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She wrote back, “If you wish a capable emissary, and that is what I advise, then speak with Baron Mann.”
“I thought you loved politics,” Nadine said, when Ilse told her about the exchange.
“I do,” Ilse said. “I dislike political games, however. Baron Mann is adept at both. Besides,” she added, “he will see the situation with fresh eyes.”
She was not free of further importunities so easily, however. Others invited her to informal discussions about the kingdom—Duke Kosenmark, other members of the council, and others on the outskirts of power. They had recovered Duke Karasek’s letter from the king’s office, burned but still legible. Károví was in turmoil. Several key members of the nobility were gaining control, among them being Duke Markov, which Ilse expected, but also Ryba Karasek, now the duke of Taboresk. Ilse attended these sessions and found herself consulted in matters of state. She discovered a new joy in using her knowledge of Veraene and Károví and even Morennioù.
Meanwhile, Baron Eckard and Emma Iani arrived in court. Letters had gone out from Duenne’s Council, notifying the provinces of the king’s death. Baron Eckard, held in prison, was freed. Emma Iani and the rest of Raul’s shadow court had come out of hiding. Kathe and Gerek had taken possession of the old pleasure house in Tiralien. Their plans, at this point, were uncertain.
Through all these weeks, Ilse had visited Raul Kosenmark daily.
He had gained in strength. There had been a setback after his own testimony to the court, but since then Benno Iani reported constant progress, at least in the physical. However, Ilse could not convince Raul to speak of anything except inconsequentials. It was as though he had abandoned the kingdom for …
For nothing, she thought.
“He is afraid,” Emma Iani said as she sat by Ilse Zhalina’s fireplace.
“Does that surprise you?” Ilse asked.
Emma shook her head. “I would be surprised at the opposite. He wants the crown. But he cannot take it without believing himself a traitor.”
Heloïse lifted her head, but when Nadine laid a hand on her arm, the other woman pressed her lips together. Secrets, Nadine once said in an unguarded moment. It was enough of a clue for Ilse Zhalina that she directed the conversation in a different direction. Later, when she attempted to speak with Heloïse alone, she found the woman had disappeared, leaving behind Nadine in her most brittle mood.
In the weeks that followed, she wrote letters. She sent long overdue reports to her brother Ehren, to Kathe and Gerek in Tiralien, and eventually an indirect account to Alesso Valturri in Fortezzien.
We are all waiting, waiting, waiting …
* * *
AUTUMN SPUN INTO winter, leaf by wind-blown leaf. The bright gold grasses of the plains had darkened to brown, crimson speckled the northern hills, where oaks grew among the pines, and the color bled from the skies, the brilliant blue of autumn turning into winter gray.
Early one morning, a runner came to Ilse Zhalina’s quarters. Her newly hired maid, Theda, passed the man into the formal parlor where Ilse sat with Marte and Olivia at breakfast. “My lady.” He knelt before her and held out a thick envelope of ivory parchment, wrapped in silk ribbons and carrying the seal of Duenne’s Court. The scent of magic hung in the air.
Ilse stared at the letter. “What is it? Do you know?”
The runner was silent. She reached out and took the envelope cautiously. Magic bit at her fingertips, sharp and strong, as though her touch had unleashed a spell much more powerful than the ordinary one used to seal a letter against all but the intended recipient. Ilse dropped the letter back into the runner’s hands.
Olivia smothered a laugh, but Marte’s eyes were wide with curiosity. “I know the seal. It’s not for ordinary council business, only matter of state. Open it, Ilse.”
Reluctantly, Ilse took up the envelope a second time and touched her fingers to the seal. The magic surged through her veins, more bearable now. It immediately subsided, and the pages unfolded into her hands.
My Lady Ilse Zhalina, I write first to offer my apologies that our council has acted so slowly in recognizing your extraordinary efforts for the kingdom. You have gifted us with the opportunity for peace and prosperity. You have offered testimony without regard to yourself, and only for the truth, demonstrating a greater honor than any noble. It is with the full consent, therefore, and unanimous agreement of the Council of Duenne, that I offer you a title of the realm …
“No,” she said. “No and no and no. I do not need it.”
“What is it?” Marte asked.
Ilse laid the pages on the table and stared at them. “A bribe. Or so it appears. Duenne’s Court confers the title of Lady upon me and my heirs, not to mention…” She scanned further down through the letter. “Certain holdings, located in the northern district of Duenne itself, and the income that derives from such. Such title and holdings grants me a place in council, if I desire it. Oh, and full and free pardon for my part in assisting Morennioù’s queen to freedom.”
She glared at the runner. “Do they expect an answer?”
“No, my lady. But if you wish to send one—”
“Don’t,” Olivia said before Ilse could speak. “Not yet.” She gestured for the runner to go. He glanced at Ilse who reluctantly nodded. Once the door had closed behind the man, Olivia said, “Accept the title and lands. Everything. You will find them useful.”
Ilse eyed her doubtfully. “Useful how?”
“For following your heart’s desire,” Marte said. “Whatever that might be.”
