Kathe laughed. “Don’t ask me. But I could tell ever since you asked to scrub the garbage barrels that you had strange tastes.”
Ilse studied her hands, no longer cracked from hot water and soap. Ink stained her fingers, and she had developed calluses from holding the pen. “I do have strange tastes,” she murmured. “And you are right. I do like it, in spite of the lectures.”
Lord Kosenmark had opened up many of his secret files. Not all of them. Not even half. And he continued to hold private meetings with Berthold Hax, in spite of Mistress Hedda’s lectures about allowing her patient to rest. Hax’s only concessions to Mistress Hedda’s demands were that he kept to his bedchamber and limited his work to a few hours each day, with frequent breaks in between.
“You are thinking again,” Kathe said with an amused smile.
“Always. That is why Lord Kosenmark pays me a salary.”
The quarter bells chimed, followed by three peals for the hour. With a sigh, Ilse put down her cup and stood. “Speaking of my salary …”
“Already? You hardly took a break.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But if I don’t finish my reading this afternoon, I’ll be spending the night in the library.”
“What are you reading these days?” Kathe said curiously. “Not poetry, I can tell.”
“Economics,” Ilse said. “Treatises comparing the economics in Baerne’s latter days to Armand’s reign. Lord Kosenmark thinks it would be useful for me.”
Kathe shuddered. “You do have strange tastes. Go, then. We can talk more tomorrow—if you have time.”
As it turned out, Ilse did not have time, which gave her mixed emotions. She missed having so many chats with Kathe, and she disliked having to conceal the greater part of her activities from her friend. She had told Kathe that Lord Kosenmark was considering another promotion for her. In a way that was true. He had set her a trial and was helping her to pass it by giving her books and papers, then questioning her about the essential points to ensure that she understood them. He was teaching her to think, to dissect information and put it back together in new shapes. It was like a grand game of word links, but instead of words, the game involved ideas and people and kingdoms and history. And there’s more, she thought. Much more. So far, she had glimpsed only the rim of this vast new plateau.
* * *
THE DAY OF Lord Vieth’s banquet, Ilse teetered between anticipation and dread. The seamstress had completed the last stitches that morning, and Lord Kosenmark had dismissed Ilse for the afternoon, telling her to nap. She took a walk in the gardens instead, though the air was cool and the buds still tight against spring’s true arrival. When she returned, she found her door open and Kathe and Nadine waiting inside.
“I have a surprise for you,” Kathe said.
“We both do,” Nadine added.
Ilse regarded them warily. “What kind of surprise?”
“A happy one,” Nadine said. “Come with us.”
They took her by the hands and led her into her bedroom, where someone—Kathe, no doubt—had laid out Ilse’s new costume. Black silk stockings. A matching shift edged with delicate lace. New black slippers. The gown itself a gleaming waterfall of fabric, dark red silk patterned with teardrops of darker red.
“Bath time,” Nadine declared with a wicked grin. “And then we shall take over as your maids.”
“I don’t need help,” Ilse said faintly. “Certainly not for bathing.”
Nadine muttered something that sounded like prunes. Kathe shook a finger at her. “Do not tease. Ilse, we are not going to bathe you, but we would like to help you with dressing and such. That is, if you like.”
She was caught halfway between laughter and exasperation, but Kathe’s smiles and Nadine’s mischievous charm were too hard to resist. “I like. I think I do.”
She bathed quickly, but alone, as she wished. Returning to her rooms, she found that Kathe had laid out ribbons for Ilse’s hair, while Nadine had picked out pins and clasps and jewels from her own jewelry box for Ilse’s inspection. Feeling self-conscious, Ilse let them help her into her clothing. Nadine surveyed her with a professional eye, then touched Ilse’s hair. “Too damp. However, I know a cure.”
She hummed a few words. Warmth brushed against Ilse’s face. She touched her hair, which was now dry. “You know magic,” she said softly, wondering why she had not realized this before.
“Just a few tricks,” Nadine said. “Very few.”
