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She broke off at his glare.
“Only Markus Khandarr,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Only Markus Khandarr has enough magic to heal this cripple. And I will not bear a debt to that man.”
Tears gleamed on his eyelashes. Raul brushed them away, paused a moment with his hand over his face. When he finally met her gaze, she saw that his face had smoothed and all trace of his pretended anger had vanished. I love you, he mouthed.
And I you, my love. And I you. She glanced pointedly at the doors. Do we continue?
Yes.
Ilse drew a long breath and prepared to scream with rage.
* * *
FOR THE NEXT two weeks, they divided their hours between scripted arguments and nightly conferences. Their quarrels and their lovemaking took on a desperate edge, until it became difficult to separate the two.
Meanwhile Ilse sent letters by special courier to Mistress Beck and Mistress Adela Andeliess, who owned the pleasure house in Osterling. Mistress Andeliess’s steward had recently left her service, so Ilse wrote to apply for the position, saying that her qualifications were similar, secretary to Lord Kosenmark, liaison to the steward here, her upbringing as a merchant’s daughter. Five weeks later, she had answers to both.
Yes, delighted, Mistress Beck wrote. Ilse forwarded her name and particulars to Raul’s agent, and asked him to transfer her moneys.
Please send me references, Mistress Andeliess replied. Ilse provided those, including a terse but businesslike letter from Raul, and another from Mistress Denk.
She had taken care to let others know about these transactions. Thereafter, Eduard and Mikka and Johanna and the other courtesans sent her curious glances. Dana and Steffi and Hanne and the rest of the kitchen girls grew very quiet in her presence. Nadine said nothing, but whenever their paths crossed, her gaze passed over Ilse, as though she’d turned as invisible as the air. As for Kathe …
Ilse went to Kathe’s rooms one afternoon, before she returned to the kitchen for evening preparations. Kathe opened the door to her knock. Her first reaction was a startled exclamation, followed quickly by wariness.
“Do you have a free moment?” Ilse asked. “I’d like to talk.”
“Do we have anything to say, Mistress Ilse?”
“I’m leaving. I wanted to explain.”
“Explain what? That you—” Kathe broke off with a grimace. “Come inside. We don’t need to start more gossip by arguing in the hallways.”
She stood aside and stiffly gestured for Ilse to enter. There were books open upon Kathe’s small desk, and papers covered with what looked like menus and recipes, all written in Kathe’s neat handwriting. Except for a new carpet, the rooms were just as Ilse remembered, from the days when she and Kathe had taken their late-afternoon breaks here. Or later, whenever their work allowed a brief visit. Kathe had taught her and befriended her. Even when Ilse moved from secretary to lord’s mistress, she had remained someone Ilse could trust and talk to. But now …
“I know you’re leaving,” Kathe said without preamble. “And I know why. Lord Kosenmark was honest with you. But you—”
“I thought it didn’t matter,” Ilse said quickly. “But it does. Very much. I’m sorry.”
Kathe’s lips puffed in silent laughter. “Why apologize to me? I am not the one you wronged. Go to Lord Kosenmark. Beg his forgiveness. Tell him you wish to stay.”
“I can’t. It’s too late.”
“Then we have nothing to discuss.”
Ilse let her breath trickle out. “I’m sorry, Kathe,” she said softly. “I will not trouble you again.”
Kathe shook her head. If she grieved for their lost friendship, she hid it behind a remote mask. Ilse hesitated another moment, then silently left.
This moment, too, is part of the scheme. Unplanned and yet unavoidable.
* * *
ONE LAST TASK. One last visit.
“Where are you going?” Raul asked a few days later.
“To visit a friend.”
