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Gerek dropped his pen, spattering ink over his notebook and the desk. Cursing softly, he mopped up the spill with his sleeve. His notebook page was smeared, but the script was clear enough. He could copy it over later. He slid the book inside his jacket. “Yes?”
Kathe Raendl backed into the room with a heavily laden tray. Gerek drew a quick breath at the sight of her face. It was too much of a coincidence, his notes, her arrival moments later. He could almost believe she’d used Kosenmark’s spy holes, except it was so unlike her character.
“I knocked three times,” she said. “And it is after noon.”
“I-I-I—” He stopped. Forced out a breath. “I am sorry,” he said with deliberate slowness. “I was distracted. So much work.”
“Ah, distracted. How often have I heard that explanation? It’s as common as mold and dust. Perhaps I should talk to Lord Kosenmark about airing this office, if not the entire wing.”
Gerek shot a suspicious glance in her direction. She had never teased him before. Unlike Kosenmark, she never finished his sentences for him. She waited until he mastered his wretched tongue, forcing out syllable after painful syllable, then helped him work his way back to simple conversation.
Kathe coughed and nodded at his desk. “Do you wish to take your meal here? Or shall I find a parlor elsewhere in the wing?”
Hurriedly he cleared off a space. Kathe set down the tray and laid out several covered dishes, a carafe of fresh cold water, a second of strong coffee brewed just as he liked. From her demure expression, he might have believed her yet another kitchen girl, but he had seen her name throughout Mistress Denk’s accounts. She had lately taken over reporting the kitchen expenditures. She also shared the responsibility for designing the splendid feasts given in Lord Kosenmark’s pleasure house. Denk had commented that Kathe could command a position in any noble’s household as chief cook. He wondered why she lingered here, as a mere assistant.
His attention on these speculations, he reached for his water cup. His hand accidentally brushed Kathe’s. He felt the brief warmth of contact, heard her intake of breath.
Gerek jerked his hand back. “S-s-s-sssorr— Oh damn it!”
He thrust himself away from the desk with both hands and shut his eyes. He could not bear to see her shocked expression. Because she would be shocked. They always were. They never understood his shame.
Kathe remained silent, still. He could sense her presence, however, just on the other side of his desk. He wanted to order her away, but he could tell his tongue would not obey him, not for many long moments. Nor did he dare to open his eyes and meet her gaze. He could not tell what he might do if he saw pity on her face. He’d had enough of pity.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kathe said softly.
So she had understood. He opened his mouth to speak, felt a betraying tremor in his throat, and shook his head. After another long silence, he heard her quietly exit the room.
He let his head sink onto his hands. It was always the same. My father and grandfather are right. I am a fool. Oh Dedrick. You needed a bolder, braver cousin than I.
From far away came the soft chimes of the quarter hour, echoed by the house clocks. He drew a long breath and glanced at his meal with distaste. The delicately spiced fish, the rice dotted with leeks and peppercorn, all cooked and presented with care, turned his stomach. He drank his cup of water slowly to ease the nausea. Tomorrow was his first full holiday. He wished it had come today. He badly wanted to escape this house for a few hours.
He stacked the dishes onto the tray and carried it to the sideboard for later. Back at his desk, he picked up the next book from the crate. Another set of memoirs, from a member of court in the late empire days. Gerek sighed. The task reminded him of the few, vague life dreams that visited his sleep. I have always been a clerk, writing down others’ deeds.
“Hessler.”
Lord Kosenmark stood in the open doorway. Had he knocked? Gerek couldn’t remember. He curbed the urge to touch the diary, hidden inside his jacket. “My lord?”
“There’s been a change in my schedule,” Kosenmark said.
He still wore his riding clothes from this morning—a sober costume of dark blue wool, edged in darker blue silk, and speckled with raindrops. Blue, the mourning color of Károví. Was that a subtle signal, or merely coincidence? Then Gerek took in more of Kosenmark’s appearance. The tense, straight line of his mouth. How the man’s eyes had turned opaque, as if the eternal golden sun behind them had set.
“Well?” Kosenmark said. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”
“My lord?”
“A visit to Lord Demeyer’s country estates,” Kosenmark said, with the tone of repeating himself. “Expect me to be absent three days. Make my excuses to anyone who requires it. That is one of your responsibilities, no? Never mind. I do not need an answer today.?
??
He swept from the room, leaving Gerek teetering between apology and outrage.
* * *
WITHIN THE HOUR, Lord Kosenmark had departed on horseback. A carriage with trunks and servants and outriders followed. It was all so unnecessary, Gerek thought, as he returned to his office and his untouched meal. A great deal of show for nothing at all. He nibbled at the rice, then forced down a few mouthfuls of fish and a sweet pale pudding. With food, his headache eased, and he was able to concentrate on the current situation.
Kosenmark had left. He would not return for three days—the number of trunks guaranteed that. So. Yes. It was time for the next stage of Gerek’s long-laid plans.
No one would notice anything he did. They all expected him to hide in his office or his private chambers. Gerek set the dinner tray outside his office for the kitchen maids. He locked his door with keys and magic provided by Kosenmark himself. (A sign that Kosenmark did not entirely trust his household. Gerek reminded himself to note this later in his book.)