She brushed out Ilse’s long dark hair, then tied it with hair ribbons into a cascade of loops, which she declared was the latest style. Necklace and earrings followed. Next her new slippers. Pearls in my hair, Asta winding ribbons, and Baron Mann taking my hand for the next dance …
Ilse’s throat constricted. She pushed away all memories of that night and what followed. Tonight was entirely different. She was no gift tied up and wrapped. She was Lord Kosenmark’s assistant secretary.
“One more detail,” Kathe said. She drew a small vial from her pocket and opened it. “Scent. Do you like it?”
Ilse sniffed a blend of cinnamon and musk, a warm fragrance that recalled the pots of southern spices in Mistress Raendl’s kitchen. “I like it very much.”
“Thank you. It was a gift from a friend.”
“A lover?” Nadine asked with glee. “I thought you were immune to lovers.”
“I was to him,” Kathe said archly. “We were friends, not lovers. At least that’s what I thought. Poor boy.” She did not go into more details, but sprinkled the scent over Ilse’s hair. “Now just a touch to your wrists and throat. Perfect.”
The hour bell rang, sending Ilse into a panic. “I’m late.”
“Tell us everything later,” Kathe said.
“Remember to laugh,” Nadine called after her. “You look prettier that way.”
She ran to the entry hall. Kosenmark had already arrived and was prowling from one side of the room to the other. He turned at her entrance, lamplight flashing from the red ruby in his ear. Dressed in shades of dark upon dark, he looked like a shadow at night.
“You needn’t run,” he said mildly.
“I didn’t want to be late, my lord.”
He tilted his hand outward. “You are overanxious. No matter, so am I. Come. Let us try to enjoy the evening in all its various parts.”
A liveried boy opened the carriage doors. Kosenmark handed Ilse inside, then swung up lightly to sit opposite her. He did seem anxious, she thought, because once settled, he leaned back into the cushions and stared out the window with a preoccupied expression.
As they wound slowly uphill toward the governor’s palace, Lord Kosenmark continued to stare out the carriage in silence. Once he frowned and let his glance fall to his hands. He wore a ruby ring on his left hand—one Ilse had previously observed on Lord Dedrick’s finger. He studied the ring a while, then sighed. Knowing there was nothing safe to say, Ilse kept silent, too, contenting herself with looking out the opposite window, and counting the landmarks she knew.
When the carriage turned into the courtyard of Lord Vieth’s palace, Kosenmark recalled himself. “My apologies for inflicting my moods upon you, Mistress Ilse. Happily, you will spend a few hours among more sociable creatures. Remember what I said before: you are as much a guest as I. Enjoy the banquet and the dancing.” He leaned forward and added softly, “I shall come to you when we are to meet.”
They emerged from the carriage into a confusion of lackeys and torch holders; runners, guests, and courtiers; carriages and their horses. Around the crowded courtyard, a circle of brick walls rose up against the night sky, bright gold in the blazing lamplight. Kosenmark guided Ilse through the chaos to the wide front doors. They passed into a domed entryway, where a herald announced their names to a tall gaunt man, dressed in a costume of rich green silks, with a fortune of gems upon his fingers.
Lord Vieth, Ilse thought, dropping into a curtsy.
Lord Vieth greeted Lord Kosenmark with evident pleasure and spoke politely
with Ilse. Kosenmark answered his inquiries after family and friends, then led Ilse through a passageway decorated with murals of Erythandra’s emperors and lined with statues of Lord Vieth’s ancestors, and into the gathering hall.
If Duenne’s palace were larger or grander, she could not imagine it. A dozen houses as large as her father’s could fit inside this one hall, with its polished marble dance floor, its carved columns rising toward the lofty ceiling, its balconies and alcoves. Tables occupied both the central square and the enormous dais at one end. Many of the guests were already seated and servants were moving among them with serving trays.
Lord Kosenmark leaned down and whispered. “You may breathe now.”
He was smiling. Laughing almost.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered back.
He shook his head. “Clearly, you’ve spent too long in my house. Come, let us cross to our tables. Vieth has an excellent cook. You will enjoy the meal.”
