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Kathe laughed. “Don’t ask me. But I could tell ever since you asked to scrub the garbage barrels that you had strange tastes.”
Ilse studied her hands, no longer cracked from hot water and soap. Ink stained her fingers, and she had developed calluses from holding the pen. “I do have strange tastes,” she murmured. “And you are right. I do like it, in spite of the lectures.”
Lord Kosenmark had opened up many of his secret files. Not all of them. Not even half. And he continued to hold private meetings with Berthold Hax, in spite of Mistress Hedda’s lectures about allowing her patient to rest. Hax’s only concessions to Mistress Hedda’s demands were that he kept to his bedchamber and limited his work to a few hours each day, with frequent breaks in between.
“You are thinking again,” Kathe said with an amused smile.
“Always. That is why Lord Kosenmark pays me a salary.”
The quarter bells chimed, followed by three peals for the hour. With a sigh, Ilse put down her cup and stood. “Speaking of my salary …”
“Already? You hardly took a break.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But if I don’t finish my reading this afternoon, I’ll be spending the night in the library.”
“What are you reading these days?” Kathe said curiously. “Not poetry, I can tell.”
“Economics,” Ilse said. “Treatises comparing the economics in Baerne’s latter days to Armand’s reign. Lord Kosenmark thinks it would be useful for me.”
Kathe shuddered. “You do have strange tastes. Go, then. We can talk more tomorrow—if you have time.”
As it turned out, Ilse did not have time, which gave her mixed emotions. She missed having so many chats with Kathe, and she disliked having to conceal the greater part of her activities from her friend. She had told Kathe that Lord Kosenmark was considering another promotion for her. In a way that was true. He had set her a trial and was helping her to pass it by giving her books and papers, then questioning her about the essential points to ensure that she understood them. He was teaching her to think, to dissect information and put it back together in new shapes. It was like a grand game of word links, but instead of words, the game involved ideas and people and kingdoms and history. And there’s more, she thought. Much more. So far, she had glimpsed only the rim of this vast new plateau.
* * *
THE DAY OF Lord Vieth’s banquet, Ilse teetered between anticipation and dread. The seamstress had completed the last stitches that morning, and Lord Kosenmark had dismissed Ilse for the afternoon, telling her to nap. She took a walk in the gardens instead, though the air was cool and the buds still tight against spring’s true arrival. When she returned, she found her door open and Kathe and Nadine waiting inside.
“I have a surprise for you,” Kathe said.
“We both do,” Nadine added.
Ilse regarded them warily. “What kind of surprise?”
“A happy one,” Nadine said. “Come with us.”
They took her by the hands and led her into her bedroom, where someone—Kathe, no doubt—had laid out Ilse’s new costume. Black silk stockings. A matching shift edged with delicate lace. New black slippers. The gown itself a gleaming waterfall of fabric, dark red silk patterned with teardrops of darker red.
“Bath time,” Nadine declared with a wicked grin. “And then we shall take over as your maids.”
“I don’t need help,” Ilse said faintly. “Certainly not for bathing.”
Nadine muttered something that sounded like prunes. Kathe shook a finger at her. “Do not tease. Ilse, we are not going to bathe you, but we would like to help you with dressing and such. That is, if you like.”
She was caught halfway between laughter and exasperation, but Kathe’s smiles and Nadine’s mischievous charm were too hard to resist. “I like. I think I do.”
She bathed quickly, but alone, as she wished. Returning to her rooms, she found that Kathe had laid out ribbons for Ilse’s hair, while Nadine had picked out pins and clasps and jewels from her own jewelry box for Ilse’s inspection. Feeling self-conscious, Ilse let them help her into her clothing. Nadine surveyed her with a professional eye, then touched Ilse’s hair. “Too damp. However, I know a cure.”
She hummed a few words. Warmth brushed against Ilse’s face. She touched her hair, which was now dry. “You know magic,” she said softly, wondering why she had not realized this before.
“Just a few tricks,” Nadine said. “Very few.”
She brushed out Ilse’s long dark hair, then tied it with hair ribbons into a cascade of loops, which she declared was the latest style. Necklace and earrings followed. Next her new slippers. Pearls in my hair, Asta winding ribbons, and Baron Mann taking my hand for the next dance …
Ilse’s throat constricted. She pushed away all memories of that night and what followed. Tonight was entirely different. She was no gift tied up and wrapped. She was Lord Kosenmark’s assistant secretary.
“One more detail,” Kathe said. She drew a small vial from her pocket and opened it. “Scent. Do you like it?”
Ilse sniffed a blend of cinnamon and musk, a warm fragrance that recalled the pots of southern spices in Mistress Raendl’s kitchen. “I like it very much.”
