Passion Play

by Beth Bernobich

  Mistress Raendl turned around with an exasperated expression. “What now?”

  “Lys is sick,” Janna said at once. “I’ll take her to her bed, if you don’t mind.”

  Mistress Raendl waved her away impatiently. She scanned the other girls, frowning. Ilse could almost read her thoughts—Hanne too small, Dana coming out in spots, Rosel in disgrace, Janna occupied with Lys. It would be her or Steffi.

  “You,” Mistress Raendl said, pointing at Ilse. “I need you to serve in the common room. Put on a fresh gown. Rinse your face and brush out your hair. Good enough. Here, take this tray and set out the wine and new cups. Clean up the table, and bring back the dirty cups and whatever empty carafes you find. We’ll have another tray ready when you get back.”

  A runner brought a new gown from the stores, and Ilse made ready in a small closet off the kitchen. She picked up the tray and hurried to the common room, ducking between runners and other servers. Outside the doors, she stopped, her heart beating painfully fast. She could not wet her mouth.

  It’s just another room.

  Except that courtesans entertained their clients in that room. She had never asked if the courtesans did more than sing or talk. She hoped she would not see them pleasuring their clients. She couldn’t face that. Not tonight. Not ever. It occurred to her that Lys knew or guessed far more about Ilse’s time with the caravan than Ilse had admitted.

  She knows I’m afraid.

  Ilse drew a breath to settle her stomach. Today or next week or next month, she would have to face this room. She gripped the tray firmly and went inside.

  She thought at first she had stepped into a well of sweet-smelling darkness. A chandelier illuminated the room’s center, but the rest was enveloped in shadows. As her eyes adjusted, Ilse saw Adelaide entwined with another woman. She skirted them, only to see Nadine and Eduard, sitting on a couch with an older man between them. Nadine was singing softly, and Eduard had just laid his palm against the man’s cheek. The man rose and walked toward the staircase, hand in hand with Eduard. Nadine trailed behind, still singing.

  Passion. Desire. Panic. For a long moment Ilse could do nothing but breathe, and that with difficulty. She thought about Lys. That didn’t help. She thought instead about Kathe, who had always shown her kindness and patience, and her nerves steadied.

  Pretend the room is empty. Pretend you are walking through a forest.

  She found an open path around the next grouping of chairs and to the central tables. She knelt and cleared out a space for the full carafes and clean cups, then stacked the dirty cups on the tray. She swept crumbs from the table into her hand and deposited those in one of the dirty cups. Though she tried to concentrate only on her task, she could hear too much of what went on around her. A prolonged kiss. An answering sigh. When a man’s rough voice asked Tatiana to come at once to another room, Ilse stood up quickly with the tray. I’ll come back for the rest later.

  She turned toward the doors, only to collide immediately with a stranger. One cup went flying onto the carpeted floor and shattered. Ilse caught herself before the rest followed. She heard a gasp from someone nearby, and then a smothered laugh. The stranger, a young man, lurched against her a second time. He smiled and leaned heavily against her shoulder, breathing wine and smelling of exotic perfumes. “Pretty,” he mumbled, sliding his arm around her waist.

  Ilse stiffened and choked back an exclamation. “My lord. Please.”

  “Please. Oh pretty please.” He buried his face against her neck.

  The entire room had to be watching. She tried twisting away, but she could not without dropping more cups. “I’m not what you think,” she whispered. “Please let me go.”

  “Yes. Let her go, Lord Gerhart.”

  Lord Kosenmark removed the young man’s arms from around Ilse.

  “She’s pretty,” Gerhart mumbled.

  “Very pretty,” Kosenmark agreed. “But you don’t want to keep her from the kitchens.”

  Lord Gerhart blinked. “I don’t?”

  “Of course not. See Johanna waving? She wants to hear about the baron’s dinner party. She told me so.”

  Lord Gerhart paused, swaying. When Johanna blew him a kiss, he broke into smiles and stumbled toward her. Ilse knelt to pick up the broken wine cup. Splinters of glass pricked her fingers. She wrapped her hand in a napkin and brushed the shards onto the tray, trying to ignore Lord Kosenmark’s presence.

