Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

Karasek made no move to comfort her. He stood in silence, as if he understood she could not bear the least touch of sympathy. His patience was like the jewels’, waiting for deliverance in Anderswar. It was the best gift he could bestow her.

At last her grief emptied out. Ilse released a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You are right,” she said. “I do need sleep. You, as well.”

Her voice sounded harsh to her own ear. She could not begin to guess what Karasek made of her. They had been enemies once, in lives past. Of that she was certain. They had also been friends, but lives and centuries could change anyone. She had just witnessed that fact made flesh and act.

If he shows any pity, I shall stab him.

To her relief, he had the grace and intelligence to guess her needs. In a quite ordinary tone, he said, “I’ll take first watch and start a meal cooking.” He hesitated, then added, “And afterward, we will talk. All three of us.”

* * *

WHEN VALARA WOKE, the sun was directly overhead, a white disk against the hard gray sky. Someone—Karasek, no doubt—had erected a length of canvas to make a screen for her. Above the constant scent of magic, she smelled rain and lightning. She stretched underneath her blankets, as memory slowly collected. The Agnau. Karasek. The three jewels.

A strange, strong emotion flooded her, a sensation akin to that of magic flooding her body.

I have done what the jewels and the gods required. What my soul wished these past four hundred years.

Her palm ached with the memory. She rubbed it with her thumb. The flesh felt thick and ridged where she’d gripped the jewels, and when she stretched her hand, the skin pulled tight. A scar of magic, she thought, as she examined it. In the center, a knot the color of new milk, bluish-white against her golden skin. Dark pink threads spiraled out between her fingers and around to the back of her hand. On impulse, she summoned the current to change the scars to ordinary flesh.

Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm …

Nothing. She felt nothing, not even the least wisp of current. Frightened, she repeated the invocation, but the words stopped in her throat and even her thoughts stuttered and died away. Nothing. Worse than nothing. She saw magic’s current, felt its presence pulsing around her, a vast ocean spilling over from Mantharah, from the imperfect divide between spirit and flesh. But when she reached out to touch it, it receded.

What has happened? Why can’t I work magic?

She pressed her hands against her eyes. One felt warm and soft. One burned with an unnatural fever. A mark of magic and the gods, she thought, laughing silently. It was not as she had expected. The laugh caught on a sob. She bit down hard on her tongue. No tears, no. It was not as she had expected, but she should have known better.

It took her several long moments before she could breathe steadily, before her heartbeat slowed from its first panicked rush. Later, she would examine the situation. She would be calm and dispassionate. It was not the end after all. She was still queen of Morennioù, or she would be, once she took the throne. Even if she no longer had magic, she still had her duty. It would have to serve. So she told herself.

Later, I will tell myself all this a second time, a third. Until I can believe it.

She rubbed away the tears. Drew in a long breath. Ran a hand though her knotted and tangled hair. Appearance did not matter, her father had once told her. Only courage did.

Time for courage, she told herself.

She crawled from the half-shelter to find Karasek and Ilse Zhalina speaking together by the edge of Mantharah’s lake. They had built a fire, and she could smell the rich scent of black tea brewing. Karasek’s horse was tethered nearby. Valara caught the words patrol, search, and perimeter. She listened closer and gathered that the general confusion at Zalinenka had worked in their favor, but soon that dearly bought time would run out.

I came for honor, he had said. An honor that ran deeper than his oath to Leos Dzavek. What else had he done in honor’s name? What had such a decision cost him?

She stood, catching their attention immediately. Karasek broke off his conversation. Sometime during her sleep, he had washed away the dust and sweat.

“We’ll eat, then break camp,” he said. “I’ve done what I could to delay pursuit, but unless I return within a few days, my fellow councillors will take additional measures. And I have several tasks I must accomplish before then.”

More hints. She ought to insist on precise information, but she was strangely afraid to at this moment. Perhaps later, in private, she could question him more thoroughly.

“What have you told them?” Ilse asked.

“That I was tracking Leos Dzavek’s murderer.”

“Ah.” Ilse glanced toward Valara. “So you were, in a way. What comes next?”

“For you, evasion,” he said. “For me, I must return as quickly as possible and report my findings to Duke Markov. I planned to tell him that we were mistaken, and that Morennioù’s queen had nothing to do with King Leos’s death. She most likely returned home at once, when she escaped my patrol.”

“Then who did kill the king?” Valara asked.

He shrugged. “Leos was not without enemies, but most of those belonged to minor factions within the court. Outside of Károví is another matter. Immatra in particular would like to expand its territory. If our kingdom fell into confusion, they would have an opportunity to claim and hold our northern coastline.”

It seemed too simple an explanation. Apparently Ilse thought the same because she said, “Would your councillors believe that? And what if they believed you too well? It does Károví no good to avoid war with Morennioù, only to provoke war with another kingdom.”