Hanne called up a wan smile in return. “Thank you.”
The spider room was called such because its walls were hung with silvery lacework, shaped and gathered into cloud-shaped webs. A canopy over the bed was of filmy chiffon, dotted with miniscule diamonds to reflect lamplight. Ilse arranged dishes and other items on a side table. She was nearly done when she heard a heavy tread behind her.
“We must be early,” said a husky voice.
An older woman stood in the doorway—a tall, heavyset woman swathed in layers of ruby silks and gray wool. She had a strongly marked face, its deep creases emphasized by the lamplight. Ilse recognized Mistress Luise Ehrenalt, a high-ranking member of the silk weaver’s guild. Behind her came Adelaide, who glided into the room and laid a hand on Ehrenalt’s arm. “Come, Luise. The girl is just leaving. And we’ve your favorite— strawberries.”
Luise laughed. “You are my favorite, sweet. Or weren’t you listening to me?”
Their attention on each other, they ignored Ilse, who took up the now-empty tray and withdrew. When she had offered to take the tray for Hanne, she had not thought about seeing the courtesans or their clients. Now, as the door closed, she heard Luise’s throaty laugh and Adelaide’s murmured replies. How did Adelaide manage it? Was it truly as she told Kathe—that she saw Mistress Ehrenalt as just an audience? But Ilse had heard genuine affection in the courtesan’s voice, and now … now it did not sound as though she were acting.
I have to see how she does it.
Her heart beating faster, Ilse passed through another room and into the servants’ corridor, which ran between and around the private rooms. Kathe had mentioned spy holes her first day. Since then, Ilse had learned which rooms had them and how they were concealed. She checked in both directions and saw the corridor was empty. She set the tray on the floor and rose onto her toes to peer through the spy hole.
The spider web’s filmy hanging made everything hazy, but Ilse could make out two shadowy figures. Adelaide, taller and slimmer, was feeding strawberries to Luise Ehrenalt, caressing her face as she did. Luise caught her hand and kissed it. The next moment, the two moved swiftly to the bed.
Luise sank down. Still standing, Adelaide drew her tunic over her head and let the filmy cloth drift onto the floor. Lamplight accentuated her muscles as they slid beneath her radiant skin, reminding Ilse of Lord Kosenmark and how he moved. A royal courtesan. Some said she had pleasured Baerne of Angersee himself. And yet she had abandoned such a position to come here, to Tiralien.
Adelaide untied her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Ilse held herself still, hardly breathing. She had to see Adelaide’s face at the moment of passion. Did she pretend, as Ilse had? Was it possible to tell?
“What are you looking at?”
Ilse spun from the spy hole. Lord Kosenmark stood one pace behind her in the corridor, his face half-hidden by the dim light. Quickly, she knelt to pick up the tray. “My lord. I’m sorry I was dawdling. I didn’t mean to—”
Kosenmark stopped her with a gesture. “You’re weeping.”
She hadn’t known, couldn’t recall starting, but her cheeks were wet. More tears spilled when she jerked her head away, falling like stars. Kosenmark knelt in front of her, still a safe distance away. “What happened?”
“Nothing, my lord. I was … watching.”
“Why?”
Ilse hesitated and saw him frown. Gulping down a breath, she said, “To see how Adelaide managed it, my lord.”
“Because of what happened to you?”
She nodded. “I tried pretending. I said … I said I was willing. Once I even—” Her voice failed her then.
Kosenmark touched her arm. “Come with me,” he said softly, his tone entirely different from before. “I’ll have someone notify Greta where you are. Never mind about the tray.”
With a gentle pressure against her back, he guided her to the stairs and up to his office. There he paused and spoke briefly with the runner, who disappeared down the stairs. Ilse continued to weep. She could not stop seeing Alarik Brandt’s face, feeling him inside her, hearing herself cry out. She was dimly aware that Kosenmark had opened the door and was leading her inside.
He led her to the nearest chair. “Sit.”
