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CHAPTER TWELVE
NIGHT IN THE royal palace reminded Nadine of Lord Kosenmark’s pleasure house. Oh, there were differences. A royal palace had more guards, more servants, and kept more regular hours, at least on the surface. But as she prowled along the dim-lit corridors, lined in marble with mosaics covering walls and floors, she considered it a matter of scale, not the details themselves. Intrigue permeated the air. It informed every word and gesture, and the silences and stillness in between. It led to intricate maneuvers, to secrets given and traded. That she had succeeded in gaining a position here as a courtesan, serving the courtiers and minor nobility, only strengthened the impression.
And both had a king, of sorts. Raul had ruled the pleasure house absolutely, extending his will through loyal minions. Armand … With Armand, one had only to observe the men and women who occupied the lesser tiers of influence to know that two men ruled in Duenne, though one pretended to serve the other.
It was because of Markus Khandarr that she had volunteered to serve in the midnight hours. An injury had left him with bouts of insomnia, and he often sent for young women from the courtesan wing to service him with lips and hands and sex, so that sated by pleasure, he could sleep. Nadine had never visited his room, but she talked to other women who had. He seldom spoke, other than to give specific directions. Suckle. Fondle. In the vernacular of the trade, treat him like a sausage that needed skinning and sizzling. Afterward, he required the woman to massage his legs until he dozed.
A discreet man, even gripped by passion. But from time to time, Nadine collected wisps and whispers of gossip.
Tonight, for instance. The youngest courtesan, the one named Evanna, had returned from her duties brimful of news. The Old Man had summoned her, she said, but this night he had ordered her to pleasure another while he watched.
“I had not suspected such imagination,” Evanna said, laughing.
“Pah!” said Georg, one of the oldest courtesans. “You cannot convince me of that. He demands sex as one might demand a drink of plain water.”
Evanna pouted. “I tell you, tonight was different. He ordered the other man to take me. Told us both to strip. Said he wanted proof the other man could please him.”
“The Old Man said that?” Georg’s attention was snagged at last, and he rose in a fluid motion to sit upright, his lips parted and eyes bright. “And did they…”
“No. He only watched. But once…” Evanna paused and glanced around, and when she continued, it was in a low whisper that Nadine could barely hear. “Once he said a name, this while Galt was heaving and puffing on top of me.”
“What name was that?” Nadine said.
“Kosenmark.”
Nadine only half listened to the rest of the conversation. Then she rose and gave her excuses to the senior guard, saying she needed to visit the house physician about these terrible cramps that had come over her quite suddenly.
An hour later, she had collected more wisps, more tantalizing bits of gossip.
And such astonishing gossip it was. Lord Kosenmark taken prisoner. The old duke himself demanding an interview with Armand of Angersee, which the king, amazingly, had granted. Now this business with Markus Khandarr and someone named Theodr Galt, head of a shipping guild from the border city of Melnek.
Melnek, where Ilse Zhalina once lived.
Nadine did not return at once. She wandered the halls and galleries, taking care to visit the physician as well. If anyone investigated later, they would find she had spent a pleasurable interlude here, another there, with less exalted members of the palace staff. A sergeant twice passed over for promotion. A bored runner outside the residential wing designated for visitors. One of the kitchen girls just coming off duty. The kitchen girl gave the sweetest kisses, and Nadine was tempted to offer the girl more, but she knew she had to return eventually to her work.
She came at last to the servants’ corridor between the kitchens and the king’s private quarters. A risk, a very great risk, but her instincts said that tonight marked a turning point for Armand and Khandarr both.
All because of that great arrogant creature named Raul Kosenmark.
Footsteps sounded behind her. Nadine spun around.
A woman rounded the corner—a young woman, dressed in dark loose clothing, her hair tied back with a ribbon and falling free to her waist. She stopped. Her hair swung around as she drew back a step at the sight of Nadine.
“A pleasant evening,” Nadine said.
There was enough light to make out the woman’s features—skin the color of honey, eyes like polished copper, full flat cheeks and a voluptuous mouth. She wore loose dark trousers, a jacket of black silk gathered at the waist with a sash. Nadine’s first impression was that no noble would dress so sensibly, nor deign to enter a servants’ corridor. Her second was that the woman observed her as closely and dis
passionately as she herself observed the other.
“Pleasant enough,” said the woman. Her voice was low, melodic, tinged with laughter.
So, you are clever enough not to make excuses, Nadine thought.
She tilted her head, smiled invitingly.
The other woman regarded her steadily. She had a familiar air. Nadine cast her memory back over the past two weeks—the clients she had pleasured, the hundreds of courtiers, runners, chambermaids, scribes, and others she had encountered. None of them like this woman. Where, oh where …
And then, the puzzle pieces clicked together.
