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He regretted the words at once. Kosenmark made a sound, a growl deep in his throat. “You think I’m a traitor?”
What else should I believe? But he could not say that. Not when this man could summon a dozen guards. How easily could they dispose of his body? Far too easily, he decided. Dedrick had talked about the fortified household, the men and women chosen for their loyalty. Gerek had assumed the measures were a defense against robbers, not a private army, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“You are thinking too hard,” Kosenmark said. “Truth requires but a moment…”
“Except in the face of deception,” Gerek replied.
And to his surprise, he caught a smile of recognition on Kosenmark’s face. The book of poetry, of course. But then he remembered the slip of paper inside. Any quote from Tanja Duhr would surely call Ilse Zhalina to mind.
Do not mention her name, Mistress Denk had warned him.
He loves her beyond reason, Dedrick had said.
Meanwhile, Kosenmark’s smile had faded, and he studied Gerek with a new intensity, as though looking beyond the mask of flesh and into Gerek’s hidden thoughts. There was no sign of amusement, nor mockery, in that handsome face.
“You think I am a traitor?” he repeated. “Is that what Dedrick told you?”
At the mention of Dedrick’s name, Gerek started. “Who told—”
“No one told me. Not outright. Your papers were very good. But you have a slight resemblance to Dedrick, and though Dedrick was no scholar, you both shared certain turns of phrase. Baron Maszuryn was another member of the riding party today, and a few questions told me who you were. So I ask a third time, do you believe I am a traitor to the kingdom? No, a better one. Why did you come here?”
No more lies. No more subterfuge. I cannot stand it.
“I came for the truth,” he said.
“Ah. That.” Kosenmark exhaled and closed his eyes. “Truth is a chancy thing, soft and dangerous, armed with sudden sharp edges.”
He straightened up and turned around. Clasped his hands behind his back in a knot. Bookcases and tapestries lined the opposite wall, but Gerek could tell Kosenmark saw nothing of these, only some vision within.
“I killed him,” Kosenmark said quietly.
Gerek stilled the quiver in his throat.
“Oh, I did not draw the knife myself,” Kosenmark went on. “He came to me several months after we broke off. Offered to observe matters at Duenne’s Court and send those observations to me, by whatever means I thought wise. Though he didn’t admit it, I knew he wanted to revive our friendship. For that reason alone, I nearly refused. But Dedrick was right. I did need a friend at court—a secret one. I told myself that Markus Khandarr would not suspect Dedrick after our very public break. Deception,” he murmured, half to himself. “It was easier to deceive myself than admit I sent Dedrick into danger I dared not face.”
There was a pause. Then, “Do you know how he died?” Kosenmark said. “Did they tell you that much?”
If Gerek had not believed the room empty of air before, he did now. “Only what the king’s letter said, my lord.”
“Do you believe it?”
The official letter from court stated that Lord Dedrick Maszuryn died from a fall while riding in the hills north of Duenne. His companions had reported that he’d been unable to control his mount—a stallion that Dedrick had insisted on buying in spite of its wild character. The horse had been destroyed the same day. Dedrick’s ashes had been returned in a small silver box, fitted with priceless jewels.
He died by order of the king and his councillor. And no one grieved for him. No one. They uttered the most ordinary of platitudes and then continued with their lives, grateful that they were untouched by the scandal.
“No, my lord.”
“Your voice says you guess, however. He died…” Kosenmark drew a shuddering breath. “He died at the hand of Lord Markus Khandarr. It was magic. Lord Khandarr demanded the truth. Dedrick gave it to him, but his answer was not the one Lord Khandarr desired. He wanted proof of my treachery and used magic to force a different confession from Dedrick’s mouth. And so Dedrick, my friend, my once lover, died for his honesty.”
Kosenmark turned around. The brilliance had faded from his complexion. He looked older, and the late-afternoon sunlight, slanting in from the windows by the garden door, threw the lines beside his mouth and eyes into sharper relief than in days past. His cheeks were wet with tears.
“So,” he said, “you have the truth. My truth. What now?”
The question caught Gerek by surprise.
“I … do not know.”
The other man smiled. “A fair answer. What do you want, then? What did you want?”
