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He gestured sharply to Khandarr, who retreated once more to his position behind the king’s throne. Ilse bowed her head and breathed deep breaths. She heard, as from a distance, footsteps approach the dais, then a man’s voice offering fealty to his lord and king. His name was Emil Fass. On further questioning, he said he had studied magic as an apprentice in Melnek. With a gift of money, and a recommendation from his tutor, he had come to Duenne three years ago.
“I traveled by caravan,” Fass said. “I studied at the university a year before my Lady Hanau gave me a place in her household. With her permission, I have continued to study at the university, while I fulfill my obligations to her and her household.”
Ilse heard little beyond the words Melnek and caravan.
I know you. And now I know your name.
This was the nameless scholar who had watched her sell her body to Alarik Brandt and his men. The same one who had dared their punishment when he gave her a stone knife to free herself. She remembered the rush of his voice as he gave her advice on how to survive in the wilderness. His last words, when he said she reminded him of his sister. “I know you,” she said softly.
“And I know you,” he said, his voice pitched as low as hers. “Well enough to know that you are no traitor. Nor would you lend yourself to such a cause.” Then louder, “Will you allow me the privilege?”
He spoke to her, to Ilse Zhalina and not the king or Markus Khandarr. She understood. He wanted consent—true consent—before he worked any magic upon her.
“I do,” she said clearly. “I will speak only the truth. All of it. I want to.”
“Then proceed,” Armand said.
Emil Fass laid one hand on her head, one on her shoulder. His touch was gentle, but sure. Ilse trembled, then held herself still. She had not lied. She wanted to speak the truth. Whether Armand listened or believed, she could not do more.
“Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ei rûf ane strôm…”
Magic streamed around them, bringing with it the scents of crushed green grass and the electric scent of lightning.
“Ei rûf ane Lir unde Toc, ane wahrheit unde weisheit…”
The magic wrapped her in warmth, it soothed her nerves, and yet, she felt awake and alive as never before.
Speak the truth.
I will.
Then tell us. Did Lord Raul Kosenmark betray Veraene?
No.
Did he betray the king?
No. And because she had the compulsion to speak the truth, she added, Not as I see it.
Explain.
She needed no time to consider her answer. She knew what to say, as she had since Raul first spoke to her about the shadow court and its concerns.
He loves Veraene. He loves the kingdom. He would do nothing against the king, unless the king himself acted against the kingdom. Dedrick knew that. He tried to tell Lord Khandarr, but he died because—
Markus Khandarr interrupted in a harsh, almost unintelligible voice. Ilse found her voice stopped entirely, as though he had covered her mouth with a hand of magic. Fass spoke earnestly, urgently, to the king. His voice was muffled and she could not make out what he said. Armand made an impatient gesture. At once, the quality of the air altered subtly and the sense of being smothered vanished. The king nodded to Fass, who continued the questioning.
Never mind Lord Dedrick. What about Lord Kosenmark?
He wants peace.
Just peace? Nothing more?
Peace, she repeated.
What about the crown?
Ilse scowled. She didn’t want to, but the magic controlled her features as well as her words. Very well. She wanted the truth. If that meant a frown, she would not resist. Meanwhile, the king and Emil Fass waited for an explanation.