They parted at the hall’s center, he to sit at the main table, she to take her place among the attendants and lesser courtiers. As Lord Kosenmark predicted, she did enjoy an exquisite meal. Roasted trout followed the spiced soups, then came plates of seasoned rice and pastries stuffed with flaked salmon. What if Mistress Raendl had the resources of Lord Vieth’s household? she wondered. What if Kathe came here to serve nobles at their grand feasts instead of the pleasure house? Would it give them greater satisfaction or greater anxiety? Then a singer’s voice echoed through the hall, high and clear and pure, and she forgot these questions in her enjoyment.
The song ended. A few guests applauded; others concentrated on their meals.
“How long have you been with Lord Kosenmark’s household?” asked the woman to Ilse’s left.
“Nearly five months,” Ilse answered.
“Ah.” Her companion smiled. “We were expecting Maester Hax. But of course we are delighted that Lord Kosenmark found an assistant for his secretary. Is Berthold so very ill then?”
“Not at all. He unwisely ate too well this past week.”
“So Lord Kosenmark chose you in his stead. Are you enjoying your first evening at the palace?”
Ilse hesitated, thinking she read more than ordinary politeness in that question. “Lord Vieth is a gracious and generous host. I’m delighted he permitted me to come in Maester Hax’s place.”
Her companion glanced at her sideways and smiled, as though she guessed Ilse’s thoughts. “Indeed,” she murmured. “And his cook is the best in Tiralien, even counting Lord Kosenmark’s. And yet, if you do not mind the advice, I would caution you to choose your dishes carefully. One wrong mouthful, eaten in haste, can be … risky.”
She had spoken softly, leaning slightly toward Ilse as though to share a secret. Now she drew back and laughed. They might have been two intimates sharing a joke. Before Ilse could think how to answer, or if she should, the woman turned to a different dinner companion, and begged his opinion of the new fashion in Tiralien, that of blending music with magical illusions.
“Would you call that music or theater?” she asked.
“I would call it a travesty.”
His opinion provoked a lively discussion, and from there, the conversation turned to the latest plays from Duenne. Ilse surreptitiously watched the woman throughout the discussion. She had a narrow face and dark complexion; her hair was black and thick, looped into intricate braids and studded with tiny diamonds. One might have thought her plain except for her eyes—lined in kohl with an expert hand, they were dark and brilliant and keen.
Dangerous eyes, she thought. Eyes to remember.
The banquet drew to a close. Soon the guests rose from their seats, servants moved the tables from the hall, and musicians took their places in the corners. As the guests paired off, Ilse withdrew into one of the many alcoves, wanting to watch this first dance. Lord Vieth led a young woman wearing a circlet onto the dance floor. Lady Vieth took her place opposite a heavily built man dressed in the uniform of the king’s army. Across the hall, Ilse glimpsed Lord Kosenmark paired with an elderly lady.
More couples took their places and after a few more moments, the music began. Three soft silvery notes from the water flute were answered by a rill of notes from the hammered strings. Old instruments and new, another of the latest fashions. And yet the dance they signaled was one of the traditional dances from the turn of the century. Was the contrast a subtle signal from Lord Vieth to his guests?
Certain of the guests did not dance. They remained by the walls, talking softly with one another, or they made the rounds along the edge of the dance floor. None of them intruded on Ilse’s privacy, however, and gradually she lost herself in the pleasure of listening to the music. So she was taken completely unawares when Baron Rudolfus Eckard emerged from the crowds, a few feet away.
Ilse froze. Eckard checked himself in mid-stride. They were both staring, Ilse too startled to even think. It was Eckard who recovered first. “Mistress Therez,” he said awkwardly.
Her heart beat fast and hard against her ribs. It took all her effort not to run away into the crowd. She licked her lips, managed to speak. “Baron Eckard.”
Eckard glanced around, then came into the alcove to stand beside her. “I must apologize for my clumsiness, Mistress Therez,” he said in a low voice. “I had no intention of addressing you so abruptly. I was … surprised to meet you here. Surprised but certainly pleased.”
