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The conversation turned easily to gossip about the kitchen girls and then the courtesans and then what Kathe’s mother had said when she found the fireplace littered with plum pits after Nadine’s visit. Once they reached the market, Ilse helped Kathe with choosing spices, then they continued to the wharves, where Kathe picked out fresh fish for Lord Kosenmark’s supper that evening. “I shall have to make a special effort,” she said. “It’s all I can do for the poor man.”
The bells were ringing quarter past four as they returned to the pleasure house. Kathe left Ilse for the kitchens. Ilse was heading for the stairwell when she met Lord Kosenmark, who was striding through the back halls. His hair was matted with sweat, more sweat streaked his face and shirt. He must have just come from an extra session with the weapons master.
Kosenmark paused in mid-stride. For an uncomfortable moment, he stared at her with flat golden eyes, reminding Ilse of a hunting cat as it considered its prey. Ilse stepped back, startled. Kosenmark blinked as though he had just recognized her. He nodded stiffly and continued past.
Ilse let out a shaky breath. If he were this unhappy in love, what must it have been like when he had no one at all?
The next morning Maester Hax summoned Ilse to a private conference. “Consider what I say to be a warning for the coming weeks. It has to do with Lord Kosenmark’s private affairs, but since it affects our dealings with him, I would rather you knew than blundered, or worse, spent your days speculating.”
He paused and rubbed his eyes. Wordlessly, Ilse refilled his cup with more tea, adding a spoonful of honey, the way he liked it. Hax took the cup from her hands, but he gave the tea a wary look, as though he suspected Ilse of secretly adding medicine to it.
“Lord Dedrick wrote Lord Kosenmark to announce his departure from Tiralien,” he said. “At his father’s command, he will be absent the entire season, assisting his brother with managing the family estates. This, we are given to believe, will instill a sense of responsibility and duty in Lord Dedrick.”
“And keeping him from Lord Kosenmark. Why doesn’t he refuse?”
“Money. Family feeling. The chance his father might disown him. I do not know. Perhaps Lord Dedrick is weary of battling his father. Whatever the cause, I advise that we not discuss the matter further, especially not in Lord Kosenmark’s hearing.”
“He will notice.”
Hax sighed heavily. “Yes, he will. However we cannot help that.”
“Will Lord Kosenmark still attend Lord Vieth’s banquet?”
“Yes. He has obligations that override personal preferences and moods. Happily, he seems to recognize those obligations. After some discussion, that is.” He sighed again and tapped his ink-stained fingers together, as though contemplating the subject. “And speaking of obligations, let us return to business,” he said after a moment. “Tell me of Mistress Denk’s request for renovations.”
That night, Ilse lay in bed, listening to the faint metallic notes from Lord Kosenmark’s new instrument—the one with velvet-covered hammers and metal strings. The instrument had proved popular, and now composers all over Tiralien were competing to write pieces for its unique tone. Whoever played it tonight was a skilled musician, playing swiftly and with a marked expression that brought out the loveliness of a very complex passage.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus only on the music, hoping it would lull her to sleep, but her thoughts skipped from one subject to another. Hax ill. Kosenmark troubled on several fronts. Her own secrets weighed upon her like a second piece of music winding through the background—her memories of home and family, of Klara and her grandmother. Her heart still ached to remember them, but she could bear it more easily now. Her grandmother— No, better to think about Klara. It was almost spring. Only a few months remained until her friend made the long journey to Duenne. She would be writing lists, ordering gowns and stockings and shoes and jewelry—all the accoutrements expected for a young woman’s season in the capital.
I will never make that journey, Ilse thought. Or if I do, it will be a very different one.
A loud knocking yanked her back from the edge of sleep. Ilse pulled on a long robe and ran into the parlor just as Kosenmark’s senior runner came through the outer door. “Lord Kosenmark wants you,” he said. “Come at once.”
But it was to Maester Hax’s suite that he took her. Mistress Hedda was just coming out, her dark face grim. “I told him,” she was saying. “I told him and told him but no, the stubborn old—” She broke off when she saw Ilse. “Go inside. Maester Hax and Lord Kosenmark wish to see you.”
Berthold Hax lay in bed, eyes closed and head sunk deep into his pillows. Kosenmark sat at his bedside, hands clasped together. The air smelled strongly of recent magic, and Ilse’s skin prickled as the current streamed over her skin.
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm unde kreft.
Mistress Hedda’s magical signature was clear and strong. Only when Ilse approached the bed, however, did she recognize Lord Kosenmark’s subtler magic, like the impression of his fingers upon the air.
Kosenmark glanced up and nodded at Ilse. Though he masked it well, she could see his distress in the set of his jaw. Then Hax tried to speak and broke into a loud groaning.
“Hush,” Kosenmark said. “Save your strength.”
“You just want me quiet, my lord.” Hax’s voice was breathy and faint.
“I want you well.”
“I am well. Or I will be soon enough.”
“Nevertheless, you cannot attend. You must not.”
“I know that, my lord, but neither should the girl.”
“She’s here. Let us ask her.”
Kosenmark motioned for Ilse to approach. “Our friend is quite ill and must keep to his bed. I would like you to fill his place at the governor’s banquet.”
