If she had thought him merely wealthy, her guess had fallen short. The floor was laid with wine-red tiles, set with a black marble border. Shelves lined the wall to her right. Some held books, others contained a variety of figurines in ivory or polished gemstone. Drawn by the figurines, Ilse moved toward them, taking in more details of the room as she went. A table and chairs by the fireplace. A globe made with precious metals. A vast sand glass surrounded by smaller glasses attached by pulleys and weights, the whole of which worked in unison to keep track of hours and minutes and moments. It was one of the new timepieces used in Duenne that Ilse had heard about from Ehren.
Beside the sand glass stood a huge desk, covered with more books, stacks of papers, and maps. A door at the far end was closed, but another one opened onto a rooftop garden.
Kosenmark came into the room and indicated the chair in front of his desk. “First, the long-delayed introductions,” he said as he took his own seat. “At least the direct ones, since we have both heard our names from other parties. You told Kathe that your name was Ilse. Do you have another? A family name?”
She shook her head. “None that I would own, my lord.”
He studied her a moment. “As you wish. Mine is Lord Raul Kosenmark.”
Kosenmark. Of House Valentain. Ilse knew the name from Ehren’s letters from university. Wealth indeed, she thought. Wealth and influence and a name as old as the empire, said her brother. Lord Kosenmark must be a younger son, or more likely, a member of a cadet branch.
“Do you know the name?” he asked.
“I’ve heard of it, my lord,” she replied.
“What have you heard?”
His eyes were wide and bright, like a cat’s. Or a hunting leopard’s. “No more than stories, my lord. The same ones we heard of all the great houses.”
“Indeed. So you know something of politics?”
“Nothing,” she said softly.
“Ah. Good. Never claim more knowledge than you possess. Especially when that knowledge springs from hearsay and rumor.”
His voice, that high unsettling voice, carried the same cool assurance Ilse had heard in Baron Eckard’s voice, when he cut off Bartov’s questions about the old king. Eckard had not raised his voice, but Ilse had heard the Imperial Councillor then. Wherever Kosenmark had learned it, she heard it now.
“My lord, I apologize.”
Kosenmark nodded. “Apology accepted. Now let me give you a piece of information, related to the first.” He laid his fingertips together. “You have come to a pleasure house. Mine. That is my business in Tiralien, whatever you heard elsewhere.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “No, my lord, I’m not—”
“I did not say you were. But you do know what the term encompasses. I wondered. For a time, I had thought someone had seduced and abandoned you.”
“No one seduced me, my lord. I … I made a trade. A bad one.”
“Was the trade voluntary?”
Her stomach fluttered. “My lord, you said you would not ask me any questions.”
“I lied. Please answer me. Did you sleep with the man willingly?”
“Men,” she whispered. “I slept with thirty men. More. As for willing …” She drew a sharp-edged breath. “The answer is yes and no. But I made the choice. The blame is mine.”
“Did you end the transaction, or did they?”
“I did. My lord, why must you ask me these questions?”
“To judge your character. What changed that you first sold your body and then found the trade unacceptable?”
Her face had turned hot, from anger and shame. “I offered myself in exchange for a promise. The caravan master was about to break that promise. So I left.”
“Where was the caravan bound?”
“Duenne, my lord. I hoped to work there.”
“Yet you came east instead.”
“We were north of Donuth when I left. Tiralien was closer and … I wished to avoid the caravan master. He was not willing to let me go, you see.”
Kosenmark’s gaze did not shift from her face. Slowly, Ilse became aware of the largest sand glass, turning within its frame in response to the weights shifting in the smaller ones. Fine silvery sand trickled through the narrow opening. As it did, she sensed the tension bleeding from the air.
“You left out some details,” Kosenmark said softly. “Such as braving the wilderness alone, without weapons or shelter or food.”
“I had a knife, my lord. A stone knife.”
He tilted his head. “What else?”
She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her, or if he was truly interested. “A blanket, my lord. Later on, I found a tinderbox and another knife. And after the first day, I learned how to forage for my food.”
