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“Not a problem. A puzzle.”
Kathe laughed softly. “As you like. But remember, if your puzzle does become a problem, come tell me, and we can try to solve it together.”
* * *
ILSE WOKE THE next morning to an unusual silence. She tensed, thinking she had overslept. Then she heard a whisper, followed by a loud crackling. “I don’t care,” Lys said.
What have they done now?
She wanted to pretend sleep until the others went downstairs, but she could not afford to be late, not with Mistress Raendl already annoyed with her.
But when she sat up, her stomach knotted as she took in the girls’ latest prank. Dust all over her blanket. More dust in her hair. She sneezed and heard the girls laugh. The dust was nothing, however. When she wiped her eyes clear of the dust, she saw that her trunk stood open and empty, and her clothes lay scattered across the floor. Keeping her face expressionless, Ilse began the tedious task of gathering her things. Shoes in one corner. Shifts and bandeaus crammed behind the door. Hair ribbons knotted into an impossible mess. They had deliberately rubbed dirt into everything, including her best gown. Ilse brushed off the dirt as well as she could, but she knew she would have to take most of her clothes to the house laundry. As the girls watched, she put the soiled clothes to one side and folded the rest.
Only when she went to her trunk did she realize that something else was missing.
My letter.
Paper crackled again. Ilse snapped her head up. Lys sat cross-legged on her bed with Ilse’s letter from Lord Kosenmark. Rosel leaned over her shoulder. Both were sounding out the words they knew, speaking in an exaggerated drawl, and snickering.
“Give that back to me,” Ilse said.
Rosel grinned at her. “Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“Hah,” Lys said. “You probably found it in the gutter. Or stole it. Who would write such a stupid letter to you anyway?”
Ilse shook her head. She ought to have burned the letter, but she had not imagined that anyone would search her private belongings. At least they didn’t know who wrote it.
Janna glanced sideways at Lys. She looked more unhappy than amused. So did Dana. But Lys was grinning in obvious satisfaction. “So you did steal it,” she said. “I thought so. You’re a thief—a thief and a whore.”
“I’m not a thief.”
“But you are a whore.” Her voice went low and angry, and dark red patches appeared on her bony cheeks. “I heard about the night you came here, girl. You were sick, they told us. Sick from spreading your legs. I heard you even tried to fuck Lord Kosenmark, so he’d let you in the door.”
Ilse closed her eyes. They will never be satisfied. Never.
“Four a night,” she whispered. “More after I got used to the work. Thirty men could have me, and they did. Mornings. Nights. When they rested the horses, sometimes. And I did whatever they wanted, no matter what, no matter how much I hated it. Just so Alarick Brandt wouldn’t send me back to my father. So yes. I was a whore.”
She heard swift footsteps crossing the room, a scuffling sound, then a squawk from Lys. But no one answered her, not even to say good-bye as they left the room one by one. When she at last opened her eyes, the letter lay on her bed. “My badge of courage,” she said softly, folding it carefully into a small unobtrusive square. “I will not let it go. And I will not run away.”
* * *
SHE DRESSED IN her cleanest skirt and smock and made ready for the day. The clothes that she had been able to brush clean, she put away. The rest she took to the house laundry, where the wash girl eyed her curiously. “What happened?”
“An accident.”
“You should be more careful. Mistress Raendl is a strict one, I’ve heard.”
Ilse smiled faintly. “That she is. It won’t be the first time she’s scolded me. I’m nearly used to it.”
The girl grinned back, shaking her head. “Well, these stocking are fairly ruined. I’ll tell Mistress Denk so she can order you new ones. Are you sure you want to wear that smock today? It’s all over grease stains.”
Ilse hadn’t noticed the stains in the dormitory. She sighed. “It’s the only one I have left.”
When she reported for duty, Mistress Raendl did scold her, but absentmindedly. Reading the signs, Ilse guessed the night would prove hectic and nerve-racking for them all. She was right. Within moments, a quarrel broke out between the youngest scullion and the pastry cook. Mistress Raendl spun around to deal with it. When she did, Kathe took Ilse away and gave her a mound of dough to knead. “This should keep you busy and safe,” she said softly.
Ilse settled down thankfully to her task. The other girls glanced in her direction, but no one spoke to her. She was glad. She didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to pretend she wasn’t angry and miserable.
