Passion Play

by Beth Bernobich

  Without looking up, Emma said, “Benno came last night. He rode straight from Duenne to here in ten days. I made him sleep until he could not sleep any more. He—” Her voice shook. “He brought you a letter.”

  At the word letter, Iani dropped his hands to his knees. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin blotchy and rough. For a moment, he stared at Raul, his gaze unfocused, then he smiled faintly. “Yes, I brought a letter for you, Raul. From our friend Markus.”

  Raul inhaled sharply. “Why did Armand release you, Benno?”

  Iani shook his head, still smiling. “Armand had nothing to do with it, my friend. It was Markus Khandarr who released me. That’s how the court works, you know. Khandarr speaks, the king obeys. I kept disbelieving it, and so does everyone else. Otherwise the entire court would—” He broke off, frowning at his hands.

  “Was he like this last night?” Raul asked Emma.

  She met his gaze with hard bright eyes. “Oh no. Last night he couldn’t speak at all. Khandarr wouldn’t let him.”

  Iani shuddered. “I told him. I told Markus that one man should not have that much power. No one.” Again he blinked, as though trying to clear his vision. “Khandarr struck me then. Odd how he likes to use his hands instead of magic, or magic when hands would do. Ah love, I should not have told you that part,” he said softly to Emma, who had begun to weep. “I will survive.”

  “What happened?” Raul said, just as softly as before.

  “Treachery,” Iani whispered. “Ambition. The ingredients of any court. A heady mixture edged with poison.” He paused, chafed his hands. “No, let me tell it properly. From that first day, when I arrived in court. Markus Khandarr summoned me at once to his private chambers. He said that if I practiced magic without his permission, especially if I crossed into Anderswar, that he would have Armand execute me for treason.”

  “He is a monster,” Raul said, his voice close to breaking. “I knew that years ago. Benno, you have not answered my first question. Why did Markus let you come back to Tiralien?”

  “To bring you a letter. A very important letter. Here, read it. I know the news—he made me watch—but I will not … I cannot not say it. Not yet.”

  Iani slid an envelope from his shirt and offered it to Raul. Even a few steps away, Ilse could see that it was thick expensive parchment, the color of new cream. Warily, Raul leaned over the table and took the envelope from Iani. Almost at once, he gave a startled exclamation and dropped it.

  “What is wrong?” Ilse said.

  Raul did not move except to rub his hands together, over and over until Ilse’s skin crawled. Emma Theysson was silent. Lord Iani waited with preternatural patience. Finally Ilse bent down and picked up the letter from the carpet.

  Magic. Magic so thick and strong it stung her fingers. She recognized the signature, too—Markus Khandarr’s.

  Silently, she handed the letter to Raul. “Open it,” she whispered.

  He took it, shuddering. When he broke the seal, light flared along the paper’s edge, and Ilse felt a gust of air against her face. Raul gave no sign that the magic had affected him, but she could see the effort it took for him to fold back the flap and open the letter. She caught a glimpse of a few short paragraphs written in a square black script, before Raul turned the letter so that only he could read it.

  His jaw tightened. Then, abruptly, his face turned gray.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Lord Dedrick has …” Raul spoke with obvious difficulty. “This is a letter to inform me that Lord Dedrick died two weeks ago. He … chose to ride a stallion that he could not master and lost control. The stallion pitched him over the side of a cliff onto the rocks below. Lord Khandarr wished me to hear the sad news as quickly as possible.”

  Ilse reached toward him, but Raul shrugged away from her touch. “There’s more.”

  Of course. There was always more. “Go on.”

  “When questioned, Lord Dedrick admitted that he and I had been lovers. He also admitted that he loved me still, in spite of how I betrayed him, and would do anything to regain my affections.”

  “That was hardly a secret—”

  “No.” Raul smiled thinly. “But Markus likes to hear people confess their secrets. I learned that in court.” Then he glanced at the letter, and his face went blanker than before. “Would you like to hear the rest?”

  She wanted to wrap him tightly in her arms and shut away the world, but he was beyond any such refuge now. “Tell me,” she said as calmly as she could. “What else does the letter say?”

