AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“According to the code, yes.”
Kosenmark gave no answer to that. His gaze had turned inward. Even after six months in the man’s employ, Gerek could not read anything in that still, beautiful mask. Unhappiness, perhaps, but a philosopher might say that each emotion implied the presence of its opposite, and he had not known Lord Raul Kosenmark to express such an alien emotion as happiness, at least not in his presence.
Abruptly, Kosenmark submerged himself, then stood up, the water streaming over his body.
He was different from other men, Gerek thought, trying to look elsewhere and failing. Tall and well made, his honey-brown skin gleaming wet, his eyes like polished gold coins. The mage-surgeon had done his job well, but the differences were too obvious to miss. The hairless chest, the stubby penis, the blank expanse between his legs where magic had burned away the flesh.
Kosenmark studied him coolly in return. “Have you seen enough, my friend?”
Gerek flinched and bowed his head. Still with that impassive expression, Kosenmark toweled himself dry and drew on a clean robe. He left the room and mounted the stairs. Gerek trailed behind him, beset with thoughts of dogs and lackeys.
When they reached the fourth floor, Kosenmark unlocked his office door with a spell. Once they were inside, he relocked the door and held out his hand. Gerek yielded the packet and watched as Kosenmark broke the wax seal. A subtle change in the air was the only sign of magic working, but in the next moment, the packet unfolded into three closely written pages. More Immatran, Gerek could see. In addition to her knowledge of magic and spy craft, Benik was gifted in languages—another trait that qualified her for her dangerous post.
Kosenmark quickly read through the report. “This is very great news, indeed,” he said softly. “Leos Dzavek believed dead. The council in turmoil, but not for long. Markov oversees the investigation. Karasek is organizing the troops. Risova controls the capital city of Rastov and the immediate surroundings. Ah, that is interesting…” He bent closer to the pages, humming to himself as he read, then looked up at Gerek with bright eyes. “Duke Karasek returned from his mission to Hallau Island, but almost immediately departed from the capital, first to track the assassins, then to notify the garrisons of the king’s death.”
“He is the s-senior commander,” Gerek said tentatively.
“Yes, but why go himself? Why not send his captains and trusted couriers for the task?” Kosenmark shook his head. “There could be any reason—good or bad—for such a decision. What concerns me is that they have not found the body.”
“N-n-no body? Then how do they kn-kno-know—?”
“By magic. When the councilors entered the king’s study, they found the signs of a battle with magic. Dzavek had vanished, along with certain irreplaceable treasures—Benik cannot tell which ones. The three chief councillors—Karasek, Markov, and Cernosek—refuse to admit anyone else into the rooms, including the servants. There are rumors of magical traces pointing to Immatra and Duszranjo, but no conclusive evidence … Various factions within are maneuvering for power … which makes Karasek’s absence all the more puzzling.”
His attention captured by one phrase, Gerek barely paid attention to these comments about councils and factions. “Irreplaceable treasures. Does that mean s-someone s-s-stole King Leos’s ruby?”
“Possibly, but do not mention that to anyone, not even Kathe. Think how dangerous that knowledge is.”
Oh, yes. Lir’s three jewels had returned to the world. Leos Dzavek had recovered the ruby, only to lose it once again. If Lord Khandarr ever suspected anyone of such knowledge, they faced arrest and torture on the chance they also knew of its location. With even a single jewel, Veraene could launch a war against Károví and no one in the council would object.
Speaking of the king …
“What of Armand?” he said. “Our king. He has his own s-spies in Károví.”
“Of course. I suspect Armand will read a very similar report this week or next.”
Then how long until he gathers his soldiers?
But Gerek could tell Kosenmark’s thoughts were not upon Armand of Angersee and his quest for war. Kosenmark had turned away from his secretary and stood with his face averted, as if gazing through one of the many tall windows that overlooked Tiralien’s red-tiled roofs and the seas beyond. Gerek knew better. There was a tautness in Kosenmark’s stance, at once an air of weariness and barely suppressed excitement.
He is thinking of Ilse Zhalina. He has never stopped thinking of her.
He knew better than to mention Zhalina’s name. Kosenmark had not mentioned his beloved once since Gerek first came to this house.
Before he could decide what to say, how to say it, or if he should speak at all, Kosenmark gestured to the door and recited a string of Erythandran. The ripple of tension brushed against Gerek’s cheek. A sharp green scent filled the air, and the lock clicked open.
A clear dismissal. Gerek bowed his head and retreated from the room.
* * *
RAUL KOSENMARK WAITED until the door swung shut behind his secretary. Only then did he return to his desk, where he spread out the pages of Danusa Benik’s report. A very neat script, with few corrections, and the ink all of the same color and hue, which suggested she had written out the whole in one session.
Several key points of the letter troubled him, items he had not mentioned to Gerek Hessler.
Benik had dated the letter from eight weeks ago. That alone did not worry him. A courier traveling by swift messenger packet could sail from Rastov’s port to Tiralien in ten days, given the right winds, but this letter had come by a much more circuitous route, passed from agent to agent, until it reached the bookseller in Tiralien. Dzavek’s death had taken place two weeks before that. Benik must have waited until she confirmed the king’s death and observed its aftermath before writing to Kosenmark. Again, the mark of a cautious, meticulous agent.
But that left four weeks between Hallau Island and Karasek’s return to Zalinenka. According to the rumors Benik heard, Karasek had reappeared alone and on horseback, in the same hour as Dzavek’s death. Time spent in the magic plane could account for his absence, but the coincidence of his reappearance was too strong. Why go to Zalinenka and not back to Hallau?
He rubbed his hand over his face, then shuffled the pages together and slid them into his letterbox. The air stirred as the paper slid through the narrow slot—the current briefly called to life by the box’s layers of spells. He would read Benik’s report again tonight and again the next day, gleaning additional clues from the words she chose, and those she left out. Even so, he knew the essentials. Dzavek dead. Karasek returned from the magic plane. And no mention of mysterious prisoners or recent executions.