“Alone,” he said musingly. “And for weeks, from what I gather. You were both very brave and very foolish.”
Ilse made a quick throwaway gesture. “I had to leave, my lord. I had to. Someone gave me a chance, and I took it.”
“I understand. Will you let me give you such a chance? One that does not involve selling your body?”
The weight against her chest eased. He did understand, she could tell from his face and voice. “What else could I do here, my lord?”
Kosenmark smiled faintly and let his gaze drift to his hands instead of Ilse’s face. “My house is for entertainment. For that, I employ those who cook, those who clean, those who fetch, and those who guard these premises. Yes, some who work here do offer their bodies for pleasure—but willingly. I do not make slaves, nor do I use children the way someone has used you.”
She saw how his fingers tensed momentarily. “My lord, I’m grateful—”
He looked up. “Gratitude—”
“—can prove a bitter root that does not feed the benefactor nor his charge. And yet I am grateful, willingly grateful, my lord. And that is a sweeter dish.”
His gaze sharpened into curiosity, the look gone almost before she noticed. “I know the poem,” he said mildly. “And so I accept your gratitude. Does that mean you in turn accept my offer? You are not obligated to,” he added quickly. “You might prefer a position elsewhere. I can help there. I know of several houses in need of servants.”
Choices. She had forgotten about having choices.
“You look surprised,” Lord Kosenmark observed.
Ilse smothered a laugh. “My lord, I am surprised. I thought—” She broke off and pressed her hands together. “What I thought isn’t important. My lord, I would like to work here, if I may.”
His mouth quirked into a smile. “Indeed, you may start your work today. When you leave here, you will go to my secretary, Maester Berthold Hax. He will record your name and other particulars and will teach you about the house’s routines. If you have more questions, you may ask him.”
His tone was cool and businesslike, which she found easier to bear than outright kindness. Perhaps he guessed that, too.
Hax’s office stood on the third floor, directly below Kosenmark’s suite. It was a room very different from Lord Kosenmark’s grand open space—every space stuffed with maps and books and leather-bound scrolls. A magpie’s nest, but with a strange kind of order imposed over the chaos. Hax’s appearance matched the room. He was an ancient man, to her eyes. His hair was white, its wisps escaping from its ribbons, and his skin was creased by folds upon folds. He wore a short indoor robe of fine-combed wool, with the cuffs turned back. He had the look of someone from the western provinces, lean and bony, with skin the color of pale sand and eyes that matched.
Hax waved her toward a bench. “Lord Kosenmark said I would see you today. Please, sit. I have a few questions and then I’ll explain a few things.” He looked and spoke more energetically than she expected for someone of his age. Taking out pen and paper, he said, “Name?”
“Ilse.”
“Family name?”
She didn’t hesitate this time. “None, sir.”
He nodded. “Age?”
Her bir
thday had passed sometime during her wilderness trek. “Sixteen.”
“Lord Kosenmark said you were young. He suggested you have only light duties at first. Later, once you’re accustomed to the house, those might change according to your ability and our needs.”
Hax went on to explain how much she would earn and what rules the house had. His hands were long and thin; he used them to sketch airy shapes to emphasize his words. Different servants had different hours—for example, there was always someone on duty in the kitchens, but the chief cook and her main staff worked hours centered around the house business. Ilse would be a member of that staff, and so she would be expected to work from late morning until just before midnight. As a start, she would be kept in the kitchen itself under Kathe’s supervision. “Don’t worry,” Hax said. “We shall not overtax you.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Hax spread his ink-stained hands outward. “You were gravely ill. We should not want any setbacks. Now, as for your training … Mistress Kathe has undertaken to instruct you, but your orders come from her mother, Mistress Greta Raendl. She in turn reports to Mistress Denk, the steward, who reports to me.”
Who reported to Lord Kosenmark. Ilse nodded.
“And you,” Hax said, “do you have questions for me?”
“None, sir.”
“Really?” Hax tilted his head in a way that reminded Ilse of Kosenmark. “You have the look of someone brimming with unanswered questions.”
