Passion Play

by Beth Bernobich

  Ilse closed her eyes, trying to quell the sick feeling in her stomach. All around, the conversations bubbled to life. Eduard resumed playing the hammered strings, while Mikka accompanied him on the lap harp. Ilse heard Emma speaking to Faulk, telling him to make way, then the rustle of silks as someone took Raul’s empty seat. Warm steady hands placed a wine cup within hers. She caught a whiff of a familiar spicy perfume.

  “You must eat,” Nadine said. “Then drink some wine. You look ill.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Yes, you are.” Nadine picked up a roll and broke it into pieces. “Small wonder, with you working all day in a stuffy office. Here.” She fed the roll to Ilse in small bites, then followed that up with a few sips of wine. Gradually Ilse felt the tightness in her stomach ease. She accepted a chicken pastry and nibbled on that with more appetite.

  “Better,” Nadine said. She exchanged a glance with Emma, who looked concerned. “What say you, Lady Theysson? Should we send this child to her rooms?”

  “That is best,” Emma said. “And I’ll send word to Lord Kosenmark. He’ll come to you as soon as he finishes whatever business came up. You know that it’s business,” she added in a softer voice.

  They would not let her go, however, until she had eaten a few more pastries and finished off a glass of wine. “Kathe could send up a tray,” Nadine said as she walked with Ilse to the stairs. “But knowing you, you will forget to eat that as well. You are turning into Berthold Hax before your time. Shall I come with you? As a friend?”

  Ilse smiled at her delicate phrasing, and shook her head. “I’d rather be alone. Thank you, Nadine.”

  The fourth floor was quiet. Only the faint sounds of night insects came through the open windows of the landing, and within the office itself, the hush was absolute. As Ilse passed into the private rooms, she had the impression of passing into a void.

  The private rooms themselves reminded her of the house in miniature—rooms opening into other rooms giving way to a passage that angled between still other rooms—parlors and sitting rooms and even a tiny library the width of two chairs. When she had first come to the pleasure house, Ilse had not thought much about the rooms beyond Lord Kosenmark’s office. Her duties brought her there seldom, and when they did, she came only to deliver trays with meals or drinks, or to take away the dirty dishes. The chambermaids who cleaned the private rooms were silent girls, who did their work under Mistress Denk’s personal supervision. That first time she had gone to his bed, she had not looked anywhere but to him.

  At the center of the suite was a dressing room. Doors led off to a privy and washroom and various enormous closets. Ilse hesitated, then walked into the largest closet. She pressed her hand against a panel in the far wall.

  The panel slid open to reveal a long narrow room that ran along the entire side of this complex. Unlike the other rooms, it was bare of furniture. A few high windows let in light during the day. At night, rows of lamps illuminated the entire space, their light glancing over the many square grates set into the floors and walls.

  The listening room.

  Raul had shown her this room their second evening together. She could still remember his explanation of which pipes and grates led to which rooms. He used it still, she knew. No chambermaids cleaned here, and she could read which grates he visited by the footprints in the thin layer of dust upon the floor. She ticked off the rooms’ names as she passed. Kitchen. Common room. Several parlors used by the courtesans for particular clients. Her old bedroom.

  Ilse knelt beside one grate that showed no sign of recent use. Here in the middle of the corridor, she heard a soft susurration, the sound of air moving through the vents and pipes, as though the pleasure house were breathing.

  She pressed her ear against the grate. At first she heard only the pulse within her ear, then as she became accustomed to it, she heard the faint whisper of voices below. She turned her head slightly. Now the sounds were magnified, and she distinctly heard wine being poured.

  “… mistake to come here …”

  Dedrick’s voice. Ilse pulled away a moment. So she had guessed right.

  Her pulse beating faster, she listened again.

  “… going to Duenne. And so I thought—”

  “Your father is a wise man.”

