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She surveyed the room again. A short examination of the lower shelves yielded a complete set of writing materials, including pens, penknives, ink pots, and reams of inexpensive paper suited for note-taking. A small box held more expensive paper and parchment. She selected what she needed and sat at her new desk.
The chair proved sturdy and comfortable. The desk had several scratches, and its sides were badly dented, but the writing surface itself was smooth enough. All the furniture looked worn and used, and she had the impression that everything had been assembled in haste. It gave the room a temporary feel.
Never mind. It was better than pots and pans.
She sharpened her pen, dipped its point into the ink pot, and tapped away the excess. The blank sheet of paper tempted her with possibilities. It could hold a list. A poem. A letter …
Dearest Klara. I am so sorry that I could not write to you before. You see, I ran away—
Ilse scratched out the letters. Wrong. Everything wrong. It was too soon to write about what happened. Too soon to think about it. She shredded the paper and burned the pieces in her fireplace. Then she returned to her desk and took out a fresh sheet of paper. Make a list, he had said. She could do that much.
She had filled one side of paper when Kathe appeared at her door. “You look more at home,” she said with a smile.
Ilse carefully blotted the last few lines. “Perhaps. I’ve had more training with a pen than a paring knife.”
“So I told my mother when Lord Kosenmark informed us of recent events.”
“Oh dear. I forgot all about your mother. What did she say?”
Kathe’s eyes brightened. “Those are words I should not repeat in gentle company. Let us just say that Mistress Denk and my mother were in rare temper last night—both of them grumbling how Lord Kosenmark must think he was still in court, where the king has more servants than the stars. They were busy past midnight, setting up new rooms for you. Come, would you like to see your new quarters?”
Ilse’s new quarters were in the west wing, on the opposite side of the house from her old dormitory. Like Kathe, she had a small sitting room, with stools and a fireplace and a table for eating or writing. The bedroom was larger than the sitting room, with a clothespress and an oversized bed with quilted covers. One wall had a hanging that depicted a woman’s silhouette, her hair falling into a cascade to her feet. Lir Triumphant said the lettering. A small square window opened onto the courtyard and garden below.
She realized belatedly that Kathe had stopped talking.
“You have that faraway look,” Kathe said. She fussed with the sitting room’s table, wiping away an invisible smudge with her apron. “No more chopping or mincing or washing up together. No more chatting. I shall miss that.”
“No more scraping out barrels,” Ilse replied. “No more polishing radishes.”
Kathe smiled, a bit pensively. “You nearly did polish them, I heard.”
“No, even I knew better. Does Rosel play that trick on every new girl?”
“Just the pretty ones.” Kathe sent her a brief sidelong glance. “You did well with them, from what I saw.”
Ilse shrugged. “Yes and no. Lys …”
“Lys thought you would take her place” was Kathe’s tart reply.
“How? I knew nothing about kitchen work. I still don’t know anything, except scrubbing and scraping.”
“Ah, but you were an expert scrubber and scraper by the end. The scullions are in tears, knowing that you won’t be there to take the worst of the scut work.” The humor faded from her face. “Ilse, do not fret about Lys. You did the right thing with the other girls, and none of them were sulking about your good fortune this morning. As for Lys … give her some time and she’ll settle down.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“Then my mother will have a word to say. Speaking of my mother, I must get back to the kitchen before she frightens off the new pastry cook. I’ll send up Janna or Steffi with coffee and meat pies for a midday nibble. You’ll need to eat well to keep up with Maester Hax and Lord Kosenmark.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear and glanced around. “And we might not have time for mincing and washing, but we will have more time for private talks. It’s easier, now that you aren’t working for me and my mother. That is, if you like.”
Ilse smiled. “Yes, I would like that.”
Kathe pretended an interest in the carpet. “I’m glad.” Then she shook her head. “Listen to me, babbling nonsense when we both have work to do. Where would you like your tray delivered—here or in your office?”
“In my office,” Ilse said, thinking of her lists.
Kathe laughed. “Now you do sound like Maester Hax.”
Ilse returned to her new office and her list-making. Before she had finished, Hax sent a note with a new assignment. She spent the rest of the morning making an inventory of the supplies in her office and in Maester Hax’s. When she delivered the list to him, he gave her letters to copy and then critiqued the results. After a short noonday meal, they reviewed Lord Kosenmark’s schedule.
He rose early, Hax told her, and spent two hours with the weapons master, Maester Benedikt Ault. After breakfast, he generally spent an hour or more with Maester Hax discussing business. He ate his midday meal alone or with visitors. More visitors came by appointment in the late afternoon. Evenings he spent with more intimate friends, or abroad at some of Tiralien’s great houses, though at times those friends visited him in the common room.
