He offered his arm. She took it, suddenly weary of intrigue and the relentless glitter of Lord Vieth’s palace. It was later than she had thought—the midnight bells rang as they made their way between the couples still dancing. Kosenmark appeared untouched by weariness. Only the tension in his arm told her that he was not as relaxed as he appeared.
Unexpectedly, he stopped. Ilse looked up to see Lady Alia Maszuryn blocking their path.
“Lord Kosenmark.”
Kosenmark nodded stiffly. “Lady Alia. I had not had the pleasure of speaking with you this evening.”
“You were occupied with other pleasures, it appears.”
Ilse tried to withdraw, but Kosenmark covered her hand with his. “Please stay,” he said. Then to Lady Alia, he said, “Whatever pleasure I derived from this ball is my business, not yours.”
“And not Dedrick’s?”
“Dedrick knows my intentions. Nevertheless, if he wants to complain, he should do so to my face, and not send a messenger.”
“He would if he were here.”
“Exactly,” Kosenmark said coolly. “If he were here.”
Lady Alia stared hard at him. Then she made an angry gesture and stalked away, leaving behind a trail of whispers and muffled exclamations. Kosenmark paid her no more attention. He leaned toward Ilse and whispered, “Do not worry about her.”
The crowds gave way before them. With a last effort, Ilse recovered herself enough to pay her respects to Lord and Lady Vieth, but she was relieved when the doors closed behind them.
Outside, the night was fine; the skies were dotted with brilliant stars. Kosenmark handed Ilse into the carriage and climbed in after her. He was silent now. As they passed from the torch-lit courtyard into the streets, shadows swallowed up the carriage’s interior, and she could see nothing except the dim outline of his figure. He was leaning back into the cushions, his face turned toward the windows.
“What did you think of tonight?” he asked after a few moments.
His voice sounded rough. Tired.
“It was strange, my lord.”
“Very strange,” he said, but he was obviously speaking more to himself. A momentary gleam of lamplight illuminated his face. He looked preoccupied, and he was turning Lord Dedrick’s ring around his finger. “An evening with success in all the wrong quarters.”
The meeting, he meant. Inconclusive even before Lord Khandarr’s appearance. She wanted to ask Kosenmark who might have given away his plans, but his gaze had gone remote. She settled back into the cushions, pretending to gaze out the carriage window, while opposite her, Lord Kosenmark continued to turn the ring upon his finger.
Who are you really? she wondered. What book are you? Has anyone, even Lord Dedrick, read you to the end?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THAT NIGHT IN her dreams Ilse wandered through a brightly lit maze, while faraway bells ceaselessly marked the quarter hour. The echo from those bells was still in her ears when she woke to the bells striking from the nearby tower. A fragment of her dreams lingered, reminding her of the intersecting plots and schemes of the previous evening. Was it possible that Lady Alia’s confrontation was another invention? And what about Lord Vieth, who hid any trace of emotion behind that forbidding hawk face. Did he know about Lord Kosenmark’s activities that night? Was he a peripheral member of the shadow court, or did he stand to one side?
A flicker of unease passed through her, remembering Baron Eckard. He might not give her secrets away, but what if someone else recognized her? She was not as safe here as she had assumed.
Then I shall have to take care.
Her attention consumed by all the strange events of the previous night, she hurried through her toiletries and dressed. Lord Kosenmark would surely want to discuss those same events. He might even have answers to her questions about Lady Alia and Lord Vieth.
A guard stood outside her door. Ilse checked herself in mid-step. Slowly, almost as though she were still dreaming, she took in the man’s tense bearing, the weapons at his belt, and how his expression changed subtly at her appearance.
“Mistress Ilse, Lord Kosenmark would like to see you at once. Maester Hax’s quarters.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Please hurry.”
He motioned for her to precede him. Anxious now, Ilse took the corridors at a run. Was Hax ill again? Was there news from court or Valentain? She glanced over her shoulder once or twice, but the man urged her forward.