  “My father had nothing to do with my going to court.” Dedrick drew an audible breath. Laughed softly. “My apologies. No, it was not my father’s doing. I decided, at last, to follow your advice and make myself useful to society and my family. I said it was best if I put a very great distance between us, Raul. Then last night, it came to me …”

  Ilse pulled away abruptly. Her head swimming, she pressed both hands against her eyes, while all around her the whispers echoed.

  * * *

  THE BELLS WERE striking twelve before Raul came into the bedroom. He carried a shaded lamp, which cast only a dim light at his feet, none on his face. When he saw Ilse, he stopped and drew back a step, as though surprised. “You were waiting for me?”

  She nodded.

  Raul tilted his head. “It was not what you thought.”

  “How do you know what I thought?”

  “From the way you are sitting here in the dark.”

  He set the lamp on a table and began to unbutton his shirt. He seemed preoccupied—not guilty or irritated or any of the emotions she would have guessed after such a meeting. Now that Raul was here, with her, she could see that Nadine was right. Whatever they discussed had to be business. Still Ilse could not rid herself of the memory of Dedrick’s tone when he first addressed his former lover. She wished she had listened longer, if only to dispel those doubts.

  So ask.

  I can’t.

  Why not? Don’t you trust him to answer?

  I do, but—

  Ilse took a deep breath. “Raul. Why did— Why did Dedrick come here tonight?”

  Raul glanced around. “To apologize. To say good-bye. Dedrick is going to Duenne next week.”

  She tried to pretend surprise. “That was a very long good-bye.”

  “He had a proposal to make. So I listened.”

  Raul continued to undress, his expression distracted, as though he was still turning over whatever he and Dedrick had discussed. Ilse watched him, taking pleasure in how he moved, in spite of the doubt nipping at her.

  “He loves you still, doesn’t he?” she asked quietly.

  Raul sighed. “I believe so. However, he brought me news I cannot ignore.”

  “News about Markus Khandarr?”

  “Among other things. Lady Alia had leave from the queen for a visit this spring. She mentioned to Dedrick in private that Armand and Khandarr both spend more time in the old wing of the palace. I know which section she means. Baerne had the court mages set layers of spells on those rooms so that no one could spy on them. It’s all very vague, of course, which makes me believe the news more than not.”

  Ilse shifted uneasily. “I … I heard something of what he said.”

  She felt, rather than saw, Raul’s glance. “I thought you might,” he said in a neutral tone. “But not everything?”

  “No. Not everything. I’m sorry.”

  He waved a hand. “No matter.”

  Ilse clasped her hands together, relaxed them. “What did Dedrick offer then?”

  Raul still had not approached her. Though he had professed not to care, she could see that he did care, deeply, that she had spied on him. Then he shrugged. Some of the stiffness left him, and he sat beside her on the bed. “To use his words, he offered to be my eyes and ears, where others had turned blind and deaf, out of concern for their own affairs. It’s risky,” he said, half to himself. “Khandarr knows about the connection between us. But he must also know that we are no longer together, which offers Dedrick some protection.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “I don’t know. I do know that Dedrick insisted. Said he would spy for me whether I agreed or not. So I agreed, if only to enforce some cau
tion. We had to work out a method and some channels for sending messages between here and there. That’s what took so long.”

  Ilse said nothing. She could only think that Dedrick had made this offer because he loved Raul, and he still had hope. And she hated herself for those thoughts.

  “You believe me?” Raul said, after a moment.

  “Of course.”

  “Then trust me. Don’t just sit there in angry submissive silence.”

  Ilse flinched. “Raul …”

  He rubbed his face and sighed again. “I’m sorry, that was not fair of me.”

  She reached out and caressed his bare shoulder. “No. Neither was I being fair to you.”

  I love you. I’m sorry. I forgive you. Please forgive me.