  “He said he knew about Dedrick’s spying. He knows everything about our couriers and our agents. Faulk is dead, by the way. So are Faulk’s brother and Rusza Selig. You might not know her name—”

  “I know her.” A round-faced woman who had a deep gurgling laugh. Dead now.

  “She was a merchant,” Raul went on, ignoring the interruption. “She carried letters for us sometimes. The charge for all of them was possession of treasonous documents. Armand had them executed and their bodies thrown into the garbage pits. He even mentions you, my love.”

  Ilse’s throat closed. Of course he would. She and Raul had not hidden their love from the world. Quite the opposite. “What does he say about me?”

  “He remembers you from Lord Vieth’s banquet last winter. He also questioned Dedrick about everyone in this household, and of course, poor Dedrick could not hide anything. He said …” Raul paused and closed his eyes. “He said I loved a woman named Ilse Zhalina, beyond all reason and hope and honor.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A LENGTHY SILENCE followed, broken only by Benno Iani’s labored breathing. Finally Raul crumpled Markus Khandarr’s letter into a ball and set it upon the table. “Tell me what happened, Benno. Tell me every detail, even the ones you can’t bear to remember. Especially those.”

  “No,” said Emma Theysson, her voice rough with anger. “Benno is too ill to play your games. He ought to be sleeping except—”

  “Except he came to give his report,” Raul said softly. “And give it he must.”

  Emma Theysson glared at Raul, who met her gaze steadily. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “I’m not the one insisting upon it. Lord Khandarr is the one.”

  Iani was nodding. “Raul is right, Emma. I must tell him. I must.” He picked up his coffee cup with trembling hands and drank deeply. Lady Theysson steadied his arm, glancing toward Raul as though to gauge his reaction, but Raul’s face was impassive.

  Iani drained his cup, then rinsed his mouth with water. “Officially the king summoned me to court,” he said at last. “But you know it was Lord Khandarr who gave the command. He kept me under close watch the entire time, and ordered me to halt any magic studies except those he approved. In short, he made me a hostage.”

  He drew a deep breath, as though to collect himself. Emma Theysson poured spirits into a wine cup, but Iani waved the cup away. His looks had noticeably improved in just moments—his hands were steady, his eyes clear and alert. Ilse’s skin prickled with the realization that Khandarr had bound his magic into Iani’s person, like a poison. Speaking was the antidote.

  Iani went on. “And so we lived through the autumn and winter. Then Lord Dedrick arrived. Khandarr set spies on him at once. Of course, he knew that you and Dedrick had broken off, and he knew about Mistress Ilse. I had hoped those together would make him careless, but no.”

  “Markus was never careless,” Emma Theysson said bitterly.

  Raul made an impatient gesture. “Keep going, Benno. Everything, remember.”

  Iani nodded. “Everything. Yes. Well, Lord Dedrick was cautious at first. He visited only those whom his father had selected as appropriate colleagues and mentors. He attended only the unexceptional gatherings. And though he acknowledged me in public, he never tried to write me privately, or visit my rooms.”

  “What gave him away?” Emma said.

  Iani spread his hands. “Nothing. Everything. Lord Khandarr intercepted all the publi
c letters. I know because he told me. Nothing in them, he railed, but lies and misdirection. But he also knew that you like secrets as much as he does, Raul. So he kept a watch. Who knows what happened next? Perhaps Khandarr’s spies overheard a careless word between Lord Dedrick and his agents. Perhaps Khandarr had him followed every moment, because suspicion is his nature. I only know that they arrested Lord Dedrick with a letter to Raul in his hands.”

  Their faces all turned toward him at the same time. “Which letter?” Emma demanded. “Benno, you never told me—”

  Iani massaged his throat, looking puzzled. “I could not. Not until I spoke with Lord Kosenmark. But it was because of the letter they arrested him.”

  “What did Dedrick say in that letter?” Raul said. His voice sounded thick, almost masculine.

