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There was another pause. Another searching glance that took in the high, arched ceiling, the black-and-white-tiled floor, the mosaics in the wall that depicted the goddess Lir and her brother-god Toc in all their incarnations. Until this moment, Gerek had almost convinced himself that Kosenmark would not take the final step, that all these preparations were a pretense. But even as he released his breath, Kosenmark gave a sharp nod to the two servants. They opened the doors and he passed through them alone.
Gerek froze a moment, too startled to move. Then he hurried after Kosenmark.
Outside, Benedikt Ault and eight guards waited on horses. One of the stable boys held the reins for a tenth, riderless horse. This was no entourage of a duke’s son, Gerek thought. This was a military company.
Kosenmark turned and gripped Gerek by the arm. “Be well, be safe, my friend.”
Gerek could do nothing more than return the clasp. Friend to friend. Then Kosenmark was striding toward his horse. He mounted, gave the order to depart, and was away.
CHAPTER SIX
FOR THE PAST six years, Kathe Raendl had awakened to a cacophony of bellsong. She had hated the noise at first and called the bells metal-tongued monsters. Their clamor was nothing like the silvery chimes in Duenne’s palace, which insinuated themselves into your sleep and lifted you to wakefulness. Subtle, much like the court itself.
She had come to love Tiralien even so—the whisper of the seas, the sense of being perched on the edge of the world and its water-filled horizon. She even came to love Lord Kosenmark’s house, a place of shadows and bright-lit halls, filled with elegant statuary, rare books and paintings, its halls scented with sweet perfume and the musk of sexual spendings. But she never forgot the listening devices within, nor that Kosenmark himself was a creature of court and politics. And the bells …
Bellsong crashed through her dreams, waking her abruptly.
She lay there, her pulse beating far too fast, uncertain for a moment where she was. Bells continued to ring. The familiar noise anchored her in the ordinary world. This was Tiralien. The seventh year of Armand of Angersee’s reign. And she was Kathe Raendl, assistant cook in Lord Kosenmark’s pleasure house. She counted the peals. Eight and two quarter-hour chimes. Plus whatever bells she had missed. Call it half past ten, judging by the angle of sunlight.
Too early, she thought, and buried her face into her pillow. Let my mother take charge of the girls by herself.
Except she had promised Mistress Denk to review the kitchen’s budget for the coming month. And there was the problem with Dana, who had run off with a stable boy the week before.
We need to hire extra staff, she thought wearily. Another girl for the kitchen and at least two more to serve in the common room.
She would talk to Mistress Denk this afternoon.
But Mistress Denk would insist they discuss the matter with Kathe’s mother, who was the senior cook. Kathe groaned. Perhaps that di
scussion could wait.
She lay there a moment longer, unwilling to encounter the day just yet, but memories of the previous night stirred her into wakefulness, restless and unbidden. It had been a chaotic night in the pleasure house. Josef had quarreled with Tatiana. Nadine had tweaked and teased everyone, like a child who knew a terrible secret but refused to tell. Half the kitchen girls were in tears before midnight, and the other half seemed close to taking up knives in battle.
Then there was the quarrel with her mother.
He is nothing but a ruined scholar.
Not true. He’s a good man. Lord Kosenmark trusts him.
And that is your best recommendation?
No, but—
But she could not tell her mother that Gerek Hessler, a wandering scholar and dependent on Lord Kosenmark, was in truth Lord Gerek Haszler, whose cousin was a companion to the queen of Veraene. Not to mention that his other cousin was Lord Dedrick, once Lord Kosenmark’s lover. Those were his secrets, not hers.
Kathe rolled over onto her back to glare at the innocent ceiling.
I love him. I loved him ever since he first knocked on the door. He is clever and brave and …
An idiot would never see past the stutters, the self-effacing mannerisms, which all sprang from incurable shyness, but she knew better. If she had not mistaken things, so did Lord Kosenmark. Not that Lord Kosenmark deserved much more than a knock over his head. She glanced up, as though her thoughts were audible, but there were no vents here. No one could spy on her tears or foul temper.
(Good. If there were, she might throw her heaviest pot at Lord Kosenmark’s thick head.)
So. They would marry in a week or less. Gerek had written to his parents and the rest of his numerous family. Other than Gerek’s older brother, no one seemed to care. Was that good? A poor omen? She couldn’t tell.
Kathe blew out a breath and hauled herself from the bed. Once she had washed and dressed in a clean smock and skirt, she felt more herself. She drank a cup of cold tea to wet her throat, then headed down to the kitchens.
Hanne, Birte, and Janna were already at their workstations. Janna kneaded dough for the afternoon baking. Hanna was grinding coffee beans, and Birte plucked the stems from a basket of fresh strawberries, so that late-rising guests might partake of a light meal before they departed. Steffi and the new girl, Gerda, had lingered over their own breakfast, but the moment Kathe appeared, they started up to clear away their dirty dishes. There was no sign of her mother.
