Passion Play (34 page)

Raul Kosenmark stood at the opposite end of her small parlor, his back pressed against the wall. He looked so different, she nearly didn’t recognize him. Dark rumpled clothes. Hair pulled back in an untidy queue. His face slack with weariness. It was more than just his outward appearance, however. He seemed strangely diminished to her eyes.

He cleared his throat. “We found the farmers.”

Farmers? she thought hazily. Oh yes. Nela and Gregor. Kosenmark had wanted to confirm her story. A part of her wanted to ask how they did. The urge faded. Opening her mouth and producing words in a row felt like too much trouble right now.

“They spoke very well of you,” Kosenmark went on. “You need not worry about what they might think. The person I sent to make inquiries told them you were seeking a recommendation for a better posting.”

Ilse continued to stare at him silently. What kind of reaction did he want from her?

Kosenmark stirred uneasily. “I heard everything you said. And you are right. I am afraid. And arrogant. Or maybe they are two sides of the same page. My brother used to say the same thing, but it’s been years upon years since anyone else dared to. Thank you for being honest with me.”

Another pause. His gaze flickered to one side, then came back to hers. “And I wanted to say you were right about other things. About this house. And how I listen. It reminded me that someone else might have overheard my talks with Maester Hax.”

It took her several moments to comprehend what he was telling her. “Who?” she said at last. Her voice sounded rusty from disuse. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know yet. But I think I know how to find out.”

She waited for him to explain. Kosenmark smoothed his hands along his trousers. He looked unnaturally nervous, but she had had a great deal of practice with waiting.

“I’d like your help,” he said at last.

“With catching your spy?”

He nodded. “Berthold and I discussed the matter. We think the person belongs to this household. And they must have duties that take them throughout the house, but also they must have errands in the city, so they can pass along the information to their associates.”

Someone invisible, she thought. One of the runners? A guard? It couldn’t possibly be one of the courtesans. And yet they, too, left the house, either to visit special clients or on their twice-weekly rest day. Slowly her thoughts woke as she pieced the clues together.

“But why now?” she whispered. “Why not ask these questions before?”

Kosenmark made a hasty wave of acknowledgment. “I’m sorry. I was too quick to blame you. We both were. We should have listened to your explanations before we locked you away.”

But you did listen after all.
The thought brought a faint smile to her lips. All too soon it faded as she realized why he had come. “You want me to help catch this spy.”

“Yes.” Some of the tension leaked from his face. “I’ve arranged with Berthold—”

“I never said I would help you.”

Kosenmark jerked up his chin, and color ridged his cheeks. Very slowly the color faded. “I’m sorry. More proof of my arrogance. I should not expect you to involve yourself with my plot and maneuvers and petty machinations that are so damaging to king and kingdom.”

“I would not go that far,” she murmured.

There was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “You were very clear on that point, I thought. However, I would like you at least to speak with Maester Hax. Tell him what you told me. Let us try to convince you that our intentions are better than before.”

She considered his request. She had no reason to love his cause, not after five days imprisoned in her room. On the other hand, it would do no harm to speak one last time with Maester Hax before she left this household. Because she would have to leave; she could not remain in Lord Kosenmark’s service after what she had said to him. She had no idea where she might go. Not Duenne. But there were other kingdoms with cities and universities and large merchant houses that needed secretaries and scribes, and she knew Kosenmark well enough to know he had a kind of honor, even with enemies. He would give her a recommendation in exchange for her promise to keep his secrets. That much
she
could promise with honor.

“I’ll come,” she said reluctantly. “Does he want to see me right away?”

Kosenmark shook his head. “Take your time. Wash and fix your hair. I’ll have Kathe send up refreshments to Berthold’s rooms. You’ve not eaten today, I know. And if you would, please bring your writing case.”

He nodded, his manner businesslike, and left.

Ilse thought the gesture appropriate.
We are conducting business,
she thought as she changed into fresh clothes and made herself presentable.
And now we are finished with it. Tying off the last frayed strings and snipping them clean.

It felt odd to open the door and walk through. Even outside, in the corridor, the strange sensation persisted as she walked to her office for her writing case, then back through the residential wing to Maester Hax’s quarters. Twice she encountered runners on their errands. They both paused and asked about her health, which told her that Kosenmark had kept her confinement a secret.

I’ll be gone soon,
she thought, giving a noncommittal reply.
The truth about last week won’t matter.

She felt a pang, thinking about Kathe and Nadine and the others here. Then she remembered how impossible it would be to continue as Maester Hax’s assistant, and she braced herself against regret.

Lord Kosenmark and Maester Hax were conversing in quiet tones as she entered the room. Maester Hax was sitting up and leafing through a stack of papers while they talked, occasionally referring to one. His manner was so reassuringly normal, she could almost believe the past five days had not occurred.

Kosenmark looked up at her entrance. “Welcome, Mistress Ilse. I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered enough to join us.”

“You requested my presence,” she said warily. Kosenmark’s tone sounded forced, though the situation might account for that.

“So I did. Have you brought the letters from Baron Eckard?”

Ilse glanced from Hax to Kosenmark. “The letters?”

“Yes, the letters that arrived this morning. He told me at Lord Vieth’s that he often found it difficult to post his letters because of all the chaos about his daughter’s household. I’m glad to see nothing prevented him this last time.”

Ilse stared from one man to the other. Kosenmark had lied to her. They never meant to explain things to her. They only wanted her to help flush out the spy, who might be listening right now through one of the pipes or vents.

Before she could say anything, the doors opened and Lys came into the room with a heavily loaded tray. Kosenmark turned to Hax, as though nothing had happened, and said something about the latest afternoon party given by a Lady Issnôlt. The two exchanged desultory comments about the affair, seemingly unaware of Lys or Ilse. Lys went about her work silently. Only once did she glance toward Ilse, a brief look that was impossible to read.

