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No. All their misery, hers and Raul’s and Veraene’s itself, came from secrecy.
She pressed forward, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. “Your Majesty. Read the letter or not. But listen to me, please. You believe Lord Kosenmark a traitor—”
“I know it.”
She bowed her head. “As you wish. I came with evidence for his innocence.”
“This letter?” Armand said.
“No. My own memories.”
The hall, until then abuzz with whispered conversation, dropped into a hush.
“What do you mean?” Armand said.
“Exactly what I said, your Majesty. Consult Lord Khandarr about his ability to draw the truth and nothing else from those he questions. He did so with Lord Dedrick Maszuryn. He attempted to do so with Morennioù’s queen. Let me offer myself as another candidate.”
The hush dropped into a deeper silence. Ilse felt the air draw tight—not with magic but with the apprehension of an entire court as it watched its king poised to make a decision. Only now did Ilse dare to shift her gaze from Armand to the man beside him.
Markus Khandarr stood hunched over a thick black staff, his hands gripping the curved handle so tightly his knuckles were pale from the effort. But what astonished Ilse the most was his face. One half slack, the flesh hanging down, as if half of him had died. The other etched with deep lines, and the flesh drawn back tight against the skull, now visible through the thinning white hair.
An old man, made unaccountably older still and weakened by a confrontation with a stronger adversary. A man permanently furious at that defeat.
His expression frightened her. If Armand granted her the right to testify under magic’s influence, Khandarr would surely see that she died. It did not matter that this interrogation took place before a host of witnesses. He was a clever man. He could ensure that she died quietly in the night from a spell laid upon her now, under the guise of administering the truth spell, and no one could prove it was murder.
I must take that risk. I must deliver my evidence, persuade the king. If I die, so be it.
She rose to her feet and met Khandarr’s gaze steadily. “Do what you must, my lord. I am prepared to do the same.”
A strange emotion rippled over that distorted face. Contempt at her bravado? A reluctant admiration? Even the possibility of the latter unnerved her. The moment passed. Khandarr shook his head and in painfully slow, measured steps rounded the throne to approach Ilse.
“Kneel,” he rasped.
“I kneel to the king, not you,” she said.
The knotted half of his mouth twitched. He made no reply, but laid a hand against her throat, and despite her declaration, she could not suppress a flinch. But as he began the invocation to the magic, a voice rang out from the audience.
“Your Majesty. I claim the right to offer a gift to the kingdom’s welfare.”
Voices swelled in an access of surprise. Ilse attempted to turn away to face the speaker, but Khandarr tightened his grip on her throat. Magic stung her skin, and she had the impression that a single word might send the current across the divide between flesh and flesh.
Khandarr lifted his gaze to stare past Ilse and to the invisible speaker. “What gift, Lady Hanau? Amends for your daughter’s treachery?”
A shock of recognition washed over Ilse at the sound of the speaker’s name. Raul had told her the story of his first days at court. How the Countess Fara Hanau had rescued him from self-destruction, offering herself as a mentor at first, a friend, and though he had not said as much, a lover in later years.
Markus Khandarr saw Fara as a rival for the king’s favor. He dared nothing outright, but one day, Fara took ill, complaining of a headache and dizziness. Twelve hours later, she lay unconscious in a wasting fever. But she didn’t die. Not right away. Not for three months …
“My daughter never committed treachery,” Lady Hanau said, then to the king, “Your Majestry, treason is a delicate matter to judge. Lord Khandarr’s animosity toward Lord Kosenmark is well known. He is therefore unfit to conduct this interrogation. You might say my animosity toward this court is also well known. But I have a proposition. Accept the services of my personal mage. Let him question the young woman and I will no longer oppose you through my friends and allies.”
Ilse glanced up at the king, but Armand’s expression had turned even more remote and unreadable than before. “You will give up all claims against me and my court?” he asked.
“Against you, your Majesty, and everyone else concerned. Except,” she added, “Lord Khandarr himself.”
; A breath of silence followed, just long enough for Ilse to sense a quickening of Khandarr’s pulse through his fingertips, to consider how swiftly a desperate mage could wreak destruction. Then …
“I accept,” Armand said. “Bring us your mage.”