Two more guards stood outside Hax’s suite. Ilse’s escort continued inside with her. “They are waiting for you in there,” he said, motioning toward the bedchamber. He took up a stand outside the door, while Ilse, her heart beating fast, went inside.
Hax was sitting up in bed and speaking in an undertone with Lord Kosenmark. Ilse let her breath trickle out. So it was not a relapse. It has to be news about Lord Khandarr.
At her appearance, Hax broke off talking, and Kosenmark turned around. She caught a flicker of tension in his mouth before his expression turned blank.
“My lord? Maester Hax? You wanted to see me?”
Kosenmark pointed to a spot in the middle of the room. “Yes. Stand over there.”
Puzzled, Ilse obeyed. Kosenmark looked as though he had not slept at all. Faint lines etched his face, and bruises marred the fine golden skin beneath his eyes. News must have arrived during the night, but what kind of news would make both men stare at her so?
“Begin,” Hax whispered to Kosenmark. “You shall not be easy until you know the truth.”
“Not even then,” Kosenmark murmured. “Very well. You are right. Mistress Ilse, I would like you to tell me about the day you left Melnek. And why you did so.”
Ilse flinched at his soft even tone. “Why, my lord? You asked me these questions before.”
“I did, but Maester Hax was not present. He would like to hear your account in your voice, with your words, not mine. Besides, I need to hear the answers again. So. Tell me why you left your father’s house.”
She needed another moment to collect herself. Start at the beginning, she told herself. Go forward.
She began with the dinner party. But the dinner party didn’t explain enough about why, so she backtracked to her hopes about spending a year with her cousins in Duenne, then leapt forward to Theodr Galt’s arrival at her father’s house. Already the account sounded muddled. It didn’t help that Hax was studying her face with a strange intense expression. Kosenmark’s face remained a blank.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. She described the dinner, including Baron Eckard’s talk about Duenne and its opportunities, but skipped the rest of the details about dances and music and conversation, and went directly to her father’s abrupt declaration that she would marry. She finished with the final moments in her room, when she decided to run away.
“It was foolish,” she said. “I know it now. But I’m not sure I could do anything different.”
Kosenmark and Hax exchanged glances. Had she said something wrong? Before she could say anything more, Kosenmark launched into a series of pointed questions about the dinner party itself. He wanted more details about her conversation with Baron Eckard. What had she asked him? Why had she listened to a stranger’s vague account of a distant city? From there, he jumped forward in her story to the caravan: why she stayed and then why she left; why she chose Tiralien when she had endured so much to reach Duenne. Ilse answered everything as completely as she could, adding more and more details to cover the silences between. All the while, Hax studied her with a remote expression that was the twin of Lord Kosenmark’s.
“You met no one after you left the caravan in Donuth. How did you pass the sentries at the city gate? They don’t often allow vagrants inside.”
“Farmers.” At Kosenmark’s prompting, she gave their names. Nela and Gregor and Maxi and Uwe. “They fed me and gave me a ride in their wagon.”
“But you left them after you passed the gates. Why?”
<
br /> Ilse closed her eyes, feeling dizzy and sick. Why and why and why. She heard Kosenmark repeat the question, a touch of impatience in his voice. “They didn’t have much room or money for themselves,” she said. “But they did give me names and places where I might find work. I … I had hoped to find a position that same day. It was stupid, I know.”
She got no response except a request for more details about the places where she tried to find work. It was like reliving those first days, and her face went hot as she went over her encounters at Becker’s tavern, the nearby inn, the house with the sympathetic cook. At one point, Hax made a sign to Lord Kosenmark, who leaned close while they conferred in undertones.
“We can trace the farmers through that tavern,” Kosenmark said. “From there we should be able to locate these other people.”
“If they aren’t inventions, my lord. We have no dates. Very few details and just a few names …”
“Why would I lie?” Ilse broke in.
Another whispered exchange.
