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“Please, let me go,” she cried out. “I did nothing wrong. Nothing!”
Her answer was a boom as the outer door slammed shut.
Ilse leaned against her bedroom door, shaking. “I did nothing wrong,” she repeated in a softer voice. “Nothing. I did not spy for Lord Khandarr. I told no one about your meeting or what you do here. I only opened that one letter by accident. And then I dropped all the letters onto the floor, and when I picked those up, I read the other one. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I knew nothing about you or your secret plans. I wish I were free and far away.”
Tears leaked from her eyes. Angry with herself for crying, she swiped them away. She didn’t want the guards to hear her crying. Kosenmark must have set them to listen at the vents, like dogs waiting outside a rabbit’s run. That meant he trusted them with his secrets. Them but not her. Or maybe he was listening himself.
“Are you?” she said out loud. “Are you spying on me? What makes you different from Lord Khandarr? Nothing. You both want power. You both like secrets. All those letters.” She spat out the word. “Stupid letters with secret marks and code words and talk about errant sons when you really mean Armand of Angersee. You make it into a game and call it politics. If you cared about the king, you’d be honest with him. You’d see that he did the right thing, instead of running away from court. But you won’t hear me, will you? Can you? Can you hear me, Lord Raul Kosenmark of Valentain? Why don’t you listen?”
Her voice broke and she slumped to the floor, breathing hard. What if he did listen? What if he sent more guards to silence her?
Let him. Let him do whatever he likes. But I’ll fight. I won’t pretend the way I did with Alarik Brandt.
The bells rang ten, followed by the fainter quarter bells. Soon Kathe would be awake and in the kitchen. She might try to visit Ilse, to ask about Lord Vieth’s banquet. What would she think when she saw the guards? Or would Lord Kosenmark use his famous discretion and give out excuses for Ilse’s absence until he verified her story? And if he was unable to do so …
Exhaustion flooded her without warning. She stumbled to her bed and lay atop the covers, but images from the past day flickered past in memory. Lady Alia leaning close to warn her. Baron Eckard’s shock upon seeing her. Kosenmark’s eyes, close to hers, when he studied her after their kiss. He was testing me. He wanted to see how I felt.
How had she felt? She no longer knew. It had been so strange. Panic at first, when he took her face between his hands and pressed his lips hard against hers. But those second kisses, not so terrible as the first, those had dissolved her panic and called up warmth.
“And why not?” she burst out. “Why must I be a stone forever? Why can’t I feel love or passion or even lust? You aren’t made like that. You cut off your own flesh for king and court. And then you lost everything. Why are you allowed to go on? Why doesn’t someone tell you, oh, you cannot be a lover, you cannot be a man?”
Nothing. No response. He had locked her in and forgotten her. She let her head sink onto her hands. She could hear the thrum of her pulse at her temples. Her eyes felt dry and hot from crying. Dimly, she was aware the quarter bells were ringing again.
A loud click startled her, and the door swung open. Ilse lifted her head and sucked in her breath.
Kosenmark stood on the threshold, a tall dark statue outlined in sunlight.
“They did,” he said heavily. “They did tell me that.”
Before she could speak, he shut the door, leaving only the echo of his voice behind.
* * *
AT NOON, SHE heard noises in the next room. Ilse pressed her ear to the door. One person walking about, she decided. She heard a clinking sound. More footsteps. Soon after there was a muffled knocking from the outer door. Curious, Ilse tried the latch and found it unlocked. Still unsure of what they expected, she pushed the door open.
Silence greeted her. Silence and an empty room.
Not quite empty, she thought. A large tray with several covered dishes and a sizable carafe waited for her on the table. A clean chamber pot stood by the door. So they did not mean to starve her. Nor would they make her live in filth, but the implications were clear. They did not mean to release her soon.
She tried the outer door next, but she wasn’t surprised to find it locked.
The smell of hot food enticed her back to the table. Lifting one lid after the other, she found a bowl of spicy stew and a dish of honeyed apples. There was also half a loaf of fresh white bread, and the carafe contained enough water to last her through the afternoon if she were careful. Better fare than she had expected.
“You can lock me away,” she said aloud. “But you cannot make me like it.”
A note was tucked underneath one of the plates. Eat as you wish then go back into your bedroom. We will know when you are done.
She wanted to throw the dishes against the wall, but they had judged her hunger nicely. The savory clouds of steam reminded her that she had not eaten since the banquet. Hating her weakness, Ilse ate everything quickly and washed down the meal with a large mug of cold water. Then she moved the carafe and chamber pot into her bedroom. The moment she did so, she heard rapid footsteps outside the room and the lock clicked shut.
* * *
WHEN THE BELLS rang the evening hour, the same routine took place. She ate less than before, but slowly, wanting to extend the time spent outside her bedroom. Eventually, however, she had to finish. She could guess what would happen if she did not willingly return to her bedroom.
Four times the next day, they allowed her to emerge from her bedchamber. The pattern varied only slightly. Mornings brought her hot coffee and a washbasin in addition to her breakfast. Noon meant a substantial meal. By afternoon, she was grateful when the guards brought her tea and biscuits and cheese. Supper came later than before. She had plentiful water and a clean empty chamber pot every time.
In between those visits, she paced her bedchamber. She had no books to read. She had no writing materials. Whoever had brought that first tray of food had also removed all her pens and paper and ink from the parlor. Besides, what coul
d she write? Another note begging for her freedom?
