Passion Play

by Beth Bernobich

  He continued to murmur praise and nonsense alike until he was done. Ilse collapsed against the wall, unable to talk. The wine roiled in her stomach. She closed her eyes and fixed her thoughts on keeping it down. Nearby, she heard more splashing and grunts from Raul. He must be washing his own wounds. She wanted to ask how he did, but talking was too difficult.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Better,” she whispered.

  He gave a wheezing laugh. “You lie badly.”

  “That is what Lord Dedrick said.”

  “Ah, yes. Dedrick. You said he and Faulk found out a problem with our letters.”

  “Courier. Murdered. Knew it because Benno wrote you. No reply.”

  She heard him draw a sharp breath. “Benno wrote to me? Why?”

  “Khandarr. Summons to court. Left yesterday.”

  There was a brief silence, broken only by Raul’s quick breathing. Ilse opened her eyes. Raul’s mouth had a hard angry set. His face, still smeared with blood, made her stomach lurch with sudden fear. “So,” he said lightly. “Lord Khandarr has given us an answer to our petition, it appears.”

  He glanced toward the hole that served as a window. Another building blocked any view of the sky, but it was obvious that full night had arrived. Then, from very far away, Ilse heard the bells striking ten. “You should rest,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

  Against her protests, he covered her with the cleanest blanket and helped her to lie down. her head was spinning from the wine. Or was it because she’d lost so much blood? The fight seemed like a hundred years ago. She opened her mouth to tell Raul that he should rest himself, when she felt a light touch at her forehead, heard his voice whispering in magic, then nothing more.

  * * *

  HOURS LATER, HER sleep broke to the bells ringing. One. Two. Three. Much fainter, like a vibration in the air, came the quarter hour chimes. The echo persisted long past the bells, and then she realized she heard a voice, murmuring words in a strange language.

  Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm. Komen mir …

  “Stefan?”

  “What is it, Anike?”

  Raul’s voice sounded fuzzy. She shook her head to clear it and levered herself to a sitting position. One candle sputtered on the floor and by its light, she saw Raul Kosenmark sitting across the room, his back braced against the wall. Sweat coated his face. He’d taken off his shirt and was twisting around. With a muffled exclamation, he fell back against the wall. From the next room came an answering thump and a string of curses.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Ribs,” he panted. “Bruised. Cracked.”

  The candle flickered and died. Cursing softly, Raul lit a new candle, which smoked badly but remained alight. Five more lumps of wax, the remains of other candles, littered the floor. He must have remained awake the entire time, she thought.

  “Can you use your magic?” she asked. “You know healing.”

  “Know some.” He was twisting again, and now she saw he was trying to reach underneath his right arm. “Can’t quite reach—ah, that hurts.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, breathing hard. “I need to … touch. Otherwise no good.”

  He made another attempt to reach his ribs, his lips moving rapidly all the while. A rich green scent filled the air, and Ilse herself felt a wave of relief wash over her, but apparently the magic did Raul no good, because he broke off swearing loudly.

  “I’ll fetch a surgeon,” she said.

  “No!” Then more softly. “No, we’re safe enough, but only if we don’t attract attention. More attention, I should say. Right now the landlord thinks we are two drunks who got into a fight.”

  “Wine, then.”

  He shook his head. “I need my mind clear.”

  His color looked worse than before, and his skin was slick with sweat. When he glanced in her direction, his eyes were glassy with fever. “What about sending a message home?” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

  “No message,” he said. “Besides, I don’t trust anyone to deliver it.”

  A loud thumping sounded at the wall behind Raul. He shook his head. “Last hour they were fighting. The hour before that, they were making love, or something close to it. Ah—”

  He broke off with a hissing and closed his eyes. His lips moved again, but there was no change in the air. Was he going delirious?

  “Ilse …”

  “Yes, Raul.”

  “I … Ah … I need a very great favor.”

  “What is it?”

  “A way … with magic. Something Benno showed me. Might bother you.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  Raul wheezed out a laugh. “Good to know. Especially after I— Ah, damn it that hurts. Come here, then. Be careful of your arm. Closer. Put your hand right … there.”