  “He wrote …” Iani struggled to speak, as though he fought against an invisible compulsion. Clearly, this was not part of Markus Khandarr’s scripted report. “He wrote about Armand’s plans to charge Lord Kosenmark with treason. Armand intended to send Markus himself to Tiralien with a squad of soldiers. They were to arrest you in secret and search your house for the evidence.”

  For Simkov’s book, Ilse thought. For the key to finding Lir’s jewels.

  “Once he found the jewels, he knew Dzavek would attack. Then Armand would need no justification for war, because war would come to him. Lord Dedrick forgot all caution, it seems, and hurried straight with his letter to Faulk’s rooms.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Ilse felt a cold sickness in her stomach. Emma was hugging herself. Raul sat stiffly, his face gray. “What else?” he said.

  “Just the interrogation.”

  “Go on then.”

  In short blunt phrases, Iani told how the guards dragged Lord Dedrick to the prison where Markus Khandarr waited. Iani had attended as his witness. The interrogation was brief but painful.

  “Khandarr used magic to force the truth from him,” he said with a shudder. “Dedrick tried clamping his mouth shut, but it was like fingers forcing his lips open. Invisible magical fingers that did whatever Markus ordered. And then the words. They … they crawled out of his mouth like worms. All about you. About your work here.”

  “Markus knew already,” Raul murmured. “He must have.”

  “He suspected. Now he has proof. But not the proof he wanted.”

  “What do you mean?” Ilse said.

  “Ah, the spell was for truth, you see. And so Dedrick could not invent any treasons. He could only repeat the words you always used whenever Luise or Emma or I urged you to take the crown. I am the duke’s son. I am sworn to loyalty. I cannot and will not act against the king, unless the king himself acts against Veraene. And that he has not done.”

  “Ah.” Raul pressed his hands together. “Those words.”

  “Khandarr was furious,” Iani said. “He called up magic so thick that I could hardly breathe. Dedrick fought hard against it. Gods, I thought his throat would burst. And then …” His eyes went wide and blank as though recalling that final scene. “And then it did.”

  Ilse pressed a hand against her mouth. Emma Theysson did the same. Only Raul did not move or change his expression.

  “Blood everywhere,” Iani whispered. “Over me. Over Khandarr and the stone floor and bars to Dedrick’s cell. I even saw blood upon the ceiling. Blood and— Khandarr tried to revive him with magic, but it was far too late.”

  He dropped his head into his hands. A tremor went through him, then he was still. Emma Theysson stroked his hair. Her hands were shaking, and tears glittered on her cheeks. It was impossible to offer comfort, Ilse thought. There was none. Not after such a report.

  Raul stood and walked to the door. Ilse heard him send runners for soup and bread. He sent another to Mistress Denk with orders to prepare a private room for Lady Theysson and Lord Iani’s comfort. His gaze, when he turned around, had a strange wild light, but his manner was gentle as he knelt by Iani’s side. “Benno, I want you to stay here. Eat and rest. Keep Emma by your side. I … I promise I shall do whatever I can for you. Whatever it takes. Even if that means doing nothing at all.”

  Iani lifted his head, bewildered. “What are you saying?”

  “You will see.” Then Raul was striding toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Ilse called out.

  Raul glanced back with a thin smile. “I am going to think.”

  His footsteps rang off the tiles as he ran down the stairs. Ilse hesitated only a moment before she hurried after him.

  She overtook him at the landing. “Raul, where are you going? Talk to me!”

  “Why? You heard what Benno said. Khandarr will murder us all unless I—” He broke off and rubbed his hand over his face, wincing. “There will be no more shadow court. I’ll go home to my father. Take up my duties as his heir. It’s all that’s left to me.”

  “You must not give up,” she said. “Not yet.”

  “Why not? Dedrick is dead because of my arrogance. And for what? Perhaps there is no difference between Armand and me, except in degree. He would send thousands to die in his wars, and I allowed Dedrick to go alone into danger.”

  “So you will do nothing?” Ilse asked.

  “I cannot do anything else.”

  His voice, soft and low and barely under control, broke on the last word. By instinct, she reached out to touch his arm. Raul flinched away. The expression on his face reminded her of the day he had released her from her imprisonment. Worse. He had seemed diminished then. Now he looked defeated. He should be king, Ilse thought. He could be, if only he were free to act.