“I disagree, my lord. We should not—”
“We should, I say. Let her hear the accusations.”
Cold washed over Ilse, but she kept her voice under control. “Yes. Tell me what crime I supposedly committed.”
She spoke to Kosenmark, but it was Hax who answered her. “Your appearance here coincides with certain unhappy events,” he said. “That coincidence troubled me before, and after last night, it troubles Lord Kosenmark.”
Ilse swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. So she was the suspect behind last night’s events. “Do you think I’m a spy, my lord?”
He met her gaze directly. “You must admit that the coincidence is strong.”
“Very strong,” Hax said. “The night you came, two guards failed to make their usual patrol, which allowed you entry onto the grounds. You arrived in a pitiful condition, one well-calculated to overcome any mistrust. You accepted a position far below your abilities, and at the same time, you quickly gained not only Kathe’s trust, but also Lord Kosenmark’s.”
“And yet …” Kosenmark paused a moment, his gaze flickered from Ilse back to Hax. “And yet I have confirmed her background with Rudolfus. He did attend a dinner party at Maester Zhalina’s house. And the story about her disappearance from Melnek is well known. She is who she claims to be.”
“That does not disprove my point, my lord. Whatever we know about her life in Melnek, we know nothing about her actions since. Men can change in three months. So can young women.”
“You never trusted me,” Ilse said softly. “You never stopped watching me, not since Lord Kosenmark made me your assistant.”
“Of course not,” Hax said calmly. “Suspicion is one of my duties.”
“And you, my lord. Have you always doubted me?”
Kosenmark stirred, as though uncomfortable for the first time. “Not at first, but we know about the letter you opened—”
“That was an accident—”
He cut her off with a sharp gesture. “We know you were curious and strangely discreet at the same time. I would like to believe you, but then came the evidence of last night.”
Last night. The room had become so silent, Ilse thought she could hear her blood pulsing in her temples, and the whisper of her breath through the air. Now it became clear to her. Kosenmark had never trusted her. He and Hax had only pretended to.
Kosenmark’s next words, delivered in his soft high voice, confirmed her fears. “Khandarr could not have known when and where we were to meet except that someone told him,” he said. “All of those who attended are trusted friends. You are not. And after the meeting … To say it bluntly, I wonder how someone treated so brutally could respond, even superficially, to my attentions.”
The pulsing in her temples grew louder. “You think I would try to seduce you?”
“We thought that possible.”
He continued to speak, but she could not hear him. Then the doors opened. Two guards appeared and took her by the arm. She came to herself with a jolt. “Where are you taking me?”
“To your rooms, while we continue to investigate your story.”
She had a brief flash of memory: Ropes binding her to the wagon. Brandt saying, She gets dinner if she behaves. “At least Alarik Brandt liked it when I pretended for him,” she said in a low furious voice.
Kosenmark flinched. “Take her away,” he said to the guards.
* * *
LORD KOSENMARK PICKED his guards for their strength and loyalty. One yanked her arm behind her back and propelled her from Hax’s bedroom, while the other strode ahead, opening doors. Ilse grabbed for the doorframe. Her guard twisted her arm harder. She let go with a gasp. She had one last glimpse of Kosenmark, both hands over his face, then she was through the outer parlor and into the corridor.
The two men pushed her fast enough that she had trouble keeping her balance. They spoke over her head in short phrases. Check that door. Hold the girl back a moment. Careful about the carpet. When she stumbled, the guard holding Ilse pulled her upright, his handling rough but impersonal. When she tried to scream, he covered her mouth with one huge hand.
“Be quiet,” he hissed. “It’ll go easier for you.”
If only someone were about, but Hax and Lord Kosenmark had picked the time well. The courtesans would be sleeping. The chambermaids and runners were occupied elsewhere. By now they were approaching her quarters. She dropped into a heap, refusing to move, but the taller guard simply picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.
He carried her into her bedroom and dropped her onto the bed. Immediately she stood. He pushed her back down and leaned over her. “Stay there, or I will have to get nasty. Lord Kosenmark’s orders. Do you understand?”
