Passion Play

by Beth Bernobich

  * * *

  MORNING CAME WITH the pale sunlight glancing through the windows. Ilse woke to find Raul studying her with wide golden eyes. Like twin suns, she thought. Like Toc’s points of lights, when he opened his eyes to Lir. Her heart contracted at the thought. We are, both of us, Toc, sacrificing our sight to our beloved.

  Then Raul sighed and closed his eyes, turning away from her.

  “You said you would never run away again.”

  “You said you would never lock me in a cage,” she replied.

  His only answer was a helpless gesture, hand turned outward.

  Raul said nothing more about it for the rest of the day, but Ilse watched the minute changes in his expression throughout the morning and afternoon. She saw how he winced at times, as though catching himself on an invisible wound. Her own eyes were dry. Her grief hidden within, the tears filling her heart until she thought it might burst.

  When twilight was falling, she led him outside to the wilderness gardens, where the servants had spread thick carpets over the grass. They leaned against the tree trunks and gazed upward at the star-speckled skies. Ilse knew there were guards about them, but they had withdrawn to a discreet distance. She and Raul would have at least this small circle of privacy outside.

  “Even here,” he murmured.

  “What about here?” She could feel his heartbeat, quick and strong, against his chest. If she left him—once she left him—she would miss this the most.

  “Even here we are not really outside. I sometimes wonder what it would be like if we, just the two of us, vanished into the hills for a month.”

  “Wouldn’t we be hungry?”

  “I would hunt for you. And you could bring your stone knife.”

  “My famous stone knife. I lost it my first night in Tiralien.”

  “And I didn’t buy you another? How careless of me.”

  A leaf whirled through the air, landing at their feet. Another one followed. Autumn was approaching, the warm mild autumn of the southern coast. Though as Josef often reminded them, Tiralien was the north to him. He, like Raul, came from the hot southwest provinces, where winter was a wet and stormy season.

  “Winter soon,” Raul said, echoing her thoughts. “Two years since you came to me.”

  “I arrived twice, I think,” she said. “Once at your door, and once at your heart.”

  Raul was silent a moment, but his breath felt shaky against her hair.

  “You are right. I did promise never to lock you in a cage.”

  He spoke in a whisper so soft she could barely make out the words.

  “I meant that,” he went on, still in that faint whisper. “But what I said before is true. Markus needs no excuse to murder you. He would do it to remind me he can. To remind others. At least if you remain here, I have a chance to protect you.”

  Ilse reached up and touched his cheek. It was wet with tears. “But if I stayed with you, you would be just as much a prisoner then, my love. You would be like Toc without his eyes, only there would be no sun and stars, and that I could not bear.”

  He buried his face in her hair and held her close. “I would make you my queen if I could.”

  She had known that from the start. But a wish could not change their lives.

  We’ve had lives before, she thought. I remember them all now. You were a diplomat, a spy, a pirate in Andelizien. I was a princess, a scholar, a bonded servant, and mage. And once we sailed together to that new world called Morennioù. If the poets and scholars are right, then we shall find each other again, if not with these lives, then in the next. By choice. By fate.

  Forcing herself to speak steadily, she said, “I do not wish to go, but I must. Once I do, you must make new plans.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Promise me. Stop Khandarr. Persuade Armand. Something. Or else we live apart forever.” Her voice failed at the last word. “I hate this, Raul. But you see how I’m right. We cannot pretend any longer that we are safe here. We must act. You must act.”

  He shivered in her embrace. “You … you are inexorable.”

  “Part of my charm.”

  He shook in silent laughter that poised on the verge of grief. “What about you? How will you spend your days, then? Not hiding in silence. That’s not like you.”

  Ilse suppressed a start. Ah, he knew her too well. I want to study magic, she thought. More magic. I want to learn what Mistress Hedda refused to teach me—how to cross into Anderswar in the flesh. Then I can search for the jewels myself and …

  What came after discovery, if discovery, she had not decided yet. But the jewels were the key to ending the wars, the key to forging … not a true peace. That would only come with a change of kings on both sides. But finding them was a start. And the task had to be one she carried through alone.