  Each anticipating the other, they pulled off their clothes and lay down. He was a skillful lover, she was desperate for physical release, and they both reached passion quickly. When she rolled from atop him, Raul kissed her softly upon her lips and cheeks and neck. But afterward, lying in his arms, Ilse felt the tension underneath his apparent calm, like a reflection of her own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  LORD DEDRICK SOON departed for the capital in state, attended by an entourage of servants, retainers, and younger relatives. His journey lasted a leisurely month. When he arrived, he sent letters to all his acquaintances in Tiralien, filled with descriptions of the road and half-humorous complaints about dreary inns, bad food, and the tedious business of establishing his own household in the palace.

  That was but a prelude, as Raul explained to Ilse.

  Next came a series of what Raul called the public letters, which contained the expected accounts of court life. These came infrequently, because Lord Dedrick, at Baron Maszuryn’s direction, spent most of his hours cultivating the more influential nobles at court.

  Once, Dedrick alluded to earlier times with Lord Kosenmark.

  “He’s hopeful,” Ilse said, reading Raul’s brusque reply.

  “He’s a foolish idiot,” Raul said drily. “But it works in our favor by distracting Markus.”

  Four months passed before the first of Dedrick’s private letters arrived. He wrote them in code on durable parchment, rolled them into narrow waxed tubes, and left the packages at various drop points in Duenne. Faulk collected them and forwarded the letters via his personal couriers to other agents throughout Veraene. Each of them added their own codes to the envelopes—security marks, Raul called them—and by these marks, Ilse could trace their routes through the kingdom.

  … It is just as Alia told me, in one of her more confiding moments. Armand claims to work toward peace when he speaks in the public assemblies, but in private, he is seeking allies for war. My personal informants have mentioned the old palace wing as their meeting place. Yes, my informants. I have managed to build a small network of agents within the palace. Some are disaffected councillors. Some, you will be surprised to hear, are associates of the queen herself. Yseulte is loyal to her husband, but sometimes, in private, to her innermost circle of ladies, she has expressed fear that Armand’s endeavors will leave behind a tangled legacy for his heir.…

  … We were right to suspect the old wing, but Armand proves himself too clever. (Unless it is Markus Khandarr who provides the cleverness.) Armand meets with one faction in the old wing, another during small intimate hunting parties, while a third or fourth visits his private suite in the evening. No one suspects yet, because each believes they are the only supporters.…

  … a difficult week and the most frustrating yet. The purpose, as you say, is war. But there must be more. For all Armand’s schemes and maneuvers, the majority of the Council do not support war without a just cause.…

  A period of silence followed. They had agreed upon an irregular schedule, Raul said, but Ilse could tell he worried. When at last, at summer’s end, a seventh letter appeared, brought by an itinerant knife sharpener, Raul appeared as worn and frayed as the letter itself.

  A well-traveled letter, as evidenced by its battered tube, stained by the red mud of the southern deltas, and steeped in the pine tang of northern forests. Once they were alone, Raul uncapped the tube and let the paper slide into his waiting hands. Even from a few feet away, Ilse felt the air tighten, and caught the faintest whiff of green. Dedrick’s signature. And keyed to Raul’s hand as the recipient.

  “He’s taking a great risk,” she said cautiously.

  Raul scanned the letter in silence, his frown deepening.

  “What news does Lord Dedrick have?”

  Raul handed her the letter without answering. By this time, Ilse could decode Dedrick’s letters without referring to the key, and she swiftly read through the pages.

  Benno makes very few appearance in court. He looks well enough on the surface, but his face lacks animation, and when we chance to encounter one another on the palace grounds, he excuses himself immediately. My informants can tell me little, except that Benno keeps to his rooms, or Lord Khandarr’s. It seems impossible to extract him from Khandarr’s hold, but Faulk promises he is working on that situation as well. In happier news, I can report a growing restlessness among the nobility.…

  “But does restless mean dissatisfied?” she murmured.

  “We can hope,” Raul said. “Read what he says about the troops.”

  Armand had recalled a third of the troops from the borders, she read, but he continued to demand higher than usual levies, and he refused to drop the many trade restrictions between Veraene and Károví.