She nodded silently. From the look in his eyes, she didn’t want to test those orders.
“Good.” He left, closing the door behind him. A moment later the outer door slammed shut.
Ilse ran and tried the latch. Locked, of course. She rattled the door and felt a stinging sensation. She jerked her hand back and rubbed it. Magic. There had been no magic in her rooms before Lord Kosenmark’s summons. None. She was sure of it. They must have prepared the locks during her interview with Hax and Kosenmark. They expected to arrest her.
But I did not do it. I did not.
Fury took hold of her. She pounded on the door. Someone shouted at her to leave off. Her answer was a shower of kicks and blows, until a burst of magic sent her flying across the room and into a bedpost.
She lay on the floor, bruised and breathless and her skin on fire.
“I didn’t do it,” she whispered. Then louder, “I’m not his spy. Not his. Not yours.”
She broke off, remembering the peculiar nature of this house. Not all the rooms had listening vents installed—Lord Kosenmark’s office was inviolate, and surely Hax’s rooms and office. But hers …
Ilse got to her feet, still unsteady from the magic, and made a careful examination of her room. Nothing hidden behind the tapestry of Lir. Nothing behind her wardrobe. She pulled up a corner of the carpet. The floor beneath was solid. Feeling foolish, she ran her fingers over the walls themselves, even the ones leading into her parlor. No chinks. No hollow sound when she knocked.
She leaned against the door, now quiescent, and released a long sigh. Doors, floors, walls …
Ceiling.
She looked up. There it was above the foot of her bed. A narrow recessed slot, covered with a metal grate. How had she missed it before? She climbed onto her bed, trying to get a better look, but the ceiling was too high, and the vent was a few feet beyond the end of the bed. She could see nothing but a dark hole behind its grate.
“Are you listening now?” she said to the vent.
Silence answered her. I’m a fool to think anyone could hear me.
She climbed down from her bed and paced the room, trying to think rationally about her situation. Lord Kosenmark had talked about further investigations. Did that mean he had
not yet decided her guilt? But what could they investigate? She had spent a few weeks starving on the streets, then found rescue at Lord Kosenmark’s pleasure house.
In frustration, Ilse rattled the door’s latch. Again, magic burned her fingers and palm. The doors, then, were impassable. Rubbing her hand, she went next to the windows. Gingerly, she tested the fastenings. Nothing bit or burned. Still cautious, she lifted the metal latch and pushed the windows open.
Fresh cold air blew against her hot face. In the distance, she heard Tiralien’s bells striking eight o’clock. A haze lay over the city, and the air smelled heavily of salt and mud and fish. More important, she discovered a drainpipe running along her window. Ilse looked down again to judge the distance and felt her stomach lurch. The courtyard’s paving stones, three stories below, suddenly looked very far away.
You said you would not run away again, whispered a voice inside her.
I said that when I believed that innocence was proof enough. Apparently it is not.
The next moment, a guard came into view. He glanced up. Ilse jumped back and shut the window. Lord Kosenmark had thought of everything. She’d have to wait until dark if she wanted to climb down the pipe. But at the thought of climbing down that narrow slippery pipe in the dark, she shuddered. It was no good. Even if she dared, the guards probably patrolled at night, too. Or someone else might see her, and report her escape.
Of course. She was not alone in this house. Runners sometimes came through the courtyard. With the coming of spring, the gardeners were out weeding and pruning and clearing away the winter’s dead leaves. It might even be Kathe, who sometimes walked through these gardens during her breaks. She would write a note, wait for someone to pass, and fire off her message.
One chance. Kosenmark would not give her another. She had to make it count.
She made another search of her rooms, this time with an eye for writing materials. At first, she was dismayed to find nothing. Then, behind her bed, she found a scrap of paper wedged between the bedpost and the wall. Evidently the chambermaid had missed it.
Passion Play Page 23