  Raul stirred, restless. She kissed his shoulder, his neck. “I don’t know yet.”

  A brief hesitation, as though he detected the lie. Then, “Will you come back?”

  “Raul, I can’t promise anything. Neither can you.”

  “When?” he said again, his voice going thin and sharp.

  She held him tight. Tighter. Now is the mother of When, she thought. And if tomorrow runs toward us, let it run swiftly.

  “I will come back,” she said. “When everything is right.”

  If the gods were kind. If he would have her still.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THEY DISCUSSED HIS future intentions, her departure, just as they had discussed politics or poetry or the interwoven threads of history, magic, and passion.

  “Shall we start with your plans or mine?” Raul asked.

  “Yours,” Ilse said. “Mine are indefinite.”

  “As indefinite as the ocean mist,” Raul said lightly, “or the winter rain clouds drifting up toward the sun. Though Tanja Duhr reminds us that the ephemeral is not necessary intangible. All poetry aside, I have only the vaguest of notions yet. Do you wish to know them?”

  She shrugged. “The question isn’t whether I want to know—I do—but whether my knowing is safe. Or useful.”

  He studied her several long moments, and she had the impression of a dormant fire behind those golden eyes—as though he had buried his passion. Barely. She could sense the heat flickering against her skin. If he chose, he might awaken the embers and burn through all her defenses in a moment. But then his lids sank to half-slits, the warmth receded, and she found she could breathe more easily.

  “Tell me what might be important,” she said.

  “Ah, that. Well, I thought I might build a new shadow court. Not here, but in Károví.”

  Startled, she opened her mouth to ask a dozen questions. She stopped herself.

  “No curiosity?” he asked, half-smiling. “Or rather, you don’t want to know.”

  “I do,” she confessed. “But I don’t know—I won’t—”

  “Neither do I,” Raul said softly. “Call it instinct, or inclination. I think it’s time we paid attention to those who serve the kings, instead of the kings themselves. One rock cannot halt the running tide. Just so, a single man cannot contain the flood of history. We must build our bulwark against war using many grains of sand.”

  Starting with Duke Feliks Markov or Duke Miro Karasek, Ilse thought. Both were long-standing members of the Imperial Council who shared responsibility for the armies. Karasek was more popular, but Markov was older, he’d advised the king decades longer. Rumor said that if Dzavek were to die, Markov had the larger faction and could take the throne. She wanted to ask how Raul intended to approach them. What assurances he would give them. (Because they would surely demand them.) What he meant to do with Simkov’s book, if anything.

  But no, if she asked him those questions, he would expect answers to his.

  Raul watched her intently, as though he could guess the link and chain of her thoughts. “Your turn,” he said.

  Uncertain, she said, “What do you wish to know?”

  “Very little.”
/>
  “Liar,” she breathed.

  That provoked a tentative smile. “True. But let us confine ourselves to where you plan to spend the next months or years away from me. Will you grant me that much interference?”

  Her heart gave a ping of grief. She contained it. “Yes. It’s only fair.”

  They had been sitting on opposite sides of the desk, just as they had during her first interview. Raul stood and spread a detailed map of the continent over his desk. Ilse came around the desk and stood by his side. She knew this map well. Raul had commissioned it before leaving Duenne, and the mapmaker, an artist as well as craftsman, had created a work of exquisite precision. Different-color inks marked the political borders and differences in terrain—light brown lettering for the Ysterien kingdom in the far southwest, dark blue for Duenne and its environs in the central plains, and vivid green to represent cities along the east coast. Károví, too, was rendered in perfect detail from the green breadth of Duszranjo Valley set within the Železny Mountains to the silvery-gray that marked the snow-dusted plains stretching north of Rastov. Ilse ran her fingers over the point east and north where, if the legends were true, Lir and Toc created the world in their season of love.

