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“I gave him a warning before I did,” he said. “I told him that Lir and Toc did not suffer cruelty. Nor would I tolerate human predators in this kingdom. I killed him, but first I castrated him.”
“Was that necessary?”
“Yes. I killed him quickly—he did not suffer long—but I wanted to make sure that Alarik Brandt remembers this deed and this judgment in his next life. It’s a fair trade. His nightmares in reparation for yours.”
Against her will, Ilse’s gaze went to Kosenmark’s hands. They were clean of blood, as were his clothes. He must have taken care not to bloody himself. She looked into his face then, but his expression was blank of any emotion.
“Tell me why you did this,” she said. “Was it for Veraene?”
“In part.” His voice was as unreadable as his face.
“Meaning …”
“Meaning whatever you like.” He drew a long breath. “Meaning that you are free to travel anywhere without fear of Alarik Brandt. I dislike cages. If you wish to leave this house, you will find none to prevent you.”
On impulse, she reached out and took his hand. Raul started but did not draw back.
His skin was warm and smooth. His pulse, underneath her touch, was soothingly regular. Lord Raul Kosenmark, she thought. Prince of shadows. Secret guardian of Veraene’s honor. Perhaps that was the difference between him and Markus Khandarr.
I love him, she thought. We all do.
A part of her wanted to flinch away from that thought. A part accepted it. After all, Hax had loved this man. So did Lord Dedrick and all the rest of Raul Kosenmark’s shadow court. They were all like flowers turning to follow the sun.
And sometimes, the sun turns its face to follow us.
And like a flower in the sun, she had no reason to question why he had acted for her. It was enough to sit beside him, hand in hand. She closed her eyes, thinking she could remain there indefinitely, breathing in the cool sweet scent of roses. The next hour bell sounded from the nearby tower, sweet chimes that rang softly through the twilight. In rooms far below, clients were choosing their partners, and pairs of lovers had retreated into private chambers. Raul withdrew his hand from hers and held out his arm. “Come,” he said. “The kingdom’s further business awaits us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE KINGDOM’S FURTHER business appeared to consist of waiting.
“No letters,” Ilse said, after a few days had passed without any correspondence.
“I expected none. At least, none written with paper and ink.”
Raul had taken to reading old epic poetry and teaching himself to play the newest game imported from Duenne. He would like it, she thought, viewing the multileveled board with its game pieces carved to resemble gods and characters from those same epic poems. He carefully moved one ivory prince toward another, paused, and scowled. A deadlock, Ilse observed.
Raul moved the piece back and tried a more oblique set of moves. He seemed entirely unconcerned with her presence or anything else, as though capturing Alarik Brandt had been his last act in the outside world. There was not much they could do, Ilse admitted to herself as she went on her rounds for the day. A few last reports had trickled in from their fishing fleets in Károví, but until he and Faulk had reorganized their courier system, Raul had stopped the flow of messages to and from the pleasure house. And without Benno Iani, they could not track Leos Dzavek’s investigations into Anderswar. Ilse proposed once that she make the journey, but Mistress Hedda bluntly told her that she was not ready. For once, Lord Kosenmark agreed.
At least she had her sessions with Maester Ault, who added sword work to her drills with knives and hand-to-hand combat. And two afternoons a week, she rode with her guards to Mistress Hedda’s sweet-smelling rooms, where she worked through a series of exercises that would give her better control over her magic. In many ways, those lessons resembled the exercises Maester Ault assigned, and Ilse came to view them—magic and swordplay—as two sides of a single coin.
She also spent hours in Raul Kosenmark’s company. Talking. Arguing. Discussing matters as large as the kingdom, and as small as the weather. There were times she thought he liked her company for its own sake. Other times, he seemed moody or reserved. Some of that she blamed on the peculiar lack of news from abroad. Some, she reminded herself, came from Lord Dedrick’s absence. But it grew harder each day to keep Lord Dedrick in mind. It was as though she had spent a lifetime warming her hands over dead coals, only now to discover fire.
Fires warmed, she told herself. Fires also burned.
A month after Alarik Brandt’s death, she returned from Mistress Hedda’s to find Lord Dedrick in the entry hall, talking with Mistress Denk. She had one moment to see him—truly see him—before he noticed her presence. A handsome man. Long full hair drawn back in a jeweled band, a half dozen strands in narrow braids—the latest fashion among the young rich nobles. Today he wore an exceptionally rich costume of wine red silks that set off his dark complexion.
Dedrick smiled at something Mistress Denk said. Then he glanced toward Ilse; his smile faded and his expression changed from pleasantly bland to one she could not decipher.
“Mistress Ilse.”
“Good afternoon, Lord Dedrick.”
“I see that you recovered from your injuries.”
She nodded, smiling politely. Of course he came here as soon as his father allowed it.
“Does Lord Kosenmark know you’ve arrived?” she said. “Shall I send a runner?”
