CHAPTER TEN

THE TORMENTS BEGAN early the next day. In hindsight, Ilse was not surprised. She knew how girls in Melnek’s families maneuvered for social ranking, and she’d overheard enough quarrels between the kitchen girls and chambermaids in her father’s house. But that first morning, she thought only about hurrying downstairs before the other girls. If she worked longer today, perhaps they would not mind the hours she had not worked the night before.

She bathed quickly and dressed, her hair and skin still damp, then raced from the baths to the kitchen. To her surprise, Janna and Rosel were already there, eating breakfast. Janna favored Ilse with a long stare. Rosel ignored her.

Ilse sighed and turned away. So they still blamed her for Lord Kosenmark’s favoritism. She poured herself a mugful of coffee and added cream from the common pitcher. In spite of her early bedtime, she had spent a restless night. The private supper, the letter, the idea that Lord Kosenmark knew her identity—all those had mixed together in a series of disturbing dreams. Yawning, she gulped down her coffee.

And spewed it all over the floor.

Salt. Her stomach heaved. She pressed her mouth shut and ran for the alley door, where she threw up again. Behind her, she heard smothered laughter. Ilse wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She’d dropped the cup, too. Mistress Raendl would scold her for that and for the mess. Likely the girls had foreseen that as well.

Reluctantly, she returned to the kitchen, where she found all the girls gathered together. Lys clucked in apparent sympathy. Dana tossed her a sponge. The others shook their heads and rolled their eyes.

So that is how it will be, she thought, sponging up the mess from the floor. Pranks and tricks and snubs. There was no way to know who had plotted this humiliation. The common pitcher was just that, common, and she doubted Mistress Raendl cared to investigate something so petty. Did the girls in her father’s house act the same?

Mistress Raendl did scold her for the broken cup. She also ranted at Ilse for using her best sponge to clean the floor. “It’s for crystal, girl,” she said, with an exasperated noise. “I should think you’d know that by now.”

Ilse sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll remember next time.”

“Do that. This one is ruined. And try not to be so clumsy.”

Nothing marred the rest of that day. Ilse tested all her dishes carefully before she ate, and touched her tongue to her tea before she drank. Nothing tainted. Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe the girls had exhausted their bad humor with one prank.

The next afternoon, Kathe came to Ilse with a basket of new cucumbers. “I need these washed, peeled, and diced. Make each cube the size of your fingertip. It’s for Lord Kosenmark’s luncheon, and Lord Vieth is one of the guests.”

Lord Vieth was the regional governor, an elegant man with exacting tastes, according to rumor. He never visited the pleasure house, but he often visited Lord Kosenmark, and Ilse appreciated the difference. “Your mother must be anxious.”

Kathe grinned. “Of course. I would suggest we all strive for perfection today. Or close enough to please a finicky cook. Once you’ve diced these, give them to Rosel and start on the peppers. Thin curling slices. Imagine them as green ribbons.”

Ilse cleared off her workstation, then laid out the proper knives. She would need water to scrub the cutting board, and more water to wash the cucumbers. She took a pail to the pump outside to fetch water. When she returned, she saw at once that the knives had disappeared.

She glanced around. All the other girls were busy. Mistress Raendl had gone off to interview a replacement for the last pastry cook, and Kathe was not in sight. Maybe someone borrowed them.

She would have to fetch another set of knives, and search for the old set later. Doubt niggled at her mind. She pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the task at hand. Today was the first time Kathe had entrusted her with such a task, unsupervised. Ilse wanted to prove herself useful.

She washed the cucumbers thoroughly and dumped the water in the drain outside. When she returned, she found the original knives just where she had left them.

Except now they’re ruined.

She picked up one—its blade was visibly notched. Another one looked dull. The third knife had a cracked hilt and broken point.

Ilse swallowed hard. No crying. No self-pity. Besides, that’s what the girls wanted. Trying to keep a calm face, she fetched another set of knives and had the cucumbers peeled and diced before Mistress Raendl came back. The interview with the pastry cook had not gone well, judging by her stiff expression, and when she found the broken knives, her eyes narrowed.

“I told you not to be so clumsy. Three knives ruined. You did well with the dicing, but those are three knives we cannot use again. It’s not just the cost, girl. Chip a knife and you could put out someone’s eye.”

Ilse shook her head.

“Are you arguing with me?” Mistress Raendl said softly.

