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She blotted the page with shaking hands, all too aware how Ghita and the runner watched her. “We can work together later,” she said. “Tomorrow morning is best for me. That gives me a chance to speak with Mistress Andeliess about the salt tax. Will that suit?”
Ghita answered, but Ilse hardly heard the woman. She gathered up her books and writing case. Murmured a reply that surely made no sense, but all she cared about was the visitor and what news he might bring.
She sped to the stairs at the back of the house. By the time she reached the second-floor landing, she was out of breath. She paused at the door to smooth her hair and recover her poise. If her visitor was Lord Joannis, she would have to act her part in case anyone overheard them. Then she rounded the corner from the landing into the hall.
Her first warning was the sight of two armed soldiers outside her door.
Both men glanced in her direction. Light from an open door beyond cast their faces in shadows. Then one man rested his hand on his sword. The movement sent a ripple of sunlight over the metal studs of his leather glove.
Ilse continued forward, her heart skipping to a faster beat as she took in more details. Royal insignias. Full armor despite the heat. Someone important, then. Given a few moments, she could probably guess the identity of her visitor. She laid a hand on the latch to her door, felt the warmth of recent magic, the hint of a signature she almost recognized.
Inside, a tall man dressed in a dusty drab cloak stood behind her desk. He held a paper in one hand. A dozen more were scattered over the floor, as if he’d tossed them to one side. A wide-brimmed hat shaded his face, but Ilse felt a stir of fear. Something about his height, the dismissive manner with which he flicked aside the paper and took up another.
Markus Khandarr, King’s Mage and chief councillor, glanced up. “Mistress Ilse Zhalina. Formerly Mistress Therez of Melnek. Good day.”
Her mouth went dry. “Lord Khandarr. I remember you.”
Oh yes, she did. She had met him only once, for a few terrifying moments, two years ago. He had infiltrated a secret meeting between Raul Kosenmark and his shadow court. Or rather, he had intended to. Suspecting a spy, Raul had arranged a false meeting, with only those associates already known to the king.
“I am glad you do,” Khandarr said. “That will make our interview easier. Lord Kosenmark tells me you’ve broken off all connection with him.”
A lie. Raul would tell this man nothing. With an ease that she did not feel, Ilse turned toward the sideboard and indicated the waiting carafes. “Would my lord care for wine? Or I might send for coffee.”
Khandarr smiled faintly. “No, thank you. A few answers are all that I require. Tell me what you remember about the Károvín ships—the ones that foundered offshore last month. What did you see that day?”
“Nothing,” she said. Too quickly, because Khandarr’s smile deepened.
“Nothing at all?” he said.
She made a show of considering her answer this time. “Nothing, my lord. You might know that Captain Spenglar allows me to drill with his wing. That day I came late, so I was outside the yard when the alarm bells rang. The wings and files marched out. I waited until they passed, then returned here to my work.”
“You were not curious?”
“Very curious. And frightened. There were rumors of pirates, you see.”
“But they were not pirates.”
“No, my lord. They were not. I learned that later.”
Khandarr regarded her for several moments. It was hard to read his expression—he’d placed himself between her and the window, and shadows covered his face—but she had the distinct impression of strong emotions running just beneath the surface. Disappointment. Fury. A mixture of the two. She wished she knew more about current doings in the royal court.
“Tell me what magic you know,” Khandarr said.
Ilse suppressed a flinch. “I know very little magic, my lord.”
“False,” Khandarr whispered. “Your first mistake.”
“But my lord—”
“Shut up, you miserable girl. You know magic. Kosenmark taught you. Your own books betray you.” He dropped the papers onto her desk and curled his fingers into a fist. The magic current stirred, drawing her skin tight. “I’m glad to see you have not forgotten me,” he said. “Consider what you know. What Kosenmark told you. How Lord Dedrick died. Because tomorrow we shall talk again.”
He brushed past her on his way out the door. Ilse held still. She counted to ten after the door closed, then moved swiftly to the sideboard and poured herself a generous cup of wine.
He came to interrogate the Károvín prisoners, of course. That was the meat of Nicol Joannis’s warning. She had misunderstood him. She had expected the king to send a military officer. The incident was a military matter, after all. But it was the short interval since that warning that frightened her the most. Only a month had passed since the governor sent word to Duenne. How many horses had Lord Khandarr and the courier killed between them?
Her thoughts veered back to her other encounters with Markus Khandarr, the reports from trusted agents, even Lord Iani’s own account of Dedrick’s death.
Khandarr raised a hand. Ilse’s skin pulled tight across her forehead. Her throat clamped shut, and her vision went dark …
