Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

She needed barely an hour to finish the circuit.

One hour. And you have not returned.

But their agreement was for an entire day.

Ilse wanted to shout, to send her spirit soaring into the void after Valara’s. An unprofitable venture, she decided.

After carefully scanning the plains with sight and magic, she ventured down the slopes and scouted the immediate area. The wind had died away, and the afternoon was fair and chill, the sky a hard gray. She found ice and snow packed into crannies and fissures around the base of the cliffs. The snow was old, granular, but clean enough to drink. If she had to, she could strain the water through her shirt. She packed her helmet full. A flicker of movement caught her eye—a hare or other small animal darting through the grass. That reminded her. She could braid the grass into snares, as Galena had taught her on their journey from Osterling.

At the thought of Galena, her eyes stung with tears. She swiped them away, angrily. I must not mourn her too soon—none of them—or else I won’t be able to carry onward.

Onward. Yes.

She gathered an armful of grasses and returned to the Agnau. She stowed these in a shallow bay with an overhang, a few yards in from the entrance. Sheltered from snow or rain, warmed by the lake, it would make a perfect sleeping spot.

Another expedition yielded a small quantity of pine twigs and peat, cut from the earth with her dagger. She also discovered wild oats growing in a gully. Farther on, a patch of plantain. The leaves were tough, but they would make a drinkable tea. Her two prizes were a hollow stone that could serve as a cook pot, and a block of frozen snow for water.

It took her several trips to carry everything back to camp. She drank off her water and built a fire. Scrubbed the cook stone clean with snow, and set the plantain leaves to simmer. The oats she spread over a flat stone next to the fire. By the time she finished the sun had reached the midpoint in the sky. Exhausted, she sank to the ground and took up a fistful of grass to scour her swo

rd, but the effort proved too much. She leaned back against the cliff wall and stared upward.

Noon. Valara had crossed into the magical plane at least two hours ago. She should have returned with the sapphire before now. Valara had spoken with absolute certainty of her ability to do just that.

She misjudged the time, Ilse told herself. But she will return with the jewel. Then we shall make our next plans.

Without thinking, she rubbed the wooden ring. Magic ran beneath its smooth surface, reminding her that Daya was no man-made thing, but a being created by the gods. Ilse closed her eyes and focused on the point between the ordinary and the magical planes. Yes, she could hear its voice, a silvery stream of minor notes, like the wind keening through the rigging of a swift-moving ship.

You told Leos Dzavek where to find us, she said. You stopped his brother from running free to Morennioù. Why?

For several moments, she heard nothing but a faint humming, then, Because he, because she, they lied. They would keep us bound. And she learns too fast this brother-sister-cousin. She remembers her magic. She would know as he does, as the brother does, how to bind me stronger.

Its voice blurred into music again, as it spoke about the centuries in Anderswar, hidden. Working through plans, though its nature was not given to such. Absorbing magic. Thinking that if it had one chance, it would break from its prison. But not alone. Ilse heard three strong chords, followed by a long, long note that vibrated through her bones.

You must deliver us, Daya said at last.

I know, Ilse whispered. I promise.

She rested her head on her hands. The ring felt heavy on her finger. The strong green scent of magic filled the air, the sweet fragrance of wildflowers and new grass, an impossible contradiction to the frozen plains outside the Mantharah’s walls.

Death and rebirth. The eternal contradiction of magic.

She thought about a world without the threat of war. Removing the jewels would not accomplish that—she was not so foolish to think so—but it would make the wars much harder to carry through. Would Valara see that? She might tell herself that she only wished to defend Morennioù, but like Armand, like Dzavek, she might soon persuade herself to a different, more murderous course. Was that why she had not yet returned?

If I took the ruby, then I could bargain with her.

She rubbed her aching eyes with her knuckles. The fire had died away. The oats were as roasted as they would be. She chewed a few handfuls, drank the lukewarm tea to wet her throat, and felt the headache recede. The winds were rising again, a thin high keening. Snow hissed against the Mantharah’s walls, only to vanish into meltwater.

Running just beneath the windsong, she heard Daya speaking again. Go in spirit. Go through the world of flesh in spirit with me. We shall take Rana. We shall make the leap into Anderswar and back to here, to the Agnau. Then you shall have two of us, and Valara Baussay has no choice but to follow.

She remembered now. The oldest mages, the ones who served the chieftans of Erythandra in the northern plains, before they moved south to conquer and make an empire. It was part of their initiation, to walk in the spirit but remain in the ordinary world. There were no written records, of course, but the old tribes had handed down the stories, priest to priest, until those stories reached the days when scribes set them to parchment. If she left her body here by the Agnau, her spirit could glide the miles to Zalinenka, unseen by guards. She and Daya could take Rana and escape through Anderswar and thence back to Agnau.

Flesh in the spirit. And spirit in the world of flesh.

A sense of vertigo swept over her, recalling her first time in Anderswar and that disembodied sensation, as if she were floating in an ocean of mist.

A return to ordinary chores restored her sense of place. She buried the fire. Laid out her sword and dagger in their sheaths. Then she lay down on the warm sands and clasped her hands over Daya. “Komen mir, lâzen mir,” she whispered. “Lir give me courage. Toc give me strength.”

The current contracted around her, then blossomed outward. Her spirit rose to standing, her body shifting slightly as the two separated. She breathed deeply, felt the muted sensation of flesh against cloth-in-memory, and glanced around.