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He beckoned to Ilse and handed her the sheet. “An invitation from Lady Theysson. Read it, please, and tell me if you think the affair worthwhile.”
Ilse took the letter and carefully unfolded it. Following the latest fashion, which called for unusual shapes and textures for invitations, this one was written on delicate translucent paper, which had a pebbled text
ure. The ink was a violet so dark, it appeared almost black.
Lilien House, Tiralien. To Lord Raul Anton Maximiliam Kosenmark. My dear Lord Kosenmark, I fear I must call off the picnic that I had planned for tomorrow. Other obligations have intruded, among them a host of unexpected visitors to my household. However, Benno insists that we do not give up the excursion entirely, especially since he would like to present his cousin to you, newly arrived from Duenne. Write to me as soon as you might, and let me know the best time and place for such an introduction.
After another paragraph of flourishes and polite nothings, the letter ended with all of Lady Theysson’s titles and names.
“Very … polite, my lord.”
“So I thought. Did you notice anything odd?”
She scanned the letter again. “Unexpected visitors” could only mean agents watching her house. Ah, Lord Iani had no cousins in Duenne. Perhaps that phrase translated to news from the capital. But that would not account for Raul’s unease. “I don’t understand. Or rather, I think I understand what she means, but not why it bothers you.”
“Look again,” he said. “Notice how Emma spelled my name.”
There was nothing wrong with the spelling. Ilse stared at the invitation, trying to see what Lord Kosenmark meant. Oh. A soft exclamation escaped her. “It’s not her script. Almost, but not quite. Lady Theysson slants her Xs more, and the loops for these Ls are too wide.”
Raul nodded. “The marks are all correct, however.”
Kosenmark and his closest associates used a series of unobtrusive marks on their letters—an underlined word, a tiny dot in the margin. The number and placement changed with every message according to a pattern Kosenmark had worked out. A wrong mark might indicate a letter gone astray. What did it mean when the letter had all the right marks, all the usual code phrases, but the script did not quite match?
“Would she dictate the message?” Ilse asked.
“I doubt it.”
He took the letter and folded it carefully into its fan-shape, still frowning. Behind them, Ault was watching surreptitiously, even while he busied himself with checking over the weapons in their rack. How much did he know about Lord Kosenmark’s other activities?
“What do you mean to do?” she asked. “Could you send another letter to Lady Theysson?”
“The straightforward method. No. If someone has infiltrated my courier network, my letter will not reach Emma but her substitute. So … I believe I shall accept this invitation to meet Benno’s newly discovered cousin.”
“But my lord—”
He cut her off with a gesture. “No arguments. Send a runner to fetch pen and ink.”
Reluctantly, she did as he ordered. Once the courier had left with his letter, Raul turned back to Ilse. “I should return before dark. If I do not, send out two squads from the guards. Have them search the district around Hansenau Square. That is where I suggested that we have our introductions.”
She nodded, still uneasy with his decision.
“One more favor.” Kosenmark hesitated a moment. “If Lord Dedrick visits, tell him I’ve gone to investigate a curious matter. But do not tell him where I’m going. He comes here on his father’s sufferance. I doubt the baron would thank me for leading his son into danger.”
“What if Lady Theysson comes here?”
He smiled briefly, without humor. “Then the matter becomes more dangerous than curious.”
“Why not send Lothar Faulk, my lord?”
“Because I sense we do not have the time or the privacy for arranging that.” He looked at her again, searchingly. “Are you worried, Mistress Ilse?”
She blew out a breath. “Yes.”
Kosenmark grinned. “Thank you. Will it relieve you to know I’m bringing an escort of guards?”
She flushed. Of course he would bring someone to guard his perimeter. She ought to have remembered. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you care enough to argue with me.”
