“Softly, Lady Vrou,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ve taken ill. Too much sun, I believe.”
She blinked and her vision cleared. Hours had slipped away while she delved into the past. All that remained of the sun was a golden thread running along the horizon. Raab stood over them, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Our men were unsettled by your magic,” he murmured. “However, I gave them a tale of how your father indulged you with tutors. Did you discover any sign of our friend?”
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice like a croak. Maté set a flask of water to her lips. Anna drank it dry. “He was here three days ago, just as we suspected. Not captured. Vanished. With magic. Very strong magic.”
Maté’s dark eyes narrowed. “Lord Brun’s reports about the man were wrong, then.”
“I don’t know.” Anna struggled to sit up, in spite of the ache that gripped her skull. “I could make out two different signatures. One very weak, almost useless. That would match the Sarrész I expected. But another signature that overlaid his. The signature intertwined with his. It’s not like anything I’ve come across before.”
“Could it belong to the jewel itself? Or another mage?”
Anna shook her head. “Magical objects don’t have a signature. They reflect or amplify the signature of whoever used it. As for another mage...I don’t know.”
She didn’t, and it frustrated her. She had thought herself talented in dissecting magical signatures—those fingerprints left by every magic worker, whether a skilled mage or a dabbler like Aldo Sarrész. That was another reason Brun had chosen her for this assignment.
She pushed Maté away and bent close to the tracks once more, frowning. Her head throbbed from magic and sun, but she forced herself to focus on those elusive signatures—Sarrész’s weak and imperfect, that other so vivid, even after so many days. But whose? There was no second set of footprints, and if she could trust her magic, no sign of any other human mage on this shore. So where had Sarrész gone? And how?
Another crab popped up beside her, then scuttled over the sands toward the foamy edge of the tide. Her gaze flicked toward it and she caught a whiff of a sharp, green scent—so faint she almost missed it—drifting toward the ocean.
Her skin prickled. She recognized that other signature. The not-Sarrész. Curiosity tugged her forward, to follow that elusive...scent? Texture? Whisper? Anna could never decide how to classify the layers that made up a magical signature. Half-blind to her surroundings, she scrambled to her feet and took a step forward, cast about, and took another.
“Lady Iljana. Please.”
Maté, his voice uncharacteristically anxious, intruded. Anna waved him away. She nearly had the scent again and she already knew what Maté wanted to say. That it was too late. That the location was too lonely, too dangerous. But if they left now, these faint traces might vanish altogether. A short distance away, Maté and Raab argued about what kind of watch to set and who had precedence. Raab gave orders to their guards, something about fetching the lanterns and setting up the Lady Vrou’s tent. She hardly cared. Here were stronger, clearer traces, high above the sands, rising upward...
A sharp neigh broke her concentration.
Anna stumbled, lost her hold on the magical current, and dropped to her knees.
The sun had vanished completely. The air was thick and grey, while overhead a sprinkling of stars had appeared. Maté stood next to her, a lantern in one hand, his sword in the other. Raab was a few steps away. He too had his sword drawn. The horses were restless and stamping.
“Visitors,” Raab said shortly. “Those bandits we’ve heard about.”
No sooner had he spoken than dozens of masked men swarmed out from the forest. With a curse, Maté flung the lantern to the ground. Oil scattered, illuminating the shore in a burst of flame and blinding their attackers.
“Run!” he called out. “Make for the trees. Both of you.”
“No! I can’t leave—”
“You can, and you will.”
The next moment, Maté and the guards had joined with the brigands.
Raab took hold of Anna by the arm and dragged her toward the sea. “On your knees,” he growled. “We’ll circle around the fighting and—”
“But what about Maté?”
“Shut up. We have no time for a university debate. Go!”
He dropped into a crouch and glided swiftly along the waterline. Anna scrambled after him. Raab had already vanished into the trees before she reached the far edge of the shore. The commotion behind her was louder than before. Sword striking sword, the metal ringing over the sands. A strangled cry, cut short.
She stopped, her pulse hammering against her skull.
You won’t survive this mission unless you learn how to kill, Brun had told her. Over her protests that she was no murderer, he’d hired tutors who specialized in battle and assassination. They had stuffed her head full of spells, only now she was afraid to use them.
A shadow loomed up beside her. “Hah. Found her. Andreas!”
The man grabbed her arm. Panic blanked her mind. Without thinking, she snatched her dagger from its sheath and slashed out wildly.
He screamed. A gout of blood splashed Anna’s face. She doubled over, retching. Before she could recover, another seized her arm and threw her to the ground, so hard her dagger went skittering over the sands. In less than a moment, he’d captured both her wrists and was dragging her over to the other bandits.
“We have our prize,” the man announced. “At a cost.”
“I hope she’s worth it,” someone else said.
“I hope so too. What do you think, Lady Vrou?”
He swung her onto her feet. Anna gulped down a breath as she took in the scene. At least four dozen brigands gathered in a loose circle. Several of them held up torches, so bright that the sands blazed silver and gold. Four men, gagged and bound, huddled in the center of that bright expanse. Three bodies lay stretched out on the ground and the sand around them glistened darkly. One lay on his back, his arm flung over his face.
It was Maté.
“No,” she whispered. Then louder, “No! Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ei rûf—”
Her captor clapped a hand over her mouth. Anna bit down hard. The man grunted and loosed his hold. She spat out the blood and salt, drew a lungful of air, ready to summon the magic current, when a fist struck her skull and all went black.
CHAPTER 2
She woke to the pitch-black of midnight and a vicious throbbing in her skull. Without thinking, she lunged upward, only to be caught by a pair of hands. Anna struggled, but those hands held her steady while someone else inserted a glass vial between her lips. A cold liquid, viscous and bitter, poured into her mouth. She spat it out and twisted away.
“Drink, you idiot child,” said a woman’s voice, low and rough. “Unless you like that headache of yours.”
She gripped Anna’s chin in one hand and forced the vial between her lips a second time. Against her will, Anna gulped down one mouthful, then another. Her vision cleared momentarily and she could make out a collection of shadows off to one side. She wanted to demand where she was, what had happened, but that proved too much of an effort. With a sigh, she dropped into sleep.
* * * *
She dreamed—a dream so vivid, she knew at once this was a memory of a past life.
She stood on the deck of a ship, one arm wrapped around the forward mast, her face lifted into the stiff breeze. Nothing but ocean around them,