  Ilse settled herself next to Raul, her injured arm draped over her lap. This close, she could see the dark ugly bruises mottling his chest and side. She had to lean into the crook of his arm and reach around to the injured ribs. Placing her hand over the bruises, she felt the bones slide beneath her fingers. Raul hissed, but when she started to draw back, he shook his head fiercely. “Keep your hand there. Please.”

  He shifted his weight. Ilse tried to relax against him. She almost jumped when he put his free arm around her shoulders.

  “You see why I asked?” he murmured.

  She nodded. “I see.” But they would need to be close if he was to guide the magic current from the air, into her, and then back into himself. Bracing herself, she rested her head against his chest. His breath stirred her hair as he whispered the summons for magic. He smelled of sweat and blood, with traces of wood smoke and cedar. His skin was softer than she had expected—smooth like a woman’s—but no one could mistake him for anything but male.

  Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm. Komen mir de maht. Komen mir de viur …

  Warmth fluttered inside her—warmth and the glimmering of desire. Just as she became aware of it, a flood of magic subsumed everything else. Her blood was alive, buzzing with magic. She could sense it flowing through the air, through Raul’s hands and into her body then back into him. His magic. Her magic. Theirs. Without thinking, she leaned her face against his chest. A warm soft touch against her hair. Raul had stopped speaking, but she heard the echo of his words inside her mind.

  Komen mir. Komen mir.

  Gradually the voice changed. She no longer felt Raul’s hand on her shoulder, nor his chest against her cheek. She was walking through a dark void filled with magic’s current. Bells rang out, high and clear, and overhead a hundred thousand voices sang a strange ethereal music. Here Toc had once walked, as he passed from life into death and back into life. Here, she could reach back into past lives. A lover’s face flickered past, dark and lean. She cupped her hands, seeing within her palms three bright spots of colors. Magic, stronger than she had ever imagined. She lifted her hands high and the points of color became flames …

  Ilse. Ilse, can you hear me?

  With a blink, her vision shifted from eternity. Her head spun from the sudden change. Sparks and specks of darkness whirled before her eyes, and she still heard the echo of music from the void. Gradually, these remnants of the magic faded, and she became aware of her surroundings. Raul still had his arm around her, and her cheek was against his bare chest, as though just a few moments had passed, but the candle had burned out, and a faint gray light streamed through the window.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  With his help, Ilse sat up. “Did it help?” she said, carefully avoiding his gaze.

  “Very much.”

  She glanced at his chest and away. His eye had swollen shut, but his color was much better, and he moved without obvious pain. “We should go,” he said. “It’s just past dawn, and we’ve mended enough to travel faster. Dedrick …”

  Belatedly she remembered Dedrick, his impulsive flight through the streets to lure Khan
darr’s men away. I forgot him entirely. Guilt brought her a fresh wave of queasiness.

  “He will have escaped or not,” Raul said. She noticed he carefully kept his gaze averted. “But once we are home I want to send a messenger to his father’s house.”

  Ilse closed her eyes. He might be dead, she thought. Wounded or taken prisoner. All because he loves this man.

  Both of them moving stiffly, they gathered up their belongings. Outside, the streets were empty. Wisps of fog blurred the corners and gutters and potholes. Closer to the river, it rolled over the banks, making it nearly impossible to see their footing. When Ilse stumbled and wrenched her sore knee, Raul supported her with an arm around her waist. “I’m sorry. We cannot stop to rest.”

  His arms were strong, and in spite of his words, he did not set a cruel pace, but before long, she was stumbling from weariness. Her arm throbbed, her head ached, and her knee buckled with every third step. She no longer could tell which direction to take and had to trust Raul to guide her. By the time they reached the pleasure house gates, the sun was up and the first delivery carts were making their rounds.

  Just as they came into view of the gates, two figures appeared behind the bars, their weapons ready. “Who is it?” one called out.

