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“How long then? A month. Two?”
“A year.”
“But—” Her hand flew up to her cheek. “My lord. Please. Not that long. I can’t—”
“You must. Or you will resign your post as soldier and spend that year in prison.”
One year. Galena bit down on her protests. It was more than she deserved, she told herself. Still, it took all her self-control to keep the explanations from rising up like the spring floods. She kept silent until she was certain she could speak steadily. He would expect that. And he would remember how she received this punishment.
“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. “For giving me a chance.”
He nodded. And in his grim expression she realized it was a chance, however difficult the next year might prove.
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON, TANGLED in unwanted and unfamiliar sleep, so that she would wake in time for her new duties, she dreamed another life dream—a long and grueling battle, where smoky figures wielded flames as their swords. The battle had endured for centuries. Death was its sole release. Yet death meant dishonor. So she labored on and on with that heavy sword, knowing she obeyed the king.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ILSE WOKE HOURS past the usual time.
She lurched upright in her bed, panicked. She had missed drill practice. Spenglar would not tolerate idleness. She’d heard him lecture the junior soldiers often enough.
Bellsong vibrated through the air, a loud ugly clanging. She clapped her hands over her ears. A sour taste coated her mouth, and her head felt stuffed with dust and cobwebs. Eight, nine bells. Not as late as she feared, but too late for weapons drill. She wondered why no one had awakened her before. Usually Alesso—
Alesso Valturri. He was a spy. And she had kissed him.
What have I done?
She groaned, sick at the unwanted memory. Oh, there were any number of excuses she might give—the sleepless nights, the anxiety of the moment, the wine and drugs. He had used magic, too. As if that mattered. She had kissed him willingly. That was the truth.
And from that single day, all has changed, Tanja Duhr had written. One word spoken, one suppressed. One hand clasped, let go. And so the future spins away from us, transformed. Though all we possess remains the same, we gaze upon each thing with different eyes.
Ilse rubbed her aching head until the throbbing stopped, and the bellsong faded. Her stomach felt queasy, but not from the wine or the late hours. Regret, she thought. Even that was too simplistic an answer.
She threw off her covers and stumbled into the next room. It looked so ordinary in the daylight. No mysterious notes tucked beneath her water jug. Her writing desk appeared just as she’d left it when Galena had come to her door. A thin film of dust covered her desk, blown in from the open shutters. Ordinary, yes. And yet, she had the sense of stepping into a false world, painted with shadows and not substance.
Ilse rang for a maid to bring her a fresh water jug and a breakfast tray. By the time she returned from the baths, the maids appeared with her water and breakfast. There was the freshly grilled sunfish, as well as the bread, olive oil, and soft white cheese. One of the girls sent her a sidelong glance as they set out the dishes and cups.
She knew that kind of look. They’ve heard rumors. Someone saw Alesso half-drag me to my room. Someone else knows I went out late last night.
The bread and coffee went down more easily than she thought, and soon the last traces of the drug and the long night vanished. She dressed in a clean gown. Her hair she bound back in a loose braid. Her eyes were like dark smudges, but her appearance would do well enough. They might suspect her of a dalliance, but nothing more.
After several false starts, she settled into her ordinary routine.
She sorted through her notes for the house’s expenses. Reports had arrived from the capital about new taxes and fees, which she incorporated in the file. Soon after that, the house agent came by with the receipts for the current month. Ilse spent the next two hours comparing them against the estimated income from the previous year. She usually found these tasks soothing and absorbing, but today she could not concentrate. All the breezes had died. Her rooms were entirely too still and hot. With nothing else to distract her, Ilse’s attention wavered between the rows of numbers and the previous day’s events.
If only she could pretend yesterday had never happened.
Oh, but it did.
Finally, she set aside her papers and set off for the kitchen. No sign of Alesso. If he had changed shifts with Daria, he might still be asleep. She made a circuit of the pleasure house, s
tarting on the top floor where the servants had their dormitories, then down and around through the bedchambers and parlors, and to the common room.
Here, the kitchen boys and girls were laying out the first refreshments. Courtesans were just appearing for the day. Ysbel lounged on a couch, dressed in a filmy gown of transparent white, under which her nipples showed a rich ruddy brown. Stefan, too, was bathed and perfumed for an early appointment. Perhaps the grain merchant had requested a private audience.
Ilse paused, wondering where to search next, when she caught a glimpse of Alesso across the room. The next moment, he disappeared into the servants’ corridor. Ilse caught up the skirts of her gown and ran after him.