She sank into the chair. A green light flickered at her right, a hint of magic’s scent curled through the air, then a brighter yellow halo sprang into life. No voices filtered from the rooms below. No music drifted up from the common rooms, which surely were open by now. Only the hiss of the sand glass as it turned to the next hour broke the hush.
Kosenmark pressed a cloth into her hands, a handkerchief, which smelled faintly of cedarwood. She blotted away the tears until the handkerchief was soaked. He took away the cloth then and held a wine cup to her lips. “Drink. Slowly.”
It was wine mixed with water. She tried to take the cup herself, but her hands were shaking badly. Kosenmark wrapped his hands around hers to steady them. “Please do not drop it,” he said mildly. “That is my favorite pattern.”
He was smiling. She tried to smile back, but she was sobbing too hard. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it, she told herself, then realized she was saying the words out loud. Kosenmark appeared unperturbed. He helped her to drink the wine, then took the cup away and sank onto the floor at her feet.
“Tell me,” he said, “was I right? Is your name Therez Zhalina?”
Ilse closed her eyes. “It was. Not any longer.”
“And your father is Petr Zhalina.”
She tensed and nodded.
“I’ve heard his name,” Kosenmark said. “He’s spent a fortune, they say, sending out messengers, offering rewards for news of what happened to you. Why did you leave?”
“My father wished me to marry. His choice, not mine.”
“And you disliked his choice?”
“I did. I met the man once. He frightened me, my lord. I can’t say why.”
“But your father didn’t listen.”
She opened her eyes. Kosenmark’s expression told her as little as his voice. “No, my lord. He said he would sign the contracts the next day. And there was no one who could argue with him.”
“I see,” Kosenmark said softly. “Who was the man?”
“Maester Theodr Galt. He controls the shipping contracts.”
Kosenmark’s only reaction was a sudden thinning of his mouth. “I know that man.” Pause. “Let me guess what else happened. When you discovered no one could help you, you packed a satchel with plain clothes and a few other belongings—whatever you could find in a hurry. You took some gold, and with it, you bought passage to Duenne.”
She blinked in surprise, and he smiled sadly. “Let us say that I was once faced with a similar choice. Similar but not the same. I had chosen my future, and my fears were those of second thoughts. In the end, I decided to stay. The following morning it was too late to undo that decision.”
He was talking about the night before they gelded him. It could be nothing else. “My lord …”
Kosenmark lifted a hand. “What plans did you have for Duenne?”
She covered her confusion by drinking deeply. Even watered, she could tell it was a fine vintage, this wine—light and golden, with hints of summer pears and lemons. A man who bought such wines would find her plans childish.
But he was waiting, patiently, for her answer. “My plans were very bad ones, my lord.”
“Possibly. Tell me, anyway. I promise not to laugh.”
So he guessed that as well. “My last night in Melnek, my father had a dinner party—the one where he introduced me to Maester Galt. A man named Baron Eckard was there, too. He talked about his time in Duenne, at court and in the city.”
Kosenmark gave a soft exclamation, but motioned for her to go on. She nodded, wet her lips with the wine. It was hard, painfully hard to recall that evening. How she had hoped its success would mean her chance to escape her father’s household. Laughter fluttered against her ribs. Oh, yes. It had been a success, and she had
escaped, only not in the way she expected. But Kosenmark was waiting for her answer.
“We talked, my lord,” she said. “At dinner, dancing. He and Baron Mann both said that in Duenne there were a thousand opportunities.”
“I shall have to warn Rudolfus about dangling such allurements in front of young girls. Why did you not ask him for help then?”
“My lord, why would he give me help? Besides, I didn’t hear of my father’s plans until after the dinner. My father said he would sign the marriage contract the next day. That was when I remembered what Baron Eckard said about Duenne. I was to go there in the summer, you see, to visit my cousin’s family. They couldn’t take me in, of course, not without telling my father, but I thought I might find a place as someone’s scribe—I write well and I know about trade and arithmetic and prices and goods. You do, if you grow up in a merchant’s family.”