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I will be careful.”

More pranks followed throughout the next five days. Vinegar added to her tea. Glasses cracked so that they broke when she washed them. Pins in her stockings. Brushes and rags and spoons that vanished from her workstation when she wasn’t looking. Soon her throat hurt constantly, and her nerves jumped at every sound.

It was late one evening, when there came a lull in orders from the common room, and Mistress Raendl gave all the girls an extra break. Ilse took the opportunity to go outside into the lane. The cold would keep the others away. If they set another trick, well, she was getting used to it. She wandered toward the gardens, to the path where she had first entered Lord Kosenmark’s grounds, nearly eight weeks before. The trees were bare now. Winter had arrived, bringing with it wetter weather and the hint of snow. If she walked away tonight, she would have to find shelter from the cold and damp.

One of the kitchen cats curled around her legs and mewed for attention. Ilse bent to scratch its head and took comfort in its rumbling purr. Never again, she thought. Never again will I run away.

“Ilse.” Kathe’s voice came from the doorway.

Ilse straightened up and the cat whisked away into the darkness. “Am I wanted inside?”

“No. We’ve a chance to breathe tonight, thankfully. It was just—” Kathe’s voice sounded tentative, unlike her usual cheerful self. “I wondered if you wanted to tell me anything.”

Of course Kathe knew, or guessed at, what happened with her crew. She was clever and observant, as well as a good cook. Ilse was tempted to tell her everything. Then Kathe would lecture the girls and …

… and I shall forever need her protection.

She shook her head. “No. I have to solve it by myself.”

“So you do admit there’s a problem.”

“Not a problem. A puzzle.”

Kathe laughed softly. “As you like. But remember, if your puzzle does become a problem, come tell me, and we can try to solve it together.”

*  *  *

ILSE WOKE THE next morning to an unusual silence. She tensed, thinking she had overslept. Then she heard a whisper, followed by a loud crackling. “I don’t care,” Lys said.

What have they done now?

She wanted to pretend sleep until the others went downstairs, but she could not afford to be late, not with Mistress Raendl already annoyed with her.

But when she sat up, her stomach knotted as she took in the girls’ latest prank. Dust all over her blanket. More dust in her hair. She sneezed and heard the girls laugh. The dust was nothing, however. When she wiped her eyes clear of the dust, she saw that her trunk stood open and empty, and her clothes lay scattered across the floor. Keeping her face expressionless, Ilse began the tedious task of gathering her things. Shoes in one corner. Shifts and bandeaus crammed behind the door. Hair ribbons knotted into an impossible mess. They had deliberately rubbed dirt into everything, including her best gown. Ilse brushed off the dirt as well as she could, but she knew she would have to take most of her clothes to the house laundry. As the girls watched, she put the soiled clothes to one side and folded the rest.

Only when she went to her trunk did she realize that something else was missing.

My letter.

Paper crackled again. Ilse snapped her head up. Lys sat cross-legged on her bed with Ilse’s letter from Lord Kosenmark. Rosel leaned over her shoulder. Both were sounding out the words they knew, speaking in an exaggerated drawl, and snickering.

“Give that back to me,” Ilse said.

Rosel grinned at her. “Why?”

“Because it’s mine.”

“Hah,” Lys said. “You probably found it in the gutter. Or stole it. Who would write such a stupid letter to you anyway?”

Ilse shook her head. She ought to have burned the letter, but she had not imagined that anyone would search her private belongings. At least they didn’t know who wrote it.

Janna glanced sideways at Lys. She looked more unhappy than amused. So did Dana. But Lys was grinning in obvious satisfaction. “So you did steal it,” she said. “I thought so. You’re a thief—a thief and a whore.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“But you are a whore.” Her voice went low and angry, and dark red patches appeared on her bony cheeks. “I heard about the night you came here, girl. You were sick, they told us. Sick from spreading your legs. I heard you even tried to fuck Lord Kosenmark, so he’d let you in the door.”

Ilse closed her eyes. They will never be satisfied. Never.

“Four a night,” she whispered. “More after I got used to the work. Thirty men could have me, and they did. Mornings. Nights. When they rested the horses, sometimes. And I did whatever they wanted, no matter what, no matter how much I hated it. Just so Alarick Brandt wouldn’t send me back to my father. So yes. I was a whore.”