  “Lord Kosenmark and Mistress Ilse Zhalina.”

  The gates swung open, and the first guard ran out. “My lord. Let me help you.”

  Raul held up a hand. “Don’t leave your post. I’ll take care of Mistress Ilse myself. Send a runner to Captain Gerrit and tell him to double the guards right away.”

  Ilse vaguely heard shouts as the guards summoned a runner. Her head was swimming from pain and weariness. She could do little more than hang on to Raul with her good arm. He bent down, as though to lift her into his arms, then grunted and swore softly. “Just a few steps farther. I’m sorry I cannot carry you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “We are home.”

  “Home, yes.” She felt his chest shake with strange laughter. “Home for us both.”

  Holding her close, Raul brought her through the grounds and to the nearest door, which stood by the practice courtyard. The sun had risen above the house; the warm sweet scent of lilies drifted through the yard, and the dust of their passage hung in the air. It was as though they had stepped into a small quiet bubble, while far off she could hear the noise and shouts sparked by their arrival. There would be more noise and fussing inside, once Kathe and Mistress Hedda saw their condition.

  To her surprise, Raul Kosenmark did not open the door. “One moment,” he said softly. “And then we shall give ourselves over to the nurses and the surgeons. Can you stand, or do you need me to hold you?”

  She thought she would be numb to anything, after all the shocks and terrors of the previous night, but she found she was mistaken. Raul Kosenmark stood very close to her, and for a moment she could see nothing else in the world but his bruised face, his one eye swollen shut, the other like a great golden sun. “I can stand,” she said, not quite trusting her voice.

  “Liar,” he said, and leaned her against the wall. He took both her hands in his. “You saved my honor once before. Tonight you saved my life. Thank you, Anike.”

  His hands were warm, and she thought she could still catch a whiff of the magic he had worked hours ago. It made her giddy, or was that because of the blood she lost?

  “You do not need to thank me,” she said. Then she added, “Stefan.”

  At that he laughed. It was a raspy smothered laugh, but she heard his wonder and delight plain enough. “Oh, Anike, if only—”

  A clamor swept from the house, breaking the quiet. Ault and a crowd of guards appeared, followed by Kathe and Mistress Denk and more runners bearing a litter. Kathe took charge of Ilse at once, shooing away Raul. “We’ve sent for Mistress Hedda,” Kathe told her. “What happened?”

  Ilse shook her head. Above the din, she heard Raul giving an explanation to the rush of questions. Something about Ilse delivering a critical message. The appearance of brigands. All of it true, and yet not all the truth. Stefan and Anike were gone. Lord Kosenmark and Mistress Ilse had taken their place.

  And what if you were king? What would we call each other then?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE NEXT FEW hours passed in a confused jumble of faces and voices. At Mistress Hedda’s orders, Kathe took charge of Ilse. She soon had Ilse lying in her own bed, dressed in clean clothes and with most of the blood washed away. Within the hour, Mistress Hedda came to her side, and with Kathe assisting, she cleaned out Ilse’s many scrapes and cuts, muttering words like stupid and arrogant and reckless all the while.

  We were both stupid. Stupid and careless, Ilse thought hazily. Raul should have gone directly to Lady Theysson’s house instead of trying to lure out Khandarr’s agents himself. And she, she ought to have notified the watch the moment Lord Dedrick came with his news. But the watch patrols were stretched thin these past few weeks, with everyone clamoring for more patrols, and more guards, in every quarter of the city.

  Warm water splashed over the gash in her arm. A shock of pain went through her, and she cried out. Dimly she heard a commotion outside the door, but then Mistress Hedda’s face appeared above hers. Someone placed a knotted cloth between Ilse’s teeth. “Bite down.”

  Ilse bit down while more warm water flowed over her arm. A pause. Then the pungent scent of garlic filled the air. Mistress Hedda dabbed at the wound with a gentle touch, commenting, “Wine is well enough, I guess, if there’s nothing else, but for today, you’ll stink a bit so we can clean out the infection. Tomorrow we try rose tea. At least he knew better than to close the wound. Otherwise, I’d have to cut it open to pick out all the dirt and threads.”