Ilse waited until Lys had left the room. “My lord was not entirely truthful with me,” she said quietly.

Hax rattled his papers noisily. Masking her words, perhaps? Kosenmark’s next move confirmed it. He rose swiftly and silently to stand by her side. “We were as truthful as we dared to be,” he whispered. “Hush. I will answer your questions, but speak softly. Please.”

She met his gaze, tight-lipped. But when she spoke, she, too, whispered. “You do not trust me. Very well. But tell me this: Will you talk to the king? Will you tell him everything you’ve learned?”

“We have,” Kosenmark said, still speaking in low tones. “Many times over. I think war—this war—is wrong. Wrong because it is unprovoked. Wrong because it serves no purpose other than to forward one man’s ambitions and another man’s obsession. But I recognize that we must remain prepared. I would not wish Veraene to sleep while Leos Dzavek launched an invasion.”

Ilse paused. “You told the king?”

He nodded. “Dozens of times. We sent our reports. I offered … not my advice, exactly, but my concerns. The king never replied, and after the third time, he sent our runners away from court.”

She let out her breath, not certain how to reply. When Kosenmark gestured to one of the chairs, she sat and accepted the cup of coffee he poured with his own hands. She sipped and let the heat sink into her bones, gradually feeling more a part of the outside world.

Kosenmark refilled her cup without her asking. “I do listen,” he said softly. “Not always well. Not always with my full attention. I can be overhasty, as you know, and good intentions are no excuse for any injustice. But I am willing to learn.”

She glanced at Hax, whose pale eyes watched her steadily. “We will talk,” he said. “After we resolve a few matters. You understand the risks, I believe, Mistress Ilse. Grant us a few moments of your trust, and we shall grant you hours or days of ours, if necessary.”

They used none of the constraint she had noticed in the past few weeks. Was it because they trusted her at last? Or were these words for whoever listened?

“Is there no other way?” she said. “Short of intrigue?”

“None that we have discovered,” Kosenmark said.

“Unless you count a direct challenge,” Hax said.

“And that I will not—”

A knocking interrupted him. Kosenmark broke off and stood. “Come in.”

The door opened onto one of the guards. “Captured, my lord. Just as you said.”

Ilse started up. The spy.

Kosenmark and the guard had already vanished through the doors. Ilse spared a glance for Maester Hax, who sank back into his pillows. He looked exhausted, but he waved her on. “Go. See who it is.”

A knot of guards told her where to look—the servants’ corridor between Maester Hax’s quarters and another set of rooms. A girl was crying and babbling loudly, all mixed together, but in all the noise, Ilse could not make out who it was.

Kosenmark had made his way into the center of the commotion. “Let her go,” he said. “She won’t get away this time.”

A scuffle broke out. Then the girl broke through the guards and fell to her knees in front of Ilse.

Rosel. But I thought—

She’d thought the spy would be Lys. Lys who hated Ilse. It was far easier to believe she also harbored ill-will toward Ilse’s master, not Rosel, who only wanted to please her best friend.

Or perhaps she wanted to please someone else.

With a scowl, Rosel jumped to her feet and tried to push past Ilse, but Kosenmark caught her by one arm. Rosel squawked and tried to twist free, but he held her easily.

“I didn’t do it!” she cried out. “I didn’t do anything. I swear. It was her!”

She jabbed her finger at Ilse. Kosenmark dragged her back from Ilse. “No lies,” he said. “We can tell the difference. Especially now that we know where to look. Benno. Come here, please.”

Lord Iani squeezed between the guards. “This closet?” he asked Kosenmark, pointing to a wide door set in the wall.

“That one, yes.”

Iani ran his hands over the doorframe, his expression turned inward. “Ei rûf ane gôtter,” he murmured. “Komen mir de strôm. Widerkêren mir de zeît. Ougen mir.”

The air went taut and thick, and a sharp green scent filled the corridor. Ilse heard a noise off to the side—the guards were subduing their prisoner—but though her stomach turned at the sounds, she could not take her gaze from the closet. Its outline had turned indistinct, as though a mist rose from the floor, but there was no mist.

Iani continued with a stream of Erythandran, and the green scent intensified. Now Ilse could make out figures moving through the mist. Lys. Janna. One of the runners. Two of the chambermaids. Ilse even saw herself, walking slowly along the corridor, then pausing, as though uncertain where she was. One chambermaid opened the door and took out several blankets and a stack of clean sheets.

Next came Rosel, hurrying down the corridor with a tray filled with dirty dishes. The girl paused and looked around, clearly nervous. She set the tray on the floor and drew a thin metal rod from a cord around her neck. Ilse strained to see what Rosel did with the rod but the girl’s shadowy form had disappeared into the closet.

Time flickered past and Rosel emerged with a stunned expression on her face. She snatched up her tray and ran down the hall, her image growing fainter with every step.

“More,” Kosenmark said. “I want to see more.”

Iani gave a sharp nod. Now he spoke so quickly that his words became a hum, as blurred as the images he conjured up from the past. Time flickered and spun and jumped. Impressions from the weeks and days past overlaid each other. Runners. Guards. Maids. An errant cat. Ilse saw Rosel enter the closet more than a dozen times, always with that thin rod in her hand.

“Enough,” Kosenmark said abruptly.

With one last phrase, Iani scattered the magic into nothing. Ilse drew a long breath, aware now of an ache in her chest. Rosel was sobbing and pleading to everyone and no one. She had not meant any harm. She had only wanted to help her friend. It was for Lys. Lys who was treated so unfairly after that bitch—