  Kosenmark knelt beside her and plucked another shard from the rug. “You should not be out here,” he said quietly. “Have Mistress Raendl send Rosel or Janna in your place.”

  Ilse shook her head. “I’m not afraid, my lord.”

  “You aren’t? Look at me then.”

  He was studying her with the same assessing look he’d given her earlier, when he asked her about the maps. Ilse bore it steadily, though her cheeks were hot. “You are afraid,” he said softly. “And I will not have my servants teased and tormented.” He paused. “Unless you believe I would rather torment you myself.”

  “Ne’muj Panvíje,” she said. “No, my lord. But I would like to make another try.”

  “Ah.” Humor lit his eyes then. “Understood. As you wish.”

  He stood, his movement unhurried, and selected a new wine cup from those Ilse had brought. He filled it and crossed the room, where an energetic conversation was taking place between several older men. Kosenmark smoothly inserted himself into the group and the conversation. Ilse watched a moment longer, but Kosenmark seemed entirely engrossed by his companions and did not look back.

  Laughter broke out in one corner. Lord Gerhart was nuzzling Johanna, who giggled and shrieked with delight. Other couples were joining in the card game. Ilse drew a long breath. Another tray waited for her in the kitchen. Another after that, if Lord Kosenmark’s guests continued their thirsty mood. And she would have to expect more teasing from the girls. Lys especially liked to play pranks. If that’s what it took to win their friendship, then she would try to take it with good humor. Think of that, she told herself, and not what takes place in the private rooms above.

  She picked up the tray and hurried back to the kitchens.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AS ILSE EXPECTED, Mistress Raendl scolded her for breaking the wine cup. “Lys is sick. Janna is playing games no doubt with that boy from the stables. I’ll have a word with her, too, when she gets back. I should send Steffi out, but you’ve got to learn the trade some time.” Still muttering, she sent Ilse back into the common room with a new tray and a warning about malingering. Dana and Steffi snickered behind their hands.

  The next day, however, Mistress Raendl did not send Ilse into the common room. Nor the next. The other girls noticed—Ilse could tell from their half-finished conversations in the dormitory and the looks they gave her. No one said or did anything obvious, but after two more days of silent glares, Ilse approached Mistress Raendl.

  “Lord Kosenmark said one of the guests frightened you,” Mistress Raendl said to her questions. “Thought you were one of the courtesans, being drunk.”

  “But Mistress Raendl, I told Lord Kosenmark I wasn’t afraid.”

  Mistress Raendl eyed her with faint astonishment. “You told Lord Kosenmark?”

  Ilse flushed.

  “Tell me,” said Mistress Raendl in a milder voice. “Does it bother you still? The courtesans, I mean, and what they do here.”

  Yes, Ilse thought, but she would not say it. Nor could she tell Mistress Raendl about the girls and how they viewed her treatment as a special favor. She curtsied, which brought an impatient laugh from Mistress Raendl, and went silently to the counters and the heaps of garlic and mushrooms and onions piled up for cutting.

  I do need more time, she thought, as she fine-minced a clove of garlic. Months or years. But however long, I will get used to seeing touches and kisses and open desire. I have to.

  “Don’t chop so fast,” Kathe said, as she passed behind Ilse. “You’ll cut your fingers.”

  “An
d bleed all over the food,” Ilse said. She had done that her first time chopping and had suffered both laughter and a scolding.

  Kathe took the station next to Ilse and started paring fresh carrots into fanciful shapes. She worked quickly and deftly, the knife flashing between her fingers. Kathe liked the pleasure house well enough, she had told Ilse, but eventually she would leave for a better position, ruling her own kitchen in some other lord’s household. Lord Kosenmark would certainly give her an excellent recommendation.

  I wish I could go with her. It won’t be the same when she’s gone.

  Kathe glanced up. “What’s wrong?”

  Ilse shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “What kind of nothing? A large one, judging by your face.”

  “Nothing at all.” Ilse pressed the chopped garlic into a flat mass and began a second pass, mincing the pieces into smaller bits. She had known, once, how to hide all her emotions. It had been a necessary skill in her father’s household. We were all afraid of him, even Ehren. We learned to make our faces into masks, our hearts into emptiness, all to avoid provoking his anger. And not just for ourselves, but for each other.