She did have questions, and all of them began with why. Why did Lord Kosenmark bother himself with a runaway? Why did he run a pleasure house? Why had his expression gone so cold when she admitted to hearing stories about him? But she could ask none of these. She shook her head.
Hax regarded her a moment longer. “I think you will do well in this household, Mistress Ilse. Especially if you continue to mix your curiosity with discretion.”
He sent a runner to fetch Kathe Raendl, who soon appeared, flushed and breathless.
“Mistress Ilse will be staying with us,” Hax said. “Take her to your mother for more instructions. From there, it goes as we discussed.”
Kathe’s face brightened. “You agreed. I’m so glad. You’ll like it here, I know. Come, we should hurry away before Maester Hax scolds us both.”
Hax’s mouth twitched, but he only waved them out the door. Taking Ilse by the hand, Kathe led her down to the first floor and along a complicated route through a dozen rooms, all furnished with cushioned divans and ornate tables. Ilse noted the gold leaf work, the graceful statues set in alcoves, the richly colored paintings and silk hangings. It could be any noble’s house, she thought, except for the many beds and a faint musky scent throughout.
They turned onto a plainer corridor and soon came into the servants’ region. Down the hall, through a chaos of runners and scullions and lackeys and chambermaids, and through a wide set of doors, into the kitchen itself.
The kitchen was enormous, with a high arching ceiling set with vents for the smoke and fumes. Three fireplaces with grates and hooks lined the innermost wall. Another wall contained an oven. The last one had racks of knives and pots and other implements Ilse didn’t recognize. Scullions were swarming in and out with buckets of water. Other doors led into storerooms and a courtyard outside.
Several girls stood at the kitchen’s central tables, shelling peas, gutting fish, and chattering despite the general noise. Kathe and Ilse circled around the counters to where Kathe’s mother stood, supervising the activity as she mixed pastry dough. A younger, round-faced woman looked on, clearly unhappy.
Mistress Raendl nodded at Kathe, and handed the bowl to the woman. “Both of you work on the pastries,” she said to Kathe. “Take that open spot on the counters, the one by the windows.” Then to Ilse, “Lord Kosenmark told me you wished a position here. Do you know kitchen work?”
She had the same thick straight hair and dusky brown face as her daughter, and she spoke with her voice pitched to carry above the kitchen’s din.
“A little,” Ilse said slowly.
“What kind? How long? And speak louder, child. Tell me the truth. I hate surprises.”
The truth. The truth was that Ilse sometimes had watched the cooks at their work when she was a child. “I don’t,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “That is, sometimes the kitchen girls let me chop carrots or stir the sauces.”
“In other words, you know enough not to lick the spoons.” Mistress Raendl sighed and looked doubtful. “You came from money. Why aren’t you still there?”
She had hoped to be done with that question. “You could say I left home because of money, Mistress Raendl. I have none now. And I need work.”
“And we need willing dependable hands. You’ve a quick tongue, I’ll grant you.”
Ilse couldn’t tell if the woman was pleased or resigned. “Then you’ll have me?”
Mistress Raendl laughed, and suddenly she looked more like her daughter. “Didn’t you hear me? Of course you have a place here. Lord Kosenmark promised you one. Though he would listen to my opinions if I disagreed. He listens to all of us, whether we like it or not.” Her mouth tucked into a fleeting smile. “We’ll start you in here with easy chores. More when you prove yourself. Now there are six other girls who work in the kitchens. Kathe will introduce you around and show you your new quarters, but that comes later.”
Mistress Raendl went over the details of Ilse’s new position. Kathe would tell her the rest, she said, and if she had questions, she might ask the other girls. She then gave Ilse her first task of rinsing a huge pan of rice, and came by at intervals to inspect her work. More light tasks followed—washing apples and pears and other, more exotic fruits, picking the stems from plums and cherries, setting out clean wine cups for another girl to fill.
