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Those wide eyes settled on him, and Kosenmark’s expression changed subtly. No longer bland, nor edged with bitter humor. Gerek thought he detected a wincing moment of painful memory, chased by sympathy for Gerek himself.
“Very well,” Kosenmark said in that disturbingly high voice. “Let us discuss our true business. You seek employment as a secretary or assistant. I have need of one as you undoubtedly heard.”
Gerek bowed his head. This was the nearest Kosenmark had come to mentioning the woman who had served him as secretary, before she became his lover. Gerek would not make the mistake, however, of betraying how much he knew. Just before their interview ended, Mistress Denk had offered one piece of pointed advice. Whatever you say or do, never mention the name Ilse Zhalina to Lord Kosenmark. He will not forgive that.
“Your credentials are adequate,” Kosenmark said.
Again, Gerek nodded. He had worked over those credentials for precisely that impression.
“I’m curious about your university career. You never formally applied there.”
A nod would not suffice this time. “N-no, my lord. I-I had not enough—”
“Not enough money?” Kosenmark waved a hand. “Forgive me. I should not interrupt. Speak as you mus
t.”
Another double meaning. Gerek drew a long breath and considered his reply. “No money. As well, I could not s-settle on one course of s-study. I wished to explore without cons-straint, my lord.”
That caught the man’s attention. His eyes narrowed—in humor this time. “Go on.”
“History, my lord. It is not complete without the literature of those times. The reverse is also true.”
“What about economics? You studied that as well.”
“For practical reasons, my lord. Money is an essential element of the world, no matter which century you examine.”
He finished the sentence, let his breath trickle out in relief that he had uttered the thing complete. Kosenmark must have noticed that small reaction, however, because he leaned forward and fixed Gerek with his gaze. “You have difficulty speaking, but not when you feel strongly about the matter. Tell me what else moves you.”
Truth, Gerek thought. The bonds of trust and friendship and family.
He’d known little of them in his life. To say that out loud was more than he could bear—not to this cold, clever young man.
“You are thinking hard,” Kosenmark observed.
“The s-subject is n-n-not an easy one, my lord.”
Kosenmark stared at him a longer moment, but when Gerek said nothing more, he leaned back with a disappointed sigh. “You speak several languages, yes?”
So they were back to the formal give-and-take of the interview. “Old Veraenen,” Gerek said. “Erythandran. Enough to read texts from the empire days. And s-some Immatran.”
“Károvín?”
Gerek suppressed a tremor of excitement. “Yes, my lord.”
“Fluently?”
He hesitated. “N-not as well.”
“But enough to puzzle out a letter or essay.”
“Yes, my lord.”
A brief silence followed. Kosenmark tapped his fingers against each other. Gerek waited, trying to keep from shifting nervously on the hard wooden chair. Off to one side stood an enormous hourglass, an extraordinary creation with several globes that worked together to measure minutes and hours. Even as he noticed it, the globes revolved slowly around to begin their measuring anew. Outside, bells rang the hour.
Kosenmark leaned forward again and slapped his hands on the desk, startling Gerek. “You know the salary? Mistress Denk explained that to you, of course. Is that acceptable?”
Gerek nodded dumbly.
