Allegiance (River of Souls 3)

But when he spoke again, it was with obvious difficulty. And unexpected honesty.

“Last spring, three Károvín ships foundered off the coast from Osterling Keep. The survivors were taken prisoner. However, one among them was not from Károví. She was from Morennioù.”

“Impossible,” Benno said. “For that—”

Raul held up a hand. “I know. For that, the ships needed to cross the barrier.”

The barrier called Lir’s Veil was a burning wall of magic that had appeared three hundred years before, during the second and bloodiest of the wars between Veraene and Károví. History said Morennioùen mages had died working that spell, all so the island province could separate itself from the mainland. No one knew if that were true—all the ships sent by Veraene’s kings to investigate the matter had vanished.

Emma Iani shivered, thinking of the magical power Dzavek must have expended to break through such an invincible barrier.

“How?” she whispered. “How could they—?”

“I don’t know,” Raul said. “But they did. The key is that this woman was the new queen of Morennioù. I met with her and Ilse Zhalina. The queen admitted that she had discovered the second of Lir’s jewels. She claimed it remained hidden in Morennioù, while the Károvín had taken a decoy specially prepared to deceive them. I am not certain how much of her story I can believe, but the part of recovering Lir’s jewel rang true.”

Emma listened as he told a story of negotiations with this supposed queen, the impasse between them, and Ilse Zhalina’s offer of herself as hostage. She had wondered at their break, had suspected a deception, but never one quite so complete as what Raul’s words implied.

“Our plan was to provide the queen with a ship,” Raul said. “Unlike Dzavek we could not draw on the jewels’ magic, but we hoped to chart a course around Lir’s Veil. There are several old texts that mention such a possibility…” Again he stared into the cup, but this time, Emma had the clear sense of absolute truth, one almost too difficult to speak of.

He drank off the water. “The Károvín found us on Hallau Island,” he said at last. “We fought. The Morennioùen queen fled into the magical plane. Ilse followed her, as did the Károvín officer leading the attack.

“We waited several days,” he said softly. “They did not return.”

After that, Emma could say nothing. No accusations of lies. No demands to know why he had not confided in them earlier. She knew the reasons. They all ended in the words, Because of Markus Khandarr.

Benno shook his head. He reached past the water jug and filled all their cups with strong wine. Emma drank hers down in one gulp. The spirits burned her throat and cut through all her indecision. So, they might die. At least they would die with good cause.

“Tell us what to do,” she said.

“Watch,” Raul said. “Watch for any sign of Ilse, the jewels, or the queen. Can you promise me that?”

He spoke to them both, but it was Emma who replied.

“We can. We promise.”

She took her husband’s hand, felt the answering pressure of his palm against hers, his pulse warm and steady, and knew they had chosen the right path.

* * *

GEREK WAS IMMERSED in a dream of ships and seas when a sharp crack, like the sound of a mast being sprung, broke through. He jerked awake and swayed, thinking he was aboard a ship. A storm was his first thought. The ship foundering on the shoals near Osterling Keep. A dream from lives ago, or one that had never taken place. He stumbled from his hammock. Not a hammock, but a bed. His foot tangled in the linens and he pitched forward. A hand caught him by the shoulder. “Maester Hessler. Maester Hessler, wake up, please. Lord Kosenmark wishes to see you at once.”

The images from that dream—of enormous waves rising up beside the ship, of the moonlight striking through a single patch of clear sky—scattered. The groan from the ship’s planks was his own, protesting. The waves were nothing but fluttering shadows, cast by a single candle on a nearby table. He drew a deep breath, recognized the man’s voice, which continued to urge him awake. Uli. Uli Baier. Kosenmark’s senior runner.

“I-I-I am awake,” he said.

“Take a moment,” the man said. “He wants you with a clear head.”

From somewhere, Uli produced a pitcher of water. Gerek splashed a few handfuls over his face. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the towel Uli handed him. Had the runner come prepared? Or were there maidservants gawking at him? He felt too self-conscious, standing naked and bleary-eyed.

“Would you have tea as well?” he asked. “And do you kn-know what he wants?”

Uli shook his head. Gerek would get no answers then, until he spoke with Kosenmark himself. If then, he thought. A week had passed since Benik’s report had arrived. Since then Kosenmark had discussed nothing with Gerek outside the business of the pleasure house. No politics. No mention of jewels or Károví. No mention of Leos Dzavek.

He hurried himself into clothes. Uli lit a second candle for Gerek, who accepted it with thanks and jogged out the door.

The house was silent, the hallways dark. It was three hours past midnight, the middle point between night and dawn. Gerek took the stairs as quickly as he dared. His panting breath echoed from the walls. Had he ever traversed the house at this hour? Once or twice, perhaps, when his work kept him at his desk until late. Kathe would be just leaving the kitchen …

Lamps illuminated the upper landing. A second runner was just exiting Raul’s office. As their glances met, Gerek caught the brief widening of the man’s eyes, the shake of his head. A warning of Kosenmark’s mood?