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“My Lady Matylda Zelenka, expected by Duke Karasek.”
Bows were exchanged, and Ilse passed into the sanctuary.
At once she was reminded of her first entrance into Raul Kosenmark’s private rooms above the pleasure house. A cursory glance showed all the appointments one might expect of a wealthy noble—the arching ceiling with a single elaborate chandelier, the enormous window with expensive glass overlooking a formal garden, the floor an expanse of dark blue tiles, inlaid with pale gray stones fashioned into scenes that she guessed came from Károví’s history.
But another glance showed a different aspect. (And another reminder of Raul Kosenmark.) Shelves covered many of the walls, all of them stuffed with books about law, history, finance, and more. The rest was given over to maps of the kingdom. Karasek himself was ensconced behind a massive desk of rare blackwood, whose surface was entirely covered with stacks of papers, inkstones and brushes and parchment, ready for use. Here, said those clues, was a man who worked.
Karasek rose from behind his desk. “My lady cousin.”
“My lord and grace.”
The door closed behind her. Ilse released a breath she had not realized she held.
“I’ve come to redeem your promise,” she said.
“So I anticipated.”
Her pulse leapt up at his flat tone.
“Is there trouble?” she asked. “More than you anticipated, that is?”
His mouth quirked into a smile. “There always is. But to answer your true question. I have not forgotten my promise to you. However, the means to accomplish it is not as simple as I hoped.”
“How so?”
“Originally I intended to send you with an escort to Veraene’s northwest border. It’s the most direct and the least defended. But recent reports from the Duszranjen garrisons say Veraene has ordered more troops along the northern mountain passes.”
He was not meeting her gaze directly, she noted.
“What are your counterplans?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral. Even if she did not trust him, she did not wish to antagonize this man. She did not wish to appear desperate.
Karasek must have read some of her emotions from her face, however, because his mouth softened into a rueful smile. “You will not like my answer. The truth is, I cannot tell what to do. Not yet. Given that Veraene guards its land borders, my next choice would be a water route. If you accompany us to Lenov, I can bribe a smuggler—or better, one of the fishing fleet—to carry you into Veraenen waters. Whatever the best choice proves to be, I promise an escort and money.”
She did not like the answer, but she understood his reasoning.
“Will it be long before we depart?”
“Two or three weeks. You and the queen shall be away from Károví long before winter.”
“What of setbacks?” she said. “You cannot pretend there will be none.”
Karasek raked his fingers through his hair, the first break in his carefully controlled manner. “I don’t. And I don’t know. I have plans, but the gods have greater plans still.” He tipped his head back and stared upward, as though trying to see through the ceiling to where the gods dwelt. His lips were parted as though to laugh, but there was no laughter in his expression. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t know. I can only ask you to trust me and my honor.”
* * *
ILSE SAT ALONE in her bedchamber.
Six hours had passed since her interview with Duke Miro Karasek.
I cannot trust him. I cannot.
And yet, he had told her that Raul lived. Had told her he would ensure her passage home.
So many contradictions, honestly and truly given. She could tell it. She massaged her temples with both hands.
I must go home. I must find Raul and tell him about the jewels.
The noon bells were ringing. She knew from her maid that Valara Baussay had gone out riding with Miro Karasek. Ilse had dismissed Anezka and the other servants, saying she felt unwell and wished to rest in quiet. Now she sat cross-legged on her sumptuous bed, her back against the mound of pillows. It was the same pose she had used months ago in Osterling Keep, when she had last attempted to make the leap in the flesh into Anderswar.