She heard swift footsteps crossing the room, a scuffling sound, then a squawk from Lys. But no one answered her, not even to say good-bye as they left the room one by one. When she at last opened her eyes, the letter lay on her bed. “My badge of courage,” she said softly, folding it carefully into a small unobtrusive square. “I will not let it go. And I will not run away.”

*  *  *

SHE DRESSED IN her cleanest skirt and smock and made ready for the day. The clothes that she had been able to brush clean, she put away. The rest she took to the house laundry, where the wash girl eyed her curiously. “What happened?”

“An accident.”

“You should be more careful. Mistress Raendl is a strict one, I’ve heard.”

Ilse smiled faintly. “That she is. It won’t be the first time she’s scolded me. I’m nearly used to it.”

The girl grinned back, shaking her head. “Well, these stocking are fairly ruined. I’ll tell Mistress Denk so she can order you new ones. Are you sure you want to wear that smock today? It’s all over grease stains.”

Ilse hadn’t noticed the stains in the dormitory. She sighed. “It’s the only one I have left.”

When she reported for duty, Mistress Raendl did scold her, but absentmindedly. Reading the signs, Ilse guessed the night would prove hectic and nerve-racking for them all. She was right. Within moments, a quarrel broke out between the youngest scullion and the pastry cook. Mistress Raendl spun around to deal with it. When she did, Kathe took Ilse away and gave her a mound of dough to knead. “This should keep you busy and safe,” she said softly.

Ilse settled down thankfully to her task. The other girls glanced in her direction, but no one spoke to her. She was glad. She didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to pretend she wasn’t angry and miserable.

I forgot about envy, she thought. And jealousy. And distrust.

Those emotions had names and faces now. She glanced around at those faces. Fox-faced Lys. Rosel with her bright eyes and mobile mouth. Janna and Dana. Steffi. Little Hanne. Lys happened to glance up. Her gaze met Ilse’s and she tilted her chin up. They stared at each other a long moment, until Mistress Raendl called out for Lys to help the servers in the common room.

Ilse punched a fist into the dough. I will not run away. I will not. Not again.

A lock of hair fell over her face. She blew it away. Anger solved nothing. Self-pity was equally useless. So think, she told herself. Unless you want to spend the next year dodging tricks, and explaining your clumsiness to Mistress Raendl. If Mistress Raendl didn’t dismiss her long before the year ended.

She folded the dough into the center and pounded it again. Lys was the senior girl and jealous of her position—that much was clear. And Rosel took her direction from Lys. Dana the moody one would join in the pranks if her day went especially badly. Steffi was simpler to work out—she just liked a good laugh. Janna … Janna was harder to judge. Ilse had thought her another like Steffi, but Janna thought longer before she spoke. She wasn’t afraid of Lys, but she also wouldn’t challenge the other girl’s status.

Then there was little Hanne, the one the rest overlooked.

“She’s from up north, like you,” Kathe had said. “Six brothers and four sisters. Her mother and father sent her to live with a cousin because they could not feed her.”

But the cousin had died, leaving Hanne without work or a home. Kathe had heard of the girl through friends and offered her a post. Hanne worked hard, but she clearly wanted nothing more than to go home.

Ilse paused in kneading the dough. Working hard. That was the key. I have to prove that I deserve this post.

She considered how for the rest of the evening. After the shift ended, she waited until the others had left, then approached Kathe. “I need a favor,” she said softly.

Kathe glanced around. “For your situation?”

Ilse nodded. “I’d like you to give me drudge work. The nastiest smelliest work you have. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

Kathe smiled faintly. “That is hardly a favor. We always have drudge work, and we all take turns, or we earn it by making trouble. But if you want it …”

“I do.”

The next day, Kathe provided Ilse with several sets of plain rough clothing—jerseys and trousers and socks—and told her to wear these while she worked. Then she gave Ilse a wire brush and the kitchen’s filthiest pots, the ones coated with soot, or baked with sauces that had bubbled over. “Clean these until I can see my face. That should be nasty enough.”

After Ilse finished that job, Kathe set her to washing out the big trash barrels. The barrels stank from rotted foods left to ferment, and Ilse had to crawl inside to scrape out the crevices. She heaved up her breakfast the first day. The second day, she scrubbed the barrels first and then ate after taking a hot bath. After the barrels came the chore of scraping out the drain pipes that emptied into the gutters outside. Normally the lowest scullions did that chore, but as Kathe cheerfully reminded Ilse, she had asked especially for those kinds of chores.

