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“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 mu
ch, 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?”