  Raul, too, studied the map. Once or twice, he touched a city’s name, shook his head, and let his fingers glide past.

  “You have an idea?” Ilse asked him.

  “Yes. No. My instincts suggest a city on the eastern coast.” He glanced at her. “However, I suspect those are not instincts, but selfish desire.”

  Ilse touched his hand, which hovered close to hers. “Your instincts are not entirely wrong. But I cannot choose a home too close to Tiralien. That might provoke suspicion.”

  “Markus will be suspicious no matter what.”

  All their discussions came back to that concern. After some debate, Ilse had proposed that she find work as a secretary or clerk. Her newly acquired fortune made it unnecessary, but she wanted to keep her mind and hands busy, and both agreed that would create a more convincing impression of her building a separate life.

  Raul made another circuit of the map with his fingers. North. South. The western provinces. “What about Melnek? It might look more natural if—”

  “No.”

  He breathed a sigh. “It was just a suggestion. You have friends as well as family in Melnek. More important, Baron Eckard resides there. He can provide some measure of protection.”

  “I cannot,” she murmured. “Find another way.”

  City by city, they examined the map. Matsurian and Tegel, on the southern coast, both had high transient populations, which worked in her favor. But Raul disliked the distance—a month by ship, two months by fast horses. Klee, another port city, was closer, but its sweltering climate often bred contagion, and Raul had no agents or friends or associates there whom he trusted.

  Ilse ran her fingers along the coast, past Matsurian and Tegel and Luzzien, until she came to the province marked Valentain.

  “That remains a choice,” Raul whispered in her ear.

  “No,” she said softly. “We must not tempt each other.”

  Back to Tiralien then, to examine the cities nearby. Leniz was a garrison town a week’s ride south of Tiralien. Compared to Tiralien, it offered little unless she took up soldiering. North was Idar-Alszen, a market port that served as an interim stop between Melnek and Tiralien. Back south, beyond Leniz to Osterling Keep.

  “Osterling,” she said, half to herself.

  Raul, who had been studying the northern provinces, glanced up. “What about Osterling?”

  Ilse touched the gold circle marking Osterling Keep, which lay between Leniz and Klee, on a point of land jutting into the sea. A range of hills covered most of the point, except for a highway along the coast. It was not a large city, but Lord Joannis, the regional governor, had chosen it for his seat, and it served as an important garrison and watch point for the coast.

  “Good positions would be plentiful,” she said. “And if there’s anyone from your shadow court with greater official influence than Nicol Joannis, you never told me their name. I should be safer there than in any other city. Unless you believe Dedrick gave away Joannis.”

  “Dedrick knew nothing about him. Therefore …”

  “Therefore we guess that Lord Khandarr has learned nothing since. What about Benno?”

  “Benno swears Markus used no magic on him. We cannot be certain, of course, but every choice carries its own risk.” He traced a route along the Gallenz River, then southeast, through the hills, to the point next to Osterling’s name. “Three weeks by coach, following the highway. Ten days by an adventurous horseman—if that horseman has a change of mounts, and isn’t afraid of cutting through swamps and hills and wilderness.”

  “Are you adventurous?”

  “At times.” His finger edged closer to hers. “And it would comfort me to know you were not half a continent away. What do you say?”

  She drew a long breath, considering the matter. “Osterling. Yes. That would be good.”

  * * *

  BY UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT, they left further plans for another week. In between weapons drills and managing the pleasure house, they gave themselves over to the silent exploration of each other’s bodies. Something of their mood bled through the rest of the pleasure house. Eduard and Mikka quarreled, Johanna wept between customers, and Nadine turned a closed face to the world. Even Kathe showed signs of prickliness.

  “Will you change your name?” Raul asked her at breakfast.

  Ilse paused in drinking her coffee. “Should I?”

  “I don’t know. It might give you some scant privacy. On the other hand, if Khandarr’s spies track you down, changing your name implies you wished to hide something.”

  She considered it a moment. “I’ll keep my name. Better if he thinks I’m acting openly.”