“Have you had enough?” Kathe murmured when this state of affairs continued for ten days.

“Nearly,” Ilse said under her breath. Her hands were red from the soap, and her fingernails were chipped. But she had noticed a difference. Janna now greeted her when she came into a room, and Steffi asked her more often to share her stories and folktales. Dana made a point of leaving her special hand cream by Ilse’s bed, when Lys wasn’t around. Even Lys herself did nothing worse than ignore her.

“Take a break from the filth,” Kathe said. “I need you to deliver breakfast trays to our fair courtesans.”

Ilse hesitated. “What about …?”

“We ran low on pickles and vinegar and a few other things, so I sent Lys and Rosel to the market. The other girls won’t tell, I’m guessing.”

Ilse nodded. “Very well.”

Her response provoked a laugh from Kathe. “I’m so glad you consent.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” Kathe said, still laughing. “But I understand your reluctance. Hurry, though. Tatiana will be crying for her tea before long.”

Ilse scrubbed the dirt from her face and hands and changed into a clean smock and skirt. It was a welcome change, she thought, after she had delivered six trays to various rooms. Her last delivery was to the common room, where several courtesans lounged. A few hours remained before the pleasure house opened for general use, and the room was filled with sunset’s heavy red glow. Eduard dozed on the couch and Mareike softly played her double flute. Nadine lounged next to Adelaide, but at Ilse’s appearance, she rolled into a sitting position and patted the cushion next to. “Excellent. We’ve had one breakfast already, but I could have three more.”

“You’ll get fat,” Eduard said, his eyes still closed.

“Maester Schaulder likes plump women.” She turned back to Ilse. “What about you? You look hungry enough for another meal.”

Ilse smiled but said nothing. She laid out the dishes with food and collected the dirty ones to take back to the kitchen.

“Quiet,” Nadine observed. “Steffi tells me that you know stories. Would you tell us one before you go back to the kitchens?”

“I can’t. Mistress Raendl—”

“Mistress Raendl,” Nadine said crisply, “ate too many prunes when she was a girl.”

Ilse choked back a laugh.

“It’s true.” Nadine’s expression was grave, but her eyes were bright with mischief. “Six, count them, six baskets of prunes, eaten in a single day, on a dare. A tragedy. We speak about it often, we courtesans. Tatiana sings of the matter to clients, when they ask for sorrowful songs.”

Smiling and shaking her head, Ilse wiped down the table.

“I think you ate some of those prunes, too,” Nadine went on. “Or else you would be laughing right now. Just like Eduard.” She poked Eduard with the foot. Eduard grunted and rolled over, but his shoulders were shaking.

“Don’t tease,” Adelaide said. “It’s not kind.”

“Hah. She likes it. Where are you going, fair Adelaide?” she asked as Adelaide stood up.

“An appointment,” Adelaide said. “Luise expects me within the hour, and I need to dress. So do you. Don’t dawdle too long.”

She left the room silently, her gown fluttering behind. Nadine stretched out on the couch, watching, her slanting eyes narrowed to dark lines. “Do you think her pretty?” she asked Ilse.

Calling Adelaide pretty was like saying Launus Paschke could pluck chords on a guitar, Ilse thought. Adelaide had fair golden skin and hair so black, it had tints of blue. Her face and hands and body were faultless, if one dared to use that word. Ilse could see her in Duenne’s palace, entertaining kings. “She’s beautiful.”

“Do you like her?”

“She’s nice,” Ilse said warily.

“Nice.” Nadine laughed. She rolled over, caught Ilse by the wrist. Before Ilse could jerk her hand free, Nadine kissed her wrist and released her. “If you ever decide that I am nice, you know which is my room. Now go, before Greta sounds the alarm.”

Ilse hurried back to the kitchen and dumped the tray with its dirty plates by the washbasin. She had picked up her washcloth when Kathe reappeared. “One last tray,” Kathe told her. “For Maester Hax. Oh and try not to let Lord Kosenmark see the dishes. He and Mistress Hedda are worried about the poor man’s health.”

“You forgot to tell me to hurry,” Ilse said with a smile.

Kathe laughed. “You already know that. And I already sound too much like my mother.”