His tone was concerned, not accusing. “My lord,” she said, “there is no need to apologize. I appreciate your concern.”
The first dance was just drawing to a close. The hammered strings had fallen silent, leaving just the water flutes, their clear bright notes like the pattering of rain. Already new couples were taking their places. Eckard gestured toward the floor. “As a great favor, would you dance with me?”
She hesitated, but at his kindly smile, she took his hand and followed him onto the floor.
To her relief, the Baron remained silent through the dance’s first movement, leaving Ilse to concentrate on minding her steps and keeping her own face under control.
“You are well?” he asked at last.
His tone was gentle. He was only concerned, she reminded herself.
“I am, my lord.”
“Older,” he said, in a musing tone. “I see other differences, but I cannot put them into words.” He paused. “You must know that I saw your father last month. He is still searching for you. Would you—”
“No,” she said suddenly. “Don’t. Please.”
“Hush. You will attract too much attention. Come with me.” Deftly he guided their steps toward the edge of the dance floor, where the crowds thinned to just a few couples. “We can dance more easily here,” he said in a conversational tone. And then in a lower voice, he added, “I understand your distress. At least, I believe I do. But would you not want me to tell your family that you are alive, well?”
She shook her head. “Not even that, my lord. I’m sorry, but I—” She drew a long unsteady breath. “I cannot risk it, my lord. Please.”
He looked unconvinced. “Are you well? Are you with a good household?”
A pleasure house. A shadow court. The house of an exiled lord.
“Very good,” she said. “As far as I can judge.”
“You must be,” he murmured, “to receive an invitation here. And yet I must not pry. I can see that from your eyes and mouth, Mistress Therez.”
“My name is Mistress Ilse,” she said, just as softly.
His eyes widened slightly. “Interesting. I should have guessed that you were a resourceful young woman.”
They danced in silence through two more movements. Lord Vieth and his stewards had evidently heard of the fashion for music and magic, because illusory stars appeared overhead, their lights winking and rippling in time with the music.
“Are you here for the season?” Baron Eckard said at last.
She shook her head. “For as long as possible, my lord. What about you?”
/> He smiled. “I’m here for a different kind of season. My daughter and her family have their estates outside the city, and so I’ve come for a protracted visit. I am to be a grandfather, they tell me.”
She congratulated him. “And then you return to Melnek?”
“It depends on the weather.”
He spoke in a dry tone that recalled Lord Kosenmark at his most oblique. Lord Kosenmark. Baron Eckard. My dear Rudolfus, he had called him. Yes. Of all the information that Lord Kosenmark had dumped upon her in the past week, he had not disclosed who would participate in the night’s meeting, but now she knew at least one.
You’ve come for more than your grandchild, she thought.
“Hmmmm.” Baron Eckard was observing her with curiosity. “You look strangely satisfied, Mistress Ilse. May I ask why?”
She colored, thinking she would have to guard her expression more closely. “Nothing more than the pleasure of a good partner, my lord.”
Eckard lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. They finished out the dance in silence, and when the music drew to its close, he swept into a deep bow.
“I wish you good fortune, Mistress Ilse.”
“And to you,” she replied.
He bowed again, once more the bland courtier, and withdrew into the crowds.
She danced twice after that with two different young men who introduced themselves as friends of friends of Lord Vieth’s grandsons. When the second dance ended, she retreated to one of the alcoves where she had a cushioned bench to herself.
The music paused for an interlude. While the musicians set out new instruments, a chorus of singers sang in rising counterpoint one of the old ballads from the empire days. The song—about war and war’s heroes—sounded strange to Ilse in this rich setting, so far from any battlefield.
The song ended. The musicians eased into the next piece—another partnered dance. Just then, she saw Lord Kosenmark, threading his way between the couples, like a splash of midnight among so many brilliant colors. The meeting, she thought, her heart beating faster.
Kosenmark stopped in front of Ilse and held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
Passion Play Page 21
