Passion Play (49 page)

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 much, 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.

“You scared us all,” Nadine said softly. “Running off alone through the streets. Idiot. You might have killed someone.”

I did kill someone,
Ilse thought.

She must have spoken out loud, because Nadine’s hand paused, then resumed its gentle caress. “With a knife? Is that what Lord Kosenmark has been teaching you, down there so early in the morning? Ah, never mind. I can guess. Kathe nearly chased after you last night, when the first guards came back alone. She was sensible, however, and sent out the watch. They found Herrick and the other guards, but no sign of you or Lord Kosenmark. What happened?”

“A fight.”

“So I gathered. What kind of fight?”

“Attacked. By brigands.”

“Ah, yes. Those brigands. I’ve heard a multitude of fascinating rumors about these mysterious robber bands who descended upon Tiralien in the past month. Strange that they have never before attacked someone outright. But never mind. I understand you cannot tell me anything more.” She smiled unhappily. “So, my warrior maid. Are you strong enough for a visit from him?”

Her voice was low and sad. Her expression strangely compassionate.

“You mean Lord Kosenmark?” Ilse asked.

“Who else?”

Without waiting for Ilse to answer, Nadine touched her cheek and withdrew. Voices sounded outside the door. A moment later, Raul Kosenmark entered her bedroom. In the dim light, he looked no different from any other day, but when he happened to cross through the band of sunlight, she could see that bruises mottled his face, and a pink scar showed at the edge of his scalp. One eye still appeared puffy and dark.

He sat by her bedside and gave her a crooked smile. “So. We lived.”

In spite of her cracked and swollen lips, she smiled in return. “We did, my lord.”

“Mistress Hedda tells me that you need a few days to rest. You lost a great deal of blood.”

Ilse’s smile dropped away with the memory of Herrick jerking and twitching as he died. She turned her head away and stared out the gap between the curtains. She let out a long sigh, which did nothing for the tightness in her chest. Raul gathered her hands in his. “Think of it this way, Ilse. We must live well, so that we honor their memory.”

“How many died?” she whispered.

“Everyone who came with me—Herrick, Klaus, Varin, Azzo, and Bekka. In the second squad, we lost no one, but Captain Gerrit was badly wounded. Mistress Hedda saw to him last night long before we returned. The first squad never met the enemy, it seems. Before they reached the bridge, the city watch intercepted and detained them, saying someone had accused them of public brawling. They would have brawled,” he added under his breath, “if they had reached their goal, so perhaps it’s fitting. I shall have to see to their release tonight.”

“Who sent them? Khandarr?”

“I believe so. I collected a few items—a knife and a ring. Those might tell us something.”

Ilse nodded. She tried to think out the implications of last night—the runners intercepted, the broken code—but her thoughts scattered and whirled in useless confusion. All she could think was that her advice had wrecked everything. Tears leaked from her eyes. She tried to swipe them away, but her hand flopped to one side.

Raul took a handkerchief and did it for her. “What’s wrong? Other than murder and betrayal?”

“I was stupid,” she whispered. “Stupid and reckless.”

He tucked the handkerchief in his pocket and resumed possession of her hands. “You are second-guessing yourself. Yes, we made a mistake—one with terrible consequences, which I see you have thought of.”

“I did everything wrong.”

“Not everything. You lived. I lived. We won’t make the same mistakes again.”

“Just different ones,” she whispered.

“That, Anike, is called life. And you must not brood. I’ve taken measures to guard the house. And by the way, Lord Dedrick returned home safely, if not directly. The watch took him up with the brigands at his heels, and returned him to his father.” His voice turned dry. “Baron Maszuryn wrote to me himself. He has suggested that Dedrick remain within the household until he recovers his senses. I agreed. The streets are not safe.”

The news about Dedrick made it all clear to her. He wanted to encourage her, the way a general or prince would a valued soldier.

What about his words to you outside?
whispered her treacherous memory.

It means nothing, nothing, nothing.

That Raul smiled at her again, a strange twisted smile that made his bruises and scars ripple, did not help. “Stubborn woman,” he said. “I was going to make a suggestion, but I see you are in the mood to oppose everything, sensible or not.”

Ilse opened and closed her mouth. Something in his tone pricked at her memory. Then she recalled Mistress Hedda’s warning. “Is it about magic?”

Raul made an exasperated noise. “Ah, that woman. She told you, didn’t she?”

“Of course she told me.”

“She should not meddle so.”

Ilse wanted to observe that he meddled, all the time, but she could not bring herself to make a joke. Not yet. He seemed to read her mood, because this time he leaned forward, so that she could not avoid his gaze. “I am serious about everything I said. You must not blame yourself for last night. And you do have a talent for magic. How much I cannot say, but I do know that I could not have walked home without your help. So I ask you, would you like to learn more? Mistress Hedda is willing to teach you.”

She looked away, then back, unnerved by his proximity. However discolored and distorted his features, this man knew how to use voice and presence and warmth to persuade, and even though she was aware of the ploy, she found herself responding. She frowned, irritated with him and with herself.

“You look suspicious,” Raul observed. “Or have I sprouted wings and scales?”

“Just the scales,” she said weakly. “Green ones.”

He grinned. “Shall I take that as a yes? You could start tomorrow.”

“No. No and no.” Mistress Hedda appeared in the doorway, glowering at him. “My lord, I told you this morning, you cannot rush these things. Mistress Ilse lost a great deal of blood, not to mention her bruised and mangled arm. And the knee, which traipsing about the streets all night did not help. She cannot think of starting magic lessons before ten days.”