He nodded. “Good plans so far. What happened to your money?”
“Someone stole most of it. Then the caravan master told me he knew my name. I tried to get away, but they caught me. The caravan master said he would send me back, unless I gave him a good reason to keep me.” Her breath came short at the memory of that exchange and its outcome. She swallowed and went on. “I couldn’t go back. Not to that house. I said I would do anything he asked.”
“I see. What was the caravan master’s name?”
Her mouth had gone dry again, just thinking of his name. “Alarik Brandt.”
Kosenmark said nothing. He appeared to be turning over her story in his thoughts. Ilse cradled the cup in her hands, watching his face but seeing nothing beyond his abstraction. Without looking up, he said, “I know your father by reputation, Therez. He would take you back, if you wished.”
“No.” Ilse flinched, spilling the wine. “No, my lord. Please. You don’t know what he’s like. Please, no.”
Kosenmark offered her another handkerchief. Still shaking, she dried her hands. “It was only a suggestion,” he said. “You have my promise that I will not force you to leave here.”
He crossed back to his desk where he poured wine for himself. When he returned, he sat in silence for a while, his expression thoughtful. “I have another suggestion,” he said at last. “Would you consider a change in your duties here? You said you wanted to work as a scribe. You could serve Maester Hax as his assistant.”
Ilse looked up, startled. “Why, my lord?”
“Because Maester Hax is growing old. Because I need someone with your skills in writing and language. Because whatever your father’s failings, he did educate you, which makes you a better scribe than a cook’s helper. Or do you prefer washing out pots and barrels?”
So he knew about that, too. She touched the minute cracks in her work-roughened palms. “But my lord, you don’t know me. How can you trust me?”
“I know you well enough. I’ve heard what Kathe and Greta say of your character, and I’ve observed you myself. The offer is not charity,” he added in the face of her continued silence. “I have more concerns than just this house, and Maester Hax needs someone to handle the everyday correspondence, so he can concentrate on more intricate matters. And you would not be running away, Mistress Ilse. Not this time.”
It made her skin prickle to hear her private thoughts spoken out loud. “How did you—?” Comprehension came at once. “You heard.”
Kosenmark shrugged. “You might as well say I spied on you. Yes, I heard, both the situation and your solution. You are not running away, Mistress Ilse, but moving on to the next challenge. Besides, it will give you money enough for Duenne, should you decide to go.”
He set his wine cup aside and held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand, which encompassed hers easily. His palm was callused, the rest smooth and warm to her touch. She felt a trace of magic’s current. Within came an easing of long tension. The sensation was painful, as though hope were a physical thing, too long kept imprisoned inside its cage, and only now unfolding after a very long time.
I have a choice. I can choose—not a new life entirely, but a next new step toward it.
Briefly, she thought of Lys and Rosel, and felt a twinge of misgiving. They would not take this new favor well. But then, she shook away the thought. “My lord, I am grateful … with the sweetness of true gratitude offered freely.”
A smile lit his face briefly. It was like a flare of sunlight on an already bright day. “And as freely returned. Now I remember you also like Tanja Duhr’s poetry. I shall take that as proof I chose well. Come. We begin tonight.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KOSENMARK WENT TO his inner rooms for a few moments and returned with a damp cloth and a comb, so that Ilse could make herself presentable. When she had finished, Kosenmark studied her with an appraising look. “Well enough. Now to Maester Hax.”
They arrived at Hax’s office just as he was clearing off his desk for the night. Hax paused and glanced from Ilse to Lord Kosenmark. “Are you paying a visit for pleasure or business?”
“Both,” Kosenmark said. “I’ve brought you an assistant.”
“Ah.” Another expressive glance. “Have you found my services lacking, my lord?”
For the first time, Kosenmark looked uneasy. “Do not argue with me, Berthold.”
“Why not? You like a good argument, or so you claim.”
“A worthy one, yes.”
“Which means you will not listen to my opinion.”