She was given a break, which she took with Kathe in the courtyard outside. Resting on comfortable wooden benches, they drank a pot of tea and ate fresh cheese tarts and biscuits layered with spiced beef. Several of the kitchen cats made a hopeful circle around them. For the most part, Ilse fed and played with the cats, listening while Kathe chatted about Tiralien in spring and summer, when trade ships crowded the harbor and the house took so much business they had to hire extra hands. All too soon the break ended and they returned to the kitchen.
It was easy to tell when visitors began to arrive, for the pace quickened noticeably. Ilse cut and arranged the fruit under another girl’s direction. After that, Kathe set Ilse to washing and drying the heaps of dirtied cups and plates and silverware. Two of the regular serving girls began loading trays with wine carafes and crystal wine cups. A few hours later the fare changed to platters of meat pastries, plates of grilled salmon garnished with peppercorn from Veraene’s tropical south, poached eggs drizzled with spicy red and golden sauces.
The third hour bell that night rang before the pace finally slowed. Mistress Raendl checked over the next course of sugared confections, added another few loaves of bread to the ovens, and sank onto her stool with a sigh. “We’ve passed the flood tide,” she said to no one in particular. “Now they’ll drink wine and coffee until midnight. Kathe, take Ilse to her new rooms. I’ll see to the shift change myself.”
Her new quarters were on the third floor, Kathe explained as they followed yet another route through the first floor. She would share the room with the six other girls who worked in the kitchen. Other dormitories housed the runners, still others the chambermaids, and so on.
“Common room’s mostly empty by this hour,” Kathe said. “We’ve more private rooms on the second floor—dining rooms, pleasure rooms, libraries. Some of the customers like to talk.”
Or entertain one another. Music filtered through the doors of several parlors they passed—a reed-pipe’s breathy notes, the twang of a guitar. A man shouted out bawdy lyrics to the song, both musicians broke off their playing, and the piece ended in laughter. Farther on, she heard muffled conversations and softer moans, a woman’s urgent voice babbling a str
ing of promises, a man’s abrupt groan as he reached climax. Her heart beat faster.
“How can they?” she murmured.
Kathe hesitated a moment, then said, “I asked once. Adelaide—she’s the senior courtesan—said she felt like part of a theater, only with an audience in her arms and not yards away in their velvet-hung alcoves. She was a courtesan in Baerne’s Court, you know. She came east when Lord Kosenmark did.”
Kathe continued her explanations of the various rooms and what they were used for. Servants might enter the public rooms on errands, but they also had their own private corridors that ran beside and behind the public rooms. Some of these had peepholes set at intervals. These were for the servants, to check if a room was occupied before they entered. “You should learn the house,” Kathe told her. “We have two serving girls, but at times we’ll need you or the other girls to carry trays. Just remember, there are three routes to any room. Come. We turn here.”
A stairwell took them directly into the servants’ wing on the third floor. Ilse’s new dormitory was a large room at the end, with eight beds and a large fireplace. No one had lit a fire, but there were stacks of wood and kindling. On the mantelpiece stood three half-consumed candles and one lamp.
Kathe lit the lamp with her candle. “This bed is yours,” she said, indicating a narrow bed near the room’s washstand. It had a plain dark coverlet and more blankets stacked at the foot. Kathe pointed to the trunk at the bed’s foot. “You’ll find enough clothes in there to last until we’ve measured you for new ones.”
“But I don’t need—”
“We all dress properly for our station,” Kathe said firmly. “Lord Kosenmark’s orders.” Then her face relaxed into a smile. “I’m so glad you decided to stay. I was afraid I might frighten you off, or my mother would with her fierce looks. Speaking of my mother, I must go. I’m to supervise the next shift for a few hours. I’ll come by tomorrow morning to show you where we get our breakfast.”
Alone, Ilse made a circuit of the room, taking in more details. A straw broom in one corner, with a dustpan nearby. Small trinkets stood on several of the other chests, and one wall had a series of pencil sketches. Cards were laid out beside one bed, as though a game had been interrupted. Another bed was rumpled, with clothes heaped over the covers. Small clues to her new companions.
Passion Play Page 12