  He says these measures keep us secure. He claims that troubling reports have reached him about Leos Dzavek’s intentions concerning relations between the kingdoms, ones we cannot ignore given past incursions by the northern prince.

  Raul smoothed out Dedrick’s letter and studied it, as though searching for clues in its stains and creases. “I don’t trust Armand. I especially do not trust Markus Khandarr.”

  Ilse stirred. “I cannot help thinking that we … that I made a very bad suggestion.”

  “About the book?” Raul smiled ruefully. “A year or more will tell us the answer to that. For now … I believe we made the best decision from a very bad lot.”

  * * *

  BY LATE SUMMER the flow of correspondence, both public and private, slowed to a trickle, then died off into silence. Raul grew more anxious as the weeks passed, until Ilse thought everyone must perceive it, from Mistress Denk to the newest chambermaid.

  This afternoon, as they faced each other at weapons drill, she could see his thoughts were absent—not upon her, or his weapon, not even on Benedickt Ault, who studied them with narrowed eyes. Perhaps it was best that they used wooden swords today.

  They touched blades and waited for Ault’s command.

  “Begin!”

  Raul lunged forward in attack. Ilse met his first blow, then sidestepped to avoid the next, using the new sequence Ault had taught her the week before. A rapid give-and-take followed, and to her surprise, Ilse nearly got a touch on him. She circled around, trying to draw his attention with a series of quick thrusts at his knees and then head. Make him work, she thought. Make him think about now, here. About Tiralien and not Duenne.

  She sighted an opening and lunged forward, sliding her blade past his. “Death,” she said, gasping.

  Raul glanced down at the sword point against his chest. “Death for us both, my love.”

  Something blunt pressed her side—Raul’s blade, angled upward, beneath hers. She had been so intent upon her attack, she had neglected her own defense.

  Ault came striding up, his disgust plain. “You cannot rely upon one or two good techniques,” he told Ilse. “And your performance, my lord, was inexcusable. I need not say more.” He drew a deep breath, regarded them both coldly. “Tomorrow we try a new approach. Separate sessions. Different drill patterns. Give me a month, then I’ll set you against each other.”

  He dismissed them, telling Ilse to report for the first session the next morning. Lord Kosenmark would drill later, in
the afternoon.

  “I don’t like it,” Raul said later, as they bathed together. “You might do me an injury at our next drill together. Or worse.”

  “You will survive,” Ilse said. She poured handfuls of water over his back to rinse away the suds. It was so good to see him smiling, relaxed, she didn’t care about the separate drills.

  “What about you?”

  “I will survive.”

  “Cold unfeeling woman,” he said, his voice going husky.

  It had been weeks and months since they last made love. Oh yes, they kissed each other and held each other. Ilse even knew that passion had not died. It ran in deep strong currents, even while Dedrick’s silence made the air thick with tension. But now and now and now … The old songs ran through her thoughts as she kissed Raul with a fierce desire.

  “Now and now and now,” he whispered. “My love is now and forever. My love is yesterday and tomorrow.”

  They held hands as they ran up the stairs to the fourth floor and their private rooms. A runner overtook them on the third landing. “My lord,” she called out, breathless. “Visitors. Lady Theysson and Lord Iani.”

  Ilse gripped Raul’s hand. Lord Iani? Here?

  Raul had gone stone-still. He blinked, then seemed to recover himself. “Where did Mistress Denk put them? The Rose Parlor. Good. Send refreshments, and tell them we come at once.”

  The runner sped away. Raul paused a moment, his hand over his face. Ilse touched his shoulder, felt the slight tremble as his control wavered. “There can be nothing good,” he whispered. “Nothing.”

  “No,” she said. “But we must not shrink away from it.”

  He dropped his hand and managed a shaky smile. “Indeed. Let us go see what Benno has to say.”

  In the Rose Parlor, Benno Iani sat on a brocade-covered divan, his head resting in both hands. Emma Theysson sat close beside him, one arm draped around his shoulder. A tray with wines, coffee, and strong spirits stood untouched on the table before them.