The back stairways were still quiet, but when Ilse reached the landing outside Hax’s office, she found his door open and Lord Kosenmark outside. “We’ve no more business tonight,” Kosenmark was saying to his secretary. “Leave those papers for tomorrow.”

Ilse withdrew, trying to keep the tray out of sight, but Kosenmark beckoned her forward and inspected the dishes. “This is not the diet Mistress Hedda ordered,” he said. Hax had ordered strong tea, biscuits and honey, and grilled fish dotted with pepper.

“Mistress Hedda would physick me with boredom,” Hax retorted. “You might inform her, Lord Kosenmark, that I am used to my spices. I like them. I will not give them up.”

“As much as you like your strong tea and keeping late hours. Berthold, Berthold. You are a horrible old man.”

“I have you to thank, my lord, as both a model and an inspiration.”

Kosenmark grinned. His glance fell on Ilse. The grin altered to a friendly smile, which she found almost as surprising, and he waved her into the room. “Serve this old man his supper, child. If he carps and whines about his indigestion, we shall feed him prunes by the barrel.”

It was unnerving how he knew the doings of his entire household. Embarrassed, she went about pouring the tea, and setting out the silverware on the side table. Kosenmark left with another edged comment to Hax, who was laughing silently. “He is a terrible man,” he said to Ilse. “I wonder that I tolerate him so.”

She smiled but said nothing. Lord Kosenmark was right about Maester Hax, she thought. The old man looked tired, and since she last saw him, his color had turned a pasty yellow. Ilse cut several biscuits and spread them with honey, since he liked to eat as he worked, and laid a napkin ready. When she finished, she saw that Hax was observing her. “I haven’t seen you about these past few weeks,” he said. “Is Greta keeping you busy?”

“Busy enough, sir.”

He tilted his head. “Meaning, you do not wish to offend with your answer. Very well. Thank you for the tea, Mistress Ilse. And the fish.”

No more trays waited for her. Just more dreary smelly work. Someone had left a crate of potatoes to rot in the storerooms, and the potatoes had turned to black sludge. Ilse had mopped up the worst, but Mistress Raendl wanted every groove in the tile floor scoured clean to keep out the rot. Her one consolation was that Janna had murmured her sympathy in passing.

Step by step, she told herself. They might even forget where I came from.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts, she didn’t see Hanne huddled on the floor until too late. Her feet tangled in Hanne’s skirt, and she tripped, her tray flying out of her hands. Ilse landed hard on the tiled floor and banged knees and elbows. Beneath her Hanne cried out in alarm.

“Hanne, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“It’s all right,” Hanne said quickly. “It’s all right. I’m—”

She broke off with a muffled groan. Worried, Ilse knelt and peered at the girl’s tear-streaked face. Hanne’s face looked gray and drawn, her cheek felt warm and damp. “What’s wrong, Hanne?”

“Nothing. It’s all right. I just wanted to rest a bit before I—” She gestured at a tray Ilse had not noticed before—a dish with strawberries, wine carafe, and cups. One of the courtesans must have an early appointment.

“Would you like me to take the tray for you?” Ilse asked.

Hanne shook her head vigorously. “No. I can get by. It’s just the pains, but they’ll pass. They did last month.”

Cramps, then. Bad ones. No wonder the poor girl looked so miserable. “Tell Mistress Raendl. She’d let you lie down, I’m sure.”

“No!” Now Hanne looked terrified. “I don’t want the other girls to know. None of them get sick and I don’t want to make Mistress Raendl angry. I”—she pressed a hand against her stomach—“I’m fine.”

Ilse brushed away a damp strand of hair that had escaped Hanne’s headscarf. “You should talk to Mistress Hedda the next time she visits the house. She has medicine that helps. But for tonight … What if we trade? You can take my tray back to the kitchen. I’ll take yours. Where does it go?”

The other girl appeared to struggle inside a moment. “Spider room. Second floor. East wing. For Adelaide. But I thought you didn’t like …”

“I don’t mind. And the rotten potatoes can wait a few moments longer for me to scrub them away.”

Hanne called up a wan smile in return. “Thank you.”

The spider room was called such because its walls were hung with silvery lacework, shaped and gathered into cloud-shaped webs. A canopy over the bed was of filmy chiffon, dotted with miniscule diamonds to reflect lamplight. Ilse arranged dishes and other items on a side table. She was nearly done when she heard a heavy tread behind her.

“We must be early,” said a husky voice.

