themselves and their brothers, sisters. I had not understood before what they meant. I’m still not certain.”

More pieces from history and her own memories fitted together to complete the picture. Daya. Lir’s emerald. Once joined together with the other two.

Even through the enveloping magic, Ilse could hear the wind thumping against the Mantharah, like a vast fist hammering on a door.

Or like an angry supplicant, demanding satisfaction of its god.

Deliver us all, the voice like bells had cried out.

We are all bound to these jewels, Ilse thought. Just as they are bound to us.

A man was created free, the philosophers said. It was his own choices, however, that bound him in the end. Even the choice to do nothing, to deny responsibility and claim that one was powerless to act, that, too, would bind a soul to the same life, the same questions, again and again.

“So then,” Ilse said softly. “I have my answers. Now I give one to you. We do as the jewels ask of us. If we refuse, we are set to this same task in our next lives, and the next, and so on until the end of eternity. If we deliver them to freedom, that in turn sets us free. So. We must recover the other two jewels and join them all together, as they once were.”

“I—” Valara broke off and stared at the Agnau’s surface. “No, I cannot argue that. But how? Leos Dzavek has Rana—the ruby—locked away in his castle. We cannot hope to attack him in that stronghold. Remember how it was before?”

“I remember.”