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“Justice.”
He flinched, expecting laughter, but Kosenmark was nodding. “Justice for the dead. I can understand that. How do you propose to achieve it?”
No explanations. No long tirades to justify himself.
“I don’t know,” Gerek said. “I-I thought— I meant— Dedrick was very trusting, my lord. Too trusting. He loved you.”
There. He’d said it.
“You believe I convinced him to commit treason.”
Gerek dared a soundless yes.
Kosenmark blew out a breath. “Words are useless. Mere sound of flesh and air. Yes, the poets were right, as always.” In a softer voice, he said, “I knew someone who felt as you do. She— They argued against my convictions—called me arrogant and— Well, never mind what they said. Their disbelief was good for me, urged me to do better, at least for a time…”
Silence filled the room, except for Gerek’s pulse in his ears. The groan of pulleys, the hissing of sand as the hourglass turned end over end, its luminescent grains spilling through the narrow aperture. Time, time, time slides away from our fingers, even as we try to grasp the moments and seconds.
“We are at an impasse,” Kosenmark said. “So let me propose a new idea. Let me tell you my intentions. Believe me or not, but listen. Stay in my household a few weeks longer and share my work. Judge for yourself if I am a traitor to the kingdom or not.”
He went on to speak of the kingdom, of old Baerne of Angersee, and his son who died of drink and despair. Of the present king, Armand, who desired to outshine his grandfather’s deeds. And how Lord Markus Khandarr fed the young king’s desire for glory, provoking him toward war with Károví without regard for the kingdom’s welfare.
“Armand is not the first king to disagree with his councillors,” Kosenmark said. “Nor is Lord Khandarr the first councillor to use his position to further his own ambitions. However, I would not see thousands die. Nor can I stand silent while another man drives the king toward such a war, so that he might seize the kingdom for himself. If that is treason, then I am a traitor.”
Without another word, he walked to the farther door and onto the rooftop garden. As the door swung shut, a breeze filtered through, carrying the scent of warm air, of green growing things bursting free of the earth. Of the outer world.
Gerek stared at the blank desktop for several long moments. Considered the man Dedrick had spoken of with such admiration. (And love. Let us not forget they loved each other once.) Considered what he’d observed himself over the past eight days. Kosenmark trusted no one. And yet he had offered to open his secrets to Gerek. Was that proof enough of his good intentions?
You came for truth and honor.
I did, Gerek thought.
He stood. Entered the garden and carefully shut the doors behind him. Twilight had fallen. A dusky violet veil covered the sky, brushed by smoke-black clouds. Light speckled the rising hills; lamplight illuminated the city spreading toward the shore. From there, the seas were only visible as a dark expanse.
Gerek made his way between the rows of budding trees, the beds of newly sprouted flowers. Spring had arrived without his being aware.
Kosenmark sat on a bench at the far end of the garden. His hands were clasped, one within the other. He stared outward to the seas, but his eyes obviously saw nothing of this world.
Gerek stopped and thought through the words he wished to say. He did not want to falter.
“Tell me more,” he said. “So I might do the work properly.”
* * *
THEIR CONVERSATION CONTINUED to midnight, first in the rooftop garden, then in Kosenmark’s private rooms over a supper of bread and cheese and triple-watered wine.
Gerek had known before that Kosenmark allowed him to see only the most unexceptional of his correspondence, but the number of names—the names themselves—left him breathless with astonishment. Lord Iani and Lady Theysson he knew about. Also, Luise Ehrenalt. When he heard the names Eckard, Vieth, and Nicol Joannis, he drew an audible breath. These were all high-ranking members of Veraene’s nobility. Two of these men were regional governors, appointed by the king.
“A shadow court,” he murmured.
Kosenmark’s hands stilled, his expression turned momentarily remote. “Someone else thought that a good name for what I do. I cannot agree entirely. I am not king, and the only true court resides in Duenne. However, the thought behind the name is true. We are nobles and commoners who care deeply about Veraene’s welfare.”
It was after Dedrick’s death that Kosenmark ended his shadow court. Instead, he had begun to approach certain members of Károví’s Court, to negotiate an alliance across both kingdoms to work against the war. So far, he’d had little luck, he told Gerek.
“Their court is smaller, but their factions just as numerous as ours. I had hoped to win Duke Miro Karasek to our side, but friends in Károví tell me King Leos recently sent Duke Karasek on a mission overseas. And other friends told me today of the end to that mission.”
He went on to describe that end. It happened in Osterling Keep, he said, nothing in his expression betraying Ilse Zhalina’s presence there. The king’s patrols had sighted twenty ships heading east. Three returned, only to founder on the shoals off the peninsula. During the skirmish that broke out, Duke Karasek had escaped. So far, he had evaded capture.
From there the conversation turned to the minor nobles in Károví, King Leos’s probable choices for an heir, and the possibility of approaching Ryba Karasek, cousin to that same Miro Karasek. He was only a baron from a minor branch of the family, but if his cousin did not return from his mission, Ryba Karasek might inherit the duchy.