“I will. But not here, and not now.”
Ilse began to wish herself back in the kitchens with the rotten potatoes. She stirred, uneasy, and Hax glanced in her direction. “My lord, you are right. Not here and not now. Would you grant me an interview tomorrow morning? I find it’s easier to arrange my thoughts when I’m fresh.”
“You mean easier to argue back. Very well.” To Ilse, he said, “You will have a difficult master, you see.”
“Like student, like teacher,” Hax said under his breath.
“You see how he does not give up? Not really. He will argue with me for weeks now. Understand, it will have nothing to do with you, or how well you perform your duties. It will only be that he hates to lose. What was that, Berthold?”
“Nothing, my lord. Only that we ought to inform Mistress Raendl of the change.”
“Good. I thought you were beginning to repeat yourself. A sign of old age.”
“A sign that my lord has turned deaf. If you will excuse me, I should like a few words with my new assistant.”
“Then you agree?”
Hax smiled, but it was a stiff unhappy smile. “In form, if not in essence, my lord. Yes, I agree.”
Kosenmark shook his head and murmured something about needing to see to his visitors below. Hax watched him go with a long considering look. “Interesting,” he said. “And unexpected, though not surprising. So you asked for a promotion, Mistress Ilse?”
“No, sir. Lord Kosenmark offered one, and I accepted.”
“Hmmm. How did he come to make that offer?”
Out of kindness and pity, she thought. “Maester Hax …”
Hax waved a hand. “Never mind. You are being discreet. A good trait, especially in your new position. I would encourage it.” He paused and seemed to consider his next words. Ilse expected him to talk about her new duties, but Hax was shaking his head. “It will be very different, with you as my assistant. A challenge for us both, I believe. Very well. Report to me after nine tomorrow morning.”
A clear dismissal. Ilse curtsied awkwardly, not knowing what was correct. Hax seemed not to notice. When she glanced back from the foyer, he was staring off into a corner, his restless hands still.
* * *
SHE SLEPT BADLY and woke early, just as the bells began to peal the eighth hour. A floor above her, the large hour glass for Lord Kosenmark’s complicated timepiece would just be turning over, its chimes softly echoing those outside. The other girls still slept—they had worked hours longer than her, and would not wake for some time.
And yet it was too much like her escape from home, or from Brandt’s caravan, both undertaken in stealth. The practical side of her said that the girls wouldn’t thank her for waking them just to say good-bye. Besides, she wasn’t actually leaving the household.
Bedclothes rustled. Hanne sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Ilse? Where are you going? What happened?”
Ilse came to her bedside and whispered, “Nothing happened. Go to sleep, Hanne. It’s early.”
“But you never came back from the spider room. Then a runner came from Lord Kosenmark, and we heard you were never coming back. Lys said Lord Kosenmark dismissed you, but then Lord Kosenmark came and Mistress Raendl and Mistress Denk went off and didn’t come back for hours and …”
“I’m to work for Maester Hax now,” Ilse said.
Hanne stared. “Maester Hax?”
“Writing letters,” Ilse said, though she wasn’t certain what duties Maester Hax might give her, nor how much Hanne would understand of a secretary’s duties. She smiled and brushed the hair from Hanne’s forehead. The girl’s color was much better and she no longer felt fevered. “You know how much I like reading and writing and books. Did you ask about seeing Mistress Hedda?”
“Kathe gave me something. She said I was silly for not asking, and she was stupid for not seeing. But Ilse, it doesn’t make sense. How—”
“She found a better bed, Hanne. That’s what happened.”
Lys was sitting up in bed, hair tumbled around her shoulders. Ilse felt her stomach twist into a knot at the girl’s satisfied grin. You knew this would happen, she told herself. You expected it. Still, it took all her self-control to keep her expression bland.
“It’s true,” Lys said. “Isn’t it? You finally spread your legs wide enough, and someone fell in. Well, I’m glad to see you go. We all are.”
“Lys …” Dana groaned from her bed.
Passion Play Page 17