  Free. Of course. With that, all the shock and confusion bled away. She knew what to do.

  “If you cannot, then I must,” she said.

  That caught his attention. “What do you mean?”

  “I must leave you,” she said. A pang went through her. She nearly recanted before she had finished. Quickly now, she told herself. Say the rest before you lose heart. “I must leave you,” she repeated. “For a time. So Markus Khandarr cannot threaten you through me. So you can act. However you deem necessary.”

  Raul’s face drained of color. “No,” he whispered. Then louder. “No! It won’t do any good, Ilse. Khandarr will murder you. And he would force me to watch. Just as he did with Benno and Dedrick. He will do it because you were once connected with me. That’s the only reason he needs—”

  “But if you do nothing, we might all die in that bloody senseless war that Armand wants. Or if we survive, we might wish we had not. Is that what you want for this kingdom? Is that what you want for yourself?” Her voice dipped into bitterness. “If you choose cowardice, that is your own affair. But do not make it mine.”

  His chin jerked up. His face flushed. “If you think me a coward, you do not know me.”

  “I think I never did,” Ilse said, her voice rising higher. “You once said you needed my honesty. You said you wanted me to speak the truth, my lord. Were you lying? Or did you hope I’d always agree, no matter what? That I should pretend? Never again, Raul. I will never pretend again. Not even for you. If you think I can, if you think I would, you do not know me.”

  They glared at each other.

  Raul was the first to let his gaze fall away. “I need to walk,” he muttered. “Somewhere. Anywhere.”

  He spun around, stumbled, and caught himself. Ilse watched him lurch down the stairs. He was clumsy in his despair, as though Khandarr had robbed him of that, too. Let him go, she thought. He needs to grieve alone.

  She leaned her forehead against the cool plaster wall. Far below, she heard Raul call out to one of the guards. She ought to return to the Rose Parlor. Ought to see to Benno and Emma. Or no. Let them have quiet together.

  She took refuge in a parlor on the second floor. There was a couch, wide enough for two. She only needed space for one. She stretched out and laid her head on the soft pillow. Sleep, however, was impossible. Images flickered before her mind’s eye—Benno’s shaking hands, Emma’s
hard gaze, Raul’s stone-faced expression as he listened, the shock in his eyes when she said she would leave. It didn’t matter if she closed her eyes. She could not blind herself to memory.

  One hour passed. Then more bells rang. Ilse tried to count, but lost track. She heard a tentative knock once, but did not answer. The second time, a voice called out her name—Kathe, chasing after her again. Kathe would be worried. Had she pieced together what happened? Probably. Kathe knew far more than Raul credited her for. Or perhaps he knew and trusted her. That was why he gave Kathe the task of tending Ilse when she first arrived, bloody and near death.

  The door opened. She caught a whiff of cedar and wood smoke as Raul knelt by her side.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should not have left.”

  Ilse blinked. “Where did you go?”

  “Everywhere. Up into the hills. By the docks. I had to walk. I could not stand it otherwise.”

  “Did you take a guard?”

  “I don’t know. I must have. I didn’t notice. Come.” He helped her to her feet. “Let us sit in the gardens a while.”

  They had a supper outside, then walked beneath the green-leafed trees, along graveled paths lined with late-blooming roses and other flowers Ilse could not identify. Russet and orange and deep gold blossoms, arcing from long graceful stems. Rains had come and gone during the afternoon, leaving the air cool and fresh.

  At the garden’s far edge, they sat close together on the stone bench. Sunset was just settling over Tiralien, gilding the rooftops and towers with its ruddy light. To the east, the skies were turning dark; the seas were the color of a dark blue wine. Raul said nothing, but gazed over the cityscape toward the coast. His mood was quiet—there was no trace of the morning’s crisis, except for the faint lines etched between his brows.

  “Raul …”

  “Hush,” he whispered. “We can talk later.”

  Before she could answer or refuse, he had folded her into his arms and was kissing her hard. In between, he was murmuring the words no and never and then now, please now.