An older woman stood in the doorway—a tall, heavyset woman swathed in layers of ruby silks and gray wool. She had a strongly marked face, its deep creases emphasized by the lamplight. Ilse recognized Mistress Luise Ehrenalt, a high-ranking member of the silk weaver’s guild. Behind her came Adelaide, who glided into the room and laid a hand on Ehrenalt’s arm. “Come, Luise. The girl is just leaving. And we’ve your favorite— strawberries.”

Luise laughed. “You are my favorite, sweet. Or weren’t you listening to me?”

Their attention on each other, they ignored Ilse, who took up the now-empty tray and withdrew. When she had offered to take the tray for Hanne, she had not thought about seeing the courtesans or their clients. Now, as the door closed, she heard Luise’s throaty laugh and Adelaide’s murmured replies. How did Adelaide manage it? Was it truly as she told Kathe—that she saw Mistress Ehrenalt as just an audience? But Ilse had heard genuine affection in the courtesan’s voice, and now … now it did not sound as though she were acting.

I have to see how she does it.

Her heart beating faster, Ilse passed through another room and into the servants’ corridor, which ran between and around the private rooms. Kathe had mentioned spy holes her first day. Since then, Ilse had learned which rooms had them and how they were concealed. She checked in both directions and saw the corridor was empty. She set the tray on the floor and rose onto her toes to peer through the spy hole.

The spider web’s filmy hanging made everything hazy, but Ilse could make out two shadowy figures. Adelaide, taller and slimmer, was feeding strawberries to Luise Ehrenalt, caressing her face as she did. Luise caught her hand and kissed it. The next moment, the two moved swiftly to the bed.

Luise sank down. Still standing, Adelaide drew her tunic over her head and let the filmy cloth drift onto the floor. Lamplight accentuated her muscles as they slid beneath her radiant skin, reminding Ilse of Lord Kosenmark and how he moved. A royal courtesan. Some said she had pleasured Baerne of Angersee himself. And yet she had abandoned such a position to come here, to Tiralien.

Adelaide untied her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Ilse held herself still, hardly breathing. She had to see Adelaide’s face at the moment of passion. Did she pretend, as Ilse had? Was it possible to tell?

“What are you looking at?”

Ilse spun from the spy hole. Lord Kosenmark stood one pace behind her in the corridor, his face half-hidden by the dim light. Quickly, she knelt to pick up the tray. “My lord. I’m sorry I was dawdling. I didn’t mean to—”

Kosenmark stopped her with a gesture. “You’re weeping.”

She hadn’t known, couldn’t recall starting, but her cheeks were wet. More tears spilled when she jerked her head away, falling like stars. Kosenmark knelt in front of her, still a safe distance away. “What happened?”

“Nothing, my lord. I was … watching.”

“Why?”

Ilse hesitated and saw him frown. Gulping down a breath, she said, “To see how Adelaide managed it, my lord.”

“Because of what happened to you?”

She nodded. “I tried pretending. I said … I said I was willing. Once I even—” Her voice failed her then.

Kosenmark touched her arm. “Come with me,” he said softly, his tone entirely different from before. “I’ll have someone notify Greta where you are. Never mind about the tray.”

With a gentle pressure against her back, he guided her to the stairs and up to his office. There he paused and spoke briefly with the runner, who disappeared down the stairs. Ilse continued to weep. She could not stop seeing Alarik Brandt’s face, feeling him inside her, hearing herself cry out. She was dimly aware that Kosenmark had opened the door and was leading her inside.

He led her to the nearest chair. “Sit.”

She sank into the chair. A green light flickered at her right, a hint of magic’s scent curled through the air, then a brighter yellow halo sprang into life. No voices filtered from the rooms below. No music drifted up from the common rooms, which surely were open by now. Only the hiss of the sand glass as it turned to the next hour broke the hush.

Kosenmark pressed a cloth into her hands, a handkerchief, which smelled faintly of cedarwood. She blotted away the tears until the handkerchief was soaked. He took away the cloth then and held a wine cup to her lips. “Drink. Slowly.”

It was wine mixed with water. She tried to take the cup herself, but her hands were shaking badly. Kosenmark wrapped his hands around hers to steady them. “Please do not drop it,” he said mildly. “That is my favorite pattern.”

He was smiling. She tried to smile back, but she was sobbing too hard. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it, she told herself, then realized she was saying the words out loud. Kosenmark appeared unperturbed. He helped her to drink the wine, then took the cup away and sank onto the floor at her feet.

