Passion Play (54 page)

Until then. Yes.

*  *  *

ILSE WOKE TO
the bells ringing late morning. Her eyes opened to an unfamiliar bedchamber, flooded with sunlight through the tall windows. She took in a few scattered details—cream-colored walls, a few brightly colored paintings in between openwork shelves, the fragrance of cedar mixed with that of sun-dried linens. A warm body pressed against her back.

Raul stirred and nuzzled closer, one arm drifting over her body. “Good morning, love.”

It was as though he said that every morning. A strange sense of vertigo overtook her.

“What’s the matter?” he said softly.

“I love you.”

His laugh tickled her ear. “You mentioned that last night. Once or twice.”

She had mentioned a lot of things. Embarrassed at the memory, she buried her face into the pillow. What must he think of her? What would the rest of the house think, once they learned about last night? Because they would learn soon enough.

Raul kissed her shoulder. “You seem unhappy. Are you sorry?”

“No. Not that.”

“But you are not yet easy with me. I understand.” His weight shifted imperceptibly, so that his body no longer pressed so close. “I think I was babbling last night,” he said. “Many things. All of them true.”

At that she laughed weakly and hiccupped. “You lied. You
can
read my thoughts.”

“You’re very sweet when you hiccup. Did you know that? No, I cannot read your thoughts, I can only guess from the pictures your faces makes, or the colors of your voice, or the scent of your gestures. We should take a holiday today, just you and I. Would you like that?”

The sudden change in topic left her dizzy. “A holiday?”

“Yes. Something fun.”

She twisted around to face him. “Fun?”

Raul grinned wickedly. “You look confused. Should I get a dictionary?”

He was deliberately provoking her. “What kind of holiday?” she said.

“I don’t know. Riding. Or we could visit the theater this evening, if your hiccups have stopped. I’ve heard that Vieth has engaged musicians for a special performance for the city. It would make up for our last outing. Would you like that?”

Music. It had been so long since she last heard real musicians. Not since Lord Vieth’s banquet. Swiftly upon that memory came one of Lord Dedrick’s sister, confronting Raul Kosenmark about Dedrick. Ilse had not forgotten the expression on Lady Alia’s face, nor how Ilse must have appeared to everyone there.

Raul must have read her thoughts from her face, because he murmured, “I promise no one will bother you. They must see that it’s different between us. But if you would rather stay within the grounds, that, too, would be a delight.”

Extravagant. Like a brief and gaudy fire. She suppressed that thought. “I’m not afraid. Let us go and hear these famous musicians.”

But Raul was not content to leave their schedule to chance. He rambled on about how they might spend their holiday together. Breakfast first. Then they might drill together, though Ault would surely scold them for being so tardy. Afterward, would she like to walk through the gardens? It seemed as though Raul wanted to make up for the month’s lost hours. When Ilse protested, he reluctantly admitted that she should leave him long enough to bathe and dress in clean clothes.

Ilse returned to find Steffi and Janna laying out dishes on the table by the windows. Raul immediately came forward and took her by the hand. “What took you so long?” he said with a smile, as he escorted her to her chair. Ilse glanced around in time to catch Janna’s surprised look.

Janna leaned and whispered to Steffi. Ilse’s cheeks warmed. Raul, apparently oblivious, sat opposite her and poured coffee for them both. Only after the two girls left did he shake his head. “Everyone will know within the day. Do you mind?”

“No.” She smiled. “No, I don’t.”

“Evidently not because you aren’t hiccupping. Come, let us discuss our holiday.”

“Half a holiday,” she countered, thinking that he was too much like Nadine. They were both the children of wind and storm and unquenchable fire. Nadine. Ilse had a moment’s qualm. They would have to talk, she and Nadine. But now Raul was eyeing her with curiosity.

“Why half a holiday?” he asked.

“Because if I insist on half, then you will agree to one holiday and not ten. What about Mistress Denk’s accounts? And reviewing the tax assessment? What about,” she dropped her voice, “our work for the kingdom?”

That had an even stronger effect than she had anticipated. “Our work, yes.” He let out a sigh. “We had news from our friend last night. Duke Feltzen. It concerns Armand and our recent diplomatic exchange.”

Feint. Parry. Strike. The next move was to disarm,
she thought. “Did Armand send him?”

“I cannot tell, though I suspect Lord Khandarr did. The duke himself is just as he claims—a colleague of my father, a loyal subject who is concerned about Veraene’s welfare, even above his own. He had heard how I opposed the war talk and came with news that Armand is reconsidering his approach to Károví. If we can believe it, Armand now speaks of diplomats instead of troop levies, and whenever a councillor proposes conflict, he recommends caution and tact and taking the long view.”

Ilse studied his face. “But you don’t believe him.”

“I don’t know. We must confirm the news, of course.”

“It sounds … hopeful.”

“It’s meant to.” He vented a long breath, still obviously troubled. “But that, too, can wait. Let us enjoy the harmony and tranquillity of now and here.”

“Even though tomorrow’s shadow reaches toward us?” she murmured.

“It reaches and yet cannot touch, for when it does, tomorrow becomes today,” he replied. “You are right about tomorrow, my love, but I want and need a day that concerns us alone.”

At drill, Maester Ault observed their performance with a face even blanker than usual. Once, Ilse thought she detected a glimmer of amusement in those dark eyes. Before she could decide, Ault barked at her to pay attention. He lectured Raul even harder, driving him through his sword patterns at a speed that turned the blades into gray blurs.

“Dismissed,” he said. “My lord, I see you found your point of concentration at last.”

Raul shot him a quick look, but Ault’s hooded eyes revealed nothing. Ilse turned away at once and busied herself with putting away her weapons. Within the day, Raul had said, but it seemed everyone had discovered it far sooner.