  “How is he?” Ilse whispered.

  “Well enough,” Mistress Hedda said drily. “Better than he deserves. There’s a lovely long gash across his scalp. He’s been kicked and scratched and slashed and even bitten. I did work enough magic to open that eye, but he’s not so pretty right now.” She paused in winding a fresh bandage around Ilse’s arm. “He told me one of those thugs made a mess of his ribs, but that you helped him use magic to mend them enough so he could walk.”

  “A little.”

  “Interesting. Is that why Lord Kosenmark asked me to teach you magic?”

  Her pulse jumped in surprise. “When did he say that?”

  “Last hour. In between cursing me for scrubbing his tender scalp too hard.” Hedda set aside the roll of bandages, then carefully soaked a sponge in the garlic mixture. “Come. We must clean out these scratches and scrapes. Even the tiny ones can be death.”

  She worked with a gentle and sure touch. Still Ilse was trembling before she had done. “It didn’t hurt so much last night.”

  “You were too busy to notice,” Hedda said with a sympathetic smile. “And what with you and Lord Kosenmark working magic, that held off the worst of the aches. Which was lucky for both of you. Otherwise I doubt you or he would have lasted so long. You never told me that you knew magic.”

  “I don’t. Just a few words.”

  “Perhaps you had a talent in a previous life. That happens, you know.” Hedda patted Ilse’s skin dry with a fresh cloth. The garlic mixture stung, marking all her scrapes with pinpricks. Knuckles. Mouth. Knees. Palms. Her throat still hurt when she swallowed. Tentatively she ran her fingers over it. The flesh felt swollen, and she could almost feel the imprint of fingers around her throat.

  She glanced up to see Mistress Hedda shaking her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? Nothing more than you almost died.” Hedda took up a packet of herbs and fussed with it a moment, picking at the threads sewed along its top edge. In a softer voice, she said, “The first night you came to us, I said you had trusted someone too easily. Do not make that same mistake again. Lord Kosenmark …” She glanced up toward the ceiling to the vent over Ilse’s bed. “He asks a great deal of everyone,” she said distinctly. “Too mu
ch, in my opinion.”

  “He does the same with himself,” Ilse said.

  Hedda sighed and shook her head, but did not argue the point. “Well, you’ve had enough of nursing for now. Sleep. You won’t have much choice, I imagine. I’ll come back this afternoon to change these bandages. If we keep these wounds clear, you shouldn’t need more than a week in bed.”

  She gave Ilse a tonic, which sent her into a deep and dreamless sleep. It was late afternoon, the bells striking six, before she woke again. Someone had drawn the curtains, leaving only a thin gap where the setting sun streamed through. The air smelled of crushed herbs, and for a moment, she imagined herself back in Melnek. She turned her head toward the window, saw her tapestry of Lir, and remembered in a rush where she was.

  “Ilse?”

  A tall sinuous figure rose from the nearby bench and came to her bedside. Nadine, dressed for the evening in a costume of pale rose silks that flowed around her like a strangely colored waterfall, lit by the evening sun. She laid her hand over Ilse’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “Nadine.” Ilse coughed to clear her throat—it hurt less than before—and tried again. “Nadine, what are you doing here?”

  “Watching over you, oh foolish one. And a thankless chore it is, listening to you snore the afternoon away. Or rather a part of the afternoon. Kathe had the hour before me. Hanne watched before her. Mistress Hedda told us that we were not to leave you alone.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what? Why did we volunteer? Or why did you try to get yourself murdered?”

  It was too difficult to work through Nadine’s intricate nonsense. Why indeed? She opened and shut her mouth, suddenly overcome by a great apathy. Speaking was too much trouble. So was thinking. Her nose itched. She tried to scratch it, but her hands had turned heavy. Nadine delicately rubbed it for her, then fell to stroking Ilse’s hair. Soothing. Yes. That was all she wanted, to lie here with her eyes closed and let her thoughts drift without care.