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“Of course I remember. And yes, I have always been there.”
Like the earth beneath her feet.
“I’ve dreamed of those days,” she whispered. “Of Leos Dzavek. I had not known…”
“Nor had I.” His voice, high and fluting, whispered back to her. “But lately I’ve dreamed more of those past lives.”
He pulled her close, but not for lovemaking, only to hold each other in warmth while the stars wheeled overhead and the moon swept down to the horizon. They slept, limbs entangled, as in the olden days, days from just a year ago. Toward midnight, Ilse stirred and woke, to find Raul awake. The sky had cleared and a bright moon shone through the canvas. He rested his head on one hand and gazed upon her with a foolish grin. “I should not have such joy within me,” he said.
She kissed him, tasted the salt of his skin, the sweetness of his mouth. “We take joy as we take the sun-bright days of summer.”
Joy.
Unexpectedly, a pang shot through her—so sharp and strong, she had to bite her lip to keep from weeping. She shook her head and her unruly hair tumbled loose between them. Later, she would have to braid it fresh for the night. Such an ordinary thought, for such an extraordinary day. She found she could not hold back the tears, and she wept. Wept for their newly rediscovered love, for the new exile she had chosen, for any number of reasons that she and he could not be Stefan and Anike, simply living together.
I chose my new exile, she told herself. I chose it, and he agreed.
And yet she could see no other path.
“Hush,” Raul whispered into her ear. “We have not reached the end of this life together. Do not give up hope.”
“How long?” she managed to say. “How long until the ship comes for our queen?”
“That depends on my secretary.”
The words acted like an antidote to sorrow.
“You have a new secretary?”
Raul laughed softly at her surprise. “It wasn’t my idea. He came to me three months ago with a raft of well-written recommendations and a story of how he disliked the northern winters and wanted to try a post in the south for once. He was very clever. It took me weeks before I discovered he was Dedrick’s cousin.”
A cousin? The news shook her unaccountably. She had known about Dedrick’s sister in court, and his unrelenting father, but she had not suspected a wider world of relatives. It was a fatal error to think all families were like her own, small and insular.
Raul went on to describe the new secretary. He had given his name as Gerek Hessler, but his true name was Lord Gerek Haszler. He was Dedrick’s second cousin, from a minor branch of the family. The man had infiltrated Lord Kosenmark’s house, and during Raul’s one brief absence, had gained access to Raul’s private chambers. Raul described his own discovery of the man’s identity, and their confrontation when Raul unexpectedly reappeared.
“He is a good man,” Raul said. “Clever with words and languages. Not so clever with his tongue. I believe he cares about Kathe.”
Another unexpected bit of information, which Ilse needed a few moments to digest.
“What does Kathe think?” she asked.
“Ah, that I have not dared to inquire,” Raul said. “These days, she glares at me as if I were a recalcitrant kitchen girl. Even her mother dislikes crossing her. If I were bold enough to guess, I would say she is disappointed.”
“Because of this Gerek?”
“I do not know. That would be prying.”
His tone was so prim, she had to laugh out loud. “You. How dare you pretend not to pry?”
He laughed, too, his face buried in her hair. “And you, you are too good for me.”
“How, good?”
“Honest, then,” he said.
The brief wave of mirth vanished at the word honest, and Ilse pressed her face into Raul’s shoulder to stop her tears.
Once, she had thought herself honest. Raul had told her he depended on that quality.