  Here was nothing like Petr Zhalina’s house, and Kathe was her friend, but she still wished she had kept her expression under better control. It would be too painful to explain how she had failed, how she thought it necessary to leave this house. And why.

  I can stay here six more months. Eight if I need the money. Then I can go to another house where no one knows about my past.

  It was a lie, she knew. Wherever she went, the other servants would guess her background and mistrust her. Still, a new house would know nothing about her time with the caravan. She could reinvent herself, like Josef, one bit at a time.

  Kathe was glancing at her from time to time, her expression thoughtful. “Is there anything I can do about this nothing?”

  Ilse scooped up the garlic and deposited it in a bowl. Taking up a new clove, she peeled away the papery skin and snipped off the ends. “No. It’s something I need to figure out myself.”

  “Ah. Very well.” Kathe paused, then continued in a softer voice. “But you do understand that you are as much my responsibility as Hanne or Rosel or the rest of the girls are. My mother trusts me to act for her. I hope you would trust me, too.”

  Ilse shrugged. “Trust is a chancy beast,” she said, thinking of an old folktale her grandmother used to tell.

  “One with a soft pelt and sharp claws,” Mistress Raendl said. Ilse jumped, then jumped again when the cook laid a hand on her shoulder. “Leave the garlic for Kathe, since she proves she can chatter and carve at the same time. You come with me. I have a new assignment for you.”

  She beckoned Ilse to follow her through the kitchen’s outer doors and down the wide lane used by delivery wagons. A side pathway took them into a small bare courtyard—little more than an alcove, and occupied only by a stone bench and a few trees that had shed their leaves.

  “We might be safe here,” Mistress Raendl said softly, scanning the windows above them. “Lord Kosenmark listens to us, you see. I told you that once, but I wasn’t clear enough. He listens all the time. Through the vents, in the corridors, with spy holes and other means. He had the architect and builders take this house apart, or nearly, and rebuild it that way.”

  “Mistress Raendl, why are you telling me this?”

  “Because he’s asked for you to serve at a private supper tonight, and I need to explain more about him so you don’t blunder. It’s not that I expect you to say the wrong thing, but you have a very expressive face. You might look … disturbed. Or even just curious. Both would be a mistake. How much have the girls told you about Lord Kosenmark and what happened to him at court?”

  Ilse’s growing apprehension vanished at this new revelation. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Lord Kosenmark was at the King’s Court?”

  Mistress Raendl sent her a sharp glance. “That is where I met him. He used to visit my mistress, the Countess Hanau. When Baerne died, and then the countess, Lord Kosenmark invited me and my daughter to serve in his new household. The duke was furious when he heard. He said he wanted his heir at home, if not at court.”

  “Lord Kosenmark is the heir? I thought—” Ilse broke off, embarrassed.

  Mistress Raendl smiled grimly. “I can guess what you thought. Yes, he is the heir. No, he cannot have children. It was the price he paid, to serve in Baerne’s Inner Council. So you see why you must not let any shock, or worse, pity, show on your face.”

  Ever since she had first heard Lord Kosenmark’s strange high voice, she had refused to dwell on what that meant. There were any number of innocuous reasons—a childhood illness, an unusual trait inherited through the family. She had not wanted to think of the obvious one.

  But Lev Bartov had guessed right, and Ilse remembered Eckard’s expression when he refused to speak of the matter. “The king ordered him to … to sacrifice himself?”

  The cook nodded. “Baerne declared he trusted only men who spoke harsh truths in a woman’s voice. Five Houses accepted this decree. Three of them sacrificed their second sons. Those who had none to spare were faced with bitter choices indeed.”

  “So they could not sire heirs,” Ilse murmured. “To keep their loyalty to him and not their family.”

  “Yes,” Mistress Raendl said. “You see the results. Lord Kosenmark has a brother, but he chose to meet the king’s demands himself. He took it badly when the Baerne died and Armand chose new advisers.”