  Raul nodded. “You are Ilse Zhalina, then. Lately of Tiralien and now seeking employment in Osterling Keep. Shall I write a letter of recommendation?”

  They both smiled tentatively.

  “The next point,” Raul said. “Why are you leaving me?”

  Ilse blew out a breath. “Because of me. Something I did.”

  “No,” he said roughly. “Not that.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Ilse studied her coffee cup, as though she might find answers in its dregs. What might drive two lovers apart? It could not be a sudden thing, or Khandarr would disbelieve it at once. It would have to be a difference rooted in her nature and Raul’s, something they could not overcome with logic or debate or simple passion.

  “Children,” she said abruptly. “I wanted my own children.”

  Raul visibly paled. “That’s … a very good reason. So we start a rumor that you became disgusted with my shortcomings.”

  “Not disgusted,” she said hurriedly. “Frustrated, perhaps.”

  His gaze flicked toward hers, then away. “I could understand that.”

  Another silence, while Raul rubbed his hands together. Ilse instinctively reached toward him, but let her hand drop. We have only got to the truth by telling lies, she thought, watching his face as his expression grew more remote.

  “Raul …” she said softly.

  He nodded absently. “I am here. Thinking. We must convince everyone in this house as well, or our plans are worthless. Let me spend a few evenings away. Lord Vieth invited us to his estates for the hunting season. I’ll go alone.”

  “A good idea,” she said carefully. “When you come back, we can have an argument.”

  “Very well.” Now he glanced toward her. “Shall I take a lover?”

  Again that high fey tone.

  “Do you want to?”

  “No. Never.”

  He reached across the table and gripped her hands.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “Too much,” he said thickly. “Why not marry me and forget the world?”

  “Because we are Ilse and Raul. Because we must be true to ou
rselves.”

  * * *

  RAUL LEFT THE next morning for two weeks with Lord Vieth and several of the governor’s household. During his absence, Ilse moved all her belongings to her old rooms. Mistress Denk said nothing, except to ask if Mistress Ilse wished any assistance.

  “None,” Ilse said, as calmly as she could. “Thank you. I would rather do the work myself.”

  She heard whispers, whenever she passed through the public rooms. Stares, quickly averted. Conversations broken off. A sense of unnatural restraint from those she loved the most. Raul had told her they must lie to their friends. She had not realized how difficult it would be.

  The worst, the most difficult moments were with Kathe.

  “Why did Lord Kosenmark leave without you?” Kathe said.

  She had brought Ilse’s supper tray herself. But her manner was odd and awkward, with none of the friendly chatter from before.

  “He went hunting,” Ilse said. “Lord Vieth invited him.”

  Kathe frowned as she laid out the dishes. “I know that. Why didn’t you go with him?”

  “He wanted time alone. To think about Lord Dedrick.”

  “Strange,” Kathe murmured. “Not what I expected him to want.”

  She curtsied and withdrew, leaving Ilse to pick at her food without any appetite. There was some truth in what she told Kathe. Lord Dedrick’s death was the reason behind this dreadful charade. If Khandarr had not executed him, she and Raul might be together this very moment.

  By afternoon she had recovered her nerve. A courier had brought a packet from Melnek. Ilse reviewed the latest papers from her brother. Her share of the inheritance came to twenty-three thousand gold denier. As she had requested, Ehren had sold off several of their farms and deposited the money with Lord Kosenmark’s agent in Tiralien. He had also signed over several other holdings; she would receive the rents and interest quarterly.

  I am rich. I could live wherever I wanted.

  She had her wish from long ago, when she had lived in her father’s house. The thought made her queasy. She sighed and poured herself a cup of strong tea, then reviewed the list of agents Raul had drawn up. There were three whom Raul recommended as the most reliable—Maester Harro Stangel, Mistress Emma Beck, and Maester Felix Massow. All of them had connections throughout the eastern provinces. Felix Massow had offices in Duenne as well, while Emma Beck had associates near Károví.