“Come.” Raul touched her arm lightly. “We can bathe and return to our plans.”

Ilse glanced from him to Ault, who stood with his arms folded across his chest, ostensibly gazing skyward. “Yes, but separately,” she murmured. “Not together.”

Raul followed the direction of her glance. “Yes. I think you are right. We should be somewhat discreet. For today,” he added under his breath.

But during the walk from the courtyard to the baths, Ilse had the impression of many eyes, like a constant light flickering of tiny raindrops over her skin. First there was Ault, who bade them good-bye and a good-day, but when Ilse glanced around as they left, she caught a speculative look on his face. Then there were the bath attendants, whose faces were utterly bland as she and Raul parted into separate bath chambers, but Ilse heard their whispers as the doors closed.

Raul finished before she did, leaving a message for her to join him in his office. The bath attendant’s voice was nothing but polite, but Ilse caught the woman’s curious glance as she turned away. Then, on her way to the fourth floor, she encountered Hanne, returning with an empty tray. Hanne went wide-eyed, then ducked her head and hurried past. A moment later, Kathe appeared on the stairs. She, too, carried a tray, and she was smiling with undisguised delight.

“Since when do you carry trays?” Ilse asked, somewhat archly.

“You know how long,” Kathe said with a laugh. “And you, since when do you sleep until late morning, now that you aren’t one of my kitchen girls?”

“Since today.”

They studied each other.

“You have changed since you came to us,” Kathe said softly. “In good ways, I think.”

“But not you,” Ilse said. “You’ve always been my friend. We should—” She stopped, embarrassed. “I mean, if you like, we could take a walk in the gardens, or into the parks, if you have time to spare.”

“Oh, I am not the one with the busy schedule. Let us say tomorrow. I daresay if I tried to claim you today, Lord Kosenmark would share a few words with me. Or my mother would. We have a new pastry cook, you see …”

She rolled her eyes.

“I see,” Ilse said, laughing. “One of these days, you shall have to speak with your mother about the pastry cooks.”

Kathe grinned. “Someday. But not today.”

She shifted her tray to one side and hurried down to the kitchens, while Ilse continued upward.

*  *  *

AS HE HAD
promised, Raul courted Ilse throughout the following months. He took delight in presenting her with gifts of jewels and silks, perfumes and paintings, and rare books that he discovered in the back rooms of Tiralien’s finest antiquarians. He even commissioned an artisan to create for her a tiny sand glass, which they used to play word links. When she thought he had run to the end of his inventiveness with gifts, he hired a ship and crew. With two more ships as their escort, they sailed southward along the coast. He showed her Tiralien from afar, as it looked with the sun setting behind it, its towers like a ruddy crown amid golden fire, then ordered the ships to sail down the coastline to Fuldah, Lunendal, and Konstanzien, around the point where Osterling Keep stood, and toward the open southern seas. They spent a night with all the lamps on the boat lit, and Ilse could only think of diamonds sparkling on the black silk waves.

And when they returned to Tiralien, he brought her to Lord and Lady Vieth’s next banquet and danced with her alone.

“You are my gift,” he told her, when she protested his latest offering, a string of pearls she found upon her pillow.

“I am not a thing,” she murmured. She let the pearls slide through her fingers. They felt like silk beads, so fine they were. Fine droplets of white, catching all the colors of the world in the lamplight. He had matched them to her newest gown, another gift she should have refused.

Raul touched her cheek with his hand. “I’m sorry. I only meant that I cannot do enough.”

“Gratitude—”

“—is a bitter root, but sweetened with love, it pours strength and joy into the soul.”

She smiled, somewhat pensively. That morning she had found a bouquet of flowers in her parlor, with a note reading,
I wish you joy.

The note had no signature, but the flowers, blooming far out of season, had a faint whiff of magic about them.

Nadine. She had not openly avoided Ilse, but they had not spoken alone since Raul’s break with Dedrick. Even when they did speak, Nadine’s voice took on a polished brittle quality. Her courtesan’s voice, Ilse thought. Used when she entertained a stranger.

I wish you joy.
The words carried so many different meanings.
I forgive you for wounding my heart. I’m sorry I tried to wound you back. I would like to be your friend.

She was still thinking of Nadine that same evening, when she and Raul sat in the upper gardens in the new pavilion, wrapped in fine woolen robes against the evening damp, counting the stars as they appeared. Spring had nearly arrived. Hard buds lined the branches, and the air tasted green, as though magic hovered just beyond their perception.

“You seem troubled,” Raul said.

“I was thinking about Nadine.”

“Ah.” He kissed her cheek. “Is she angry with you?”

“Not anymore.”

One of the guards coughed. Ilse drew back from Raul’s next kiss.

“What’s wrong?” Raul said.

“I never feel entirely alone with you,” she murmured. “Except in your rooms.”

“Our rooms. It never bothered you before.”

Ilse breathed a sigh. How to explain that she understood why the several perimeters of guards, even within the pleasure house grounds, while saying that she disagreed.

“I had hoped this secret war between you and Markus Khandarr was finished,” she said in an undertone.

“I hoped the same thing. Secret wars inside a kingdom often turn into wars with its neighbors. And do not think that Károví is the only one of our neighbors who watches us anxiously. Immatra would gladly take over the province of Ournes, if their king thought us preoccupied. Ysterien, too, might decide to expand its borders. If only Benno could write to me, then I would know what Markus is doing.”

Benno Iani had disappeared from view, and Emma Theysson reported that she had heard nothing since he left for court. In place of their regular spies, they now depended on news from merchants or clients who visited the pleasure house. Even that required delicate planning, for Lord Kosenmark would not openly involve the courtesans in this business.