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His mouth quirked in smile. “One of mine, or one of yours?”
“Yours,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll make new ones in Osterling.”
He opened his mouth, but whatever he meant to say, he didn’t. He kissed her softly on the cheek and said he hoped she would r
eturn in time for a late private dinner. Ilse suspected he guessed her destination, but he didn’t ask and she didn’t offer.
She was still divided in her own mind when she arrived at Benno Iani’s small elegant house, in the same neighborhood as Lord Vieth’s soaring palace. The footman showed a very polite face when she announced her name, but she could tell he, too, had heard of the break between her and Raul. Would Lord Iani refuse to see her? Would he simply announce that he was not at home?
The footman came back with word that Lord Iani would gladly see her. Ilse followed the man to a sunny parlor at the rear of the house. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows. Outside, a profusion of russet and golden flowers made a splash of brilliant color against a gray stone wall.
Lady Theysson was not present, she noticed at once.
Iani smiled at her. It was a brief smile, but genuine. “Emma was here,” he said. “She left because she cannot bear to see what happened to two of her best friends.”
“And you?”
“You are both my friends. It grieves me to see you argue. It would grieve me more to lose you entirely. Why did you come to me?”
To say good-bye. To see if you and Emma believed our lies.
“To ask a favor,” she said.
His smile turned wary. “What kind of favor?”
“It’s about magic …”
As she explained her request, Iani’s eyes narrowed in concentration. It was a question of security. She remembered the spell Benno had used to alter Rosel’s memories. It had very specific properties, she knew. With it, a skilled mage could obliterate days or weeks, or he could blur memories from a single hour.
“You wish me to make you forget,” Iani said. “Now?”
She shook her head. “I want you to explain the spell. Write down the words and how to use them. In case … in case, I need to forget certain important details.”
In case Lord Khandarr ever decided to extract a confession from her, as he had from Lord Dedrick Maszuryn. Iani turned gray at the implication, but he was nodding. “Of course. I understand. Let us go to my study. I have some books I could give you on the subject.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon in close discussion. Iani gave Ilse three treatises about memory spells, including one describing keys to undo the magic.
“I won’t need that spell,” Ilse said, trying to hand back the scroll.
“Take it anyway,” Benno said. “Please.”
Reluctantly she agreed, and he pressed the scroll into her hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AUTUMN PASSED INTO winter, marking the end of her second year in Tiralien. Kathe did not speak to her after that last private conversation, the courtesans avoided her as well, and by necessity, her hours with Raul were few and secret.
The last night, Raul came to her rooms after midnight. With a wordless gesture, he led Ilse into the bedroom and locked the door with bolt and magic. His expression made her throat catch—the deliberate way he moved, his intent gaze, as though he were committing every moment to memory.
She reached for him. He stopped her with a gesture. “Humor me.”
He set the lamp on the highest shelf, traced the gleam of its light along her cheek and jaw, the outline of her lips. Then he extinguished the lamp and kissed her where the moonlight did. His cheeks were wet with a silent flow of tears that unnerved her more than all the others he’d shed before. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant this night to contain only joy.”
“Then you want the impossible.”
“Always.” He drew her close, and she felt him shake with silent laughter. “Ah, my love. You are joy itself. Come, we shall make love by sunlight and moonlight together.”
“As Lir did with Toc,” she said. “For Toc died, and in dying was reborn.”
