Passion Play (24 page)

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.

Moving quietly, Ilse padded over to the washstand.
I’m not running away,
she told herself as she scrubbed her face and combed out her hair.
I’m going on to the next challenge.

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.

Ilse stood up, sat back down by Hanne’s side, and took the younger girl’s hands in hers. Running away would not solve anything, especially not with her staying in the same household. Janna rolled over and muttered something about late nights should mean late mornings, but by now Steffi was sitting up and demanding to know what the trouble was.

“It’s her,” Lys said, pointing at Ilse. “She’s the trouble.”

“Oh shut up,” Janna said. “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous? And you’re not? Since when?”

“Since she did her work. Why are you so afraid of her?”

Lys spat out an ugly curse and launched herself at Janna, who scrambled from the bed. Ilse grabbed at Lys and caught the girl’s wrists. “Stop fighting. Both of you.”

Lys wrenched free and slapped Ilse across the face. Janna shoved Lys away. “Do that again and we’ll tell Mistress Raendl.”

“You would, you sneak.”

“If I’m a sneak, you’re a bully. I know why Steffi’s sister left. And I know why Hanne jumps when you come into the room. Pinch and punch and badger and bully. That’s you, and it’s not right.”

By this time, all the girls were standing around them in a circle. Rosel looked as though she wanted to join the fight, but didn’t dare. Dana and Steffi were whispering to each other. Only Hanne, silent and pale, had retreated toward the door.

It’s not enough to keep from running away,
Ilse thought. She stepped between Lys and Janna. “Leave her be,” she said to Janna.

“So you’d rather fight me?” Lys said.

Ilse faced her. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Coward.”

Her dark face was blotched with anger; tears gleamed in her eyes. Strange how Ilse felt a sudden rush of pity for the girl. “Call me whatever you like,” she said. “I don’t care. But stop making trouble for everyone else.”

Lys jerked her chin up. “Why? Who made you the queen?”

“No one. No one made you the queen, either. Even if they did, they might change their minds unless you treat them better.”

Lys lifted a fist, as though to strike. Abruptly her expression changed and she dropped her hand, still clenched. Ilse glanced back. Janna and Steffi and Dana stood behind her, hands linked together. Lys’s gaze shifted from face to face as she took in the situation. “Like a damned princess,” she muttered.