  Ilse hugged her arms around herself and looked upward. The walls rose straight up toward the floor where Lord Kosenmark had his rooms. How to read those blank windows that hid more than they revealed? Just so Lord Kosenmark’s exquisite golden eyes told her nothing, really, even when he professed anger or kindness or simple curiosity.

  “Was it by choice that he left court altogether?” she said. “Or did Armand dismiss him?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that three years ago he moved here and set up this house. He gave me no reason, of course. I’m his cook, not his friend.”

  But she knew him well enough to know this most personal history. Ilse took in Mistress Raendl’s voice and manner, which was brusque, almost angry, as though she was offended by what happened to Lord Kosenmark. “You like him.”

  Surprise, then a soft laugh. “I do. I remember him as a page. He was a wild one, they said. That changed when the Countess Hanau took him as her friend.” Mistress Raendl’s gaze turned distant and she smiled, as though she saw another Lord Kosenmark standing in the courtyard.

  She sighed and her smile faded. “That’s all past. Today, our concern is just his entertainment. I told him yesterday what you said about not being afraid. He liked that, he said, and asked that you serve him and Lord Dedrick at their private supper tonight.”

  Lord Dedrick Maszuryn—Lord Kosenmark’s companion and sometimes lover. The other girls told stories about him in private, punctuated with giggles and sighs. Ilse had seen him several times in the common room, but never alone with Lord Kosenmark. Lord Kosenmark a duke’s heir, she thought. An exiled councillor. A man very much alive to his condition, in all senses of the word. Yes, she would have to guard her expression carefully.

  “Would that bother you?” Mistress Raendl asked. “If it does, I can suggest to Lord Kosenmark that you would prefer to stay in the kitchen.”

  Ah, but then he would know she had lied about being unafraid. Ilse shook her head. “It won’t bother me. And thank you for telling me, Mistress Raendl.”

  “Your thanks will be a good job. Come along. They’ll miss us in the kitchen and start gossiping about nothing all over again.”

  Back in the kitchen, Mistress Raendl set Ilse to stirring sauces. Ilse tried to keep her thoughts on the task itself—stir with firm, even strokes—even though she kept seeing Mistress Raendl’s troubled expression as she recited Kosenmark’s history. Lys was watching her, she noticed, but to her relief, it was a busy night, with no time for chatter.

/>   Two hours later, just when Mistress Raendl had ordered Ilse to make ready for serving dinner, a runner came with news that Lord Kosenmark wanted service to be set back an hour. Mistress Raendl scowled at the news. “Why?”

  “Lord Dedrick sent word that he was delayed, I heard.”

  Mistress Raendl muttered a curse. “Very well. Not that I have any say in the matter, but very well. Tell Lord Kosenmark that we are delighted to change our schedule to suit young Lord Dedrick. We’ll have to make new sauces then.” Still grumbling, she dismissed the runner and gave the sauces over to Kathe with orders to use them with the spiced fishcakes. She mixed a new batch herself and gave that to Ilse to stir, muttering, “The house will eat well tonight.”

  Before Ilse had finished stirring that batch, the runner came back with more news. A short whispered exchange followed, then Mistress Raendl turned to Ilse, her mouth tight. “You’re to go make ready.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing much. Lord Dedrick hasn’t come, but Lord Kosenmark sent word to start without him. Go dress now. I’ll have the first tray ready before you return.”

  Ilse ran for the dormitory, where she washed her hands and face, braided her hair afresh, and then changed into her best linen gown. Last week, Janna had shown her the cosmetics provided for these occasions. Working quickly, Ilse applied powder to her face, color to her lips, and dark kohl to her eyes. It had been months since she had used anything to decorate herself, and for a moment, unwanted memories joined her in the empty dormitory room. All she needed was scent and jewels …

  … the sound of Paschke’s musicians, Baron Mann’s warm lips kissing my hand.

  She suppressed that thought and hurried back to the kitchen. Mistress Raendl looked over her appearance and nodded approvingly. “Well done. You look neat and pretty.”

  “Part of the presentation,” Ilse murmured.

  Mistress Raendl’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Just so. Here is the first tray. Lord Kosenmark is dining in the Blue Salon. You know it?”