“Tell me,” he said, “was I right? Is your name Therez Zhalina?”

Ilse closed her eyes. “It was. Not any longer.”

“And your father is Petr Zhalina.”

She tensed and nodded.

“I’ve heard his name,” Kosenmark said. “He’s spent a fortune, they say, sending out messengers, offering rewards for news of what happened to you. Why did you leave?”

“My father wished me to marry. His choice, not mine.”

“And you disliked his choice?”

“I did. I met the man once. He frightened me, my lord. I can’t say why.”

“But your father didn’t listen.”

She opened her eyes. Kosenmark’s expression told her as little as his voice. “No, my lord. He said he would sign the contracts the next day. And there was no one who could argue with him.”

“I see,” Kosenmark said softly. “Who was the man?”

“Maester Theodr Galt. He controls the shipping contracts.”

Kosenmark’s only reaction was a sudden thinning of his mouth. “I know that man.” Pause. “Let me guess what else happened. When you discovered no one could help you, you packed a satchel with plain clothes and a few other belongings—whatever you could find in a hurry. You took some gold, and with it, you bought passage to Duenne.”

She blinked in surprise, and he smiled sadly. “Let us say that I was once faced with a similar choice. Similar but not the same. I had chosen my future, and my fears were those of second thoughts. In the end, I decided to stay. The following morning it was too late to undo that decision.”

He was talking about the night before they gelded him. It could be nothing else. “My lord …”

Kosenmark lifted a hand. “What plans did you have for Duenne?”

She covered her confusion by drinking deeply. Even watered, she could tell it was a fine vintage, this wine—light and golden, with hints of summer pears and lemons. A man who bought such wines would find her plans childish.

But he was waiting, patiently, for her answer. “My plans were very bad ones, my lord.”

“Possibly. Tell me, anyway. I promise not to laugh.”

So he guessed that as well. “My last night in Melnek, my father had a dinner party—the one where he introduced me to Maester Galt. A man named Baron Eckard was there, too. He talked about his time in Duenne, at court and in the city.”

Kosenmark gave a soft exclamation, but motioned for her to go on. She nodded, wet her lips with the wine. It was hard, painfully hard to recall that evening. How she had hoped its success would mean her chance to escape her father’s household. Laughter fluttered against her ribs. Oh, yes. It had been a success, and she had escaped, only not in the way she expected. But Kosenmark was waiting for her answer.

“We talked, my lord,” she said. “At dinner, dancing. He and Baron Mann both said that in Duenne there were a thousand opportunities.”

“I shall have to warn Rudolfus about dangling such allurements in front of young girls. Why did you not ask him for help then?”

“My lord, why would he give me help? Besides, I didn’t hear of my father’s plans until after the dinner. My father said he would sign the marriage contract the next day. That was when I remembered what Baron Eckard said about Duenne. I was to go there in the summer, you see, to visit my cousin’s family. They couldn’t take me in, of course, not without telling my father, but I thought I might find a place as someone’s scribe—I write well and I know about trade and arithmetic and prices and goods. You do, if you grow up in a merchant’s family.”

He nodded. “Good plans so far. What happened to your money?”

“Someone stole most of it. Then the caravan master told me he knew my name. I tried to get away, but they caught me. The caravan master said he would send me back, unless I gave him a good reason to keep me.” Her breath came short at the memory of that exchange and its outcome. She swallowed and went on. “I couldn’t go back. Not to that house. I said I would do anything he asked.”

“I see. What was the caravan master’s name?”

Her mouth had gone dry again, just thinking of his name. “Alarik Brandt.”

Kosenmark said nothing. He appeared to be turning over her story in his thoughts. Ilse cradled the cup in her hands, watching his face but seeing nothing beyond his abstraction. Without looking up, he said, “I know your father by reputation, Therez. He would take you back, if you wished.”

“No.” Ilse flinched, spilling the wine. “No, my lord. Please. You don’t know what he’s like. Please, no.”

Kosenmark offered her another handkerchief. Still shaking, she dried her hands. “It was only a suggestion,” he said. “You have my promise that I will not force you to leave here.”

He crossed back to his desk where he poured wine for himself. When he returned, he sat in silence for a while, his expression thoughtful. “I have another suggestion,” he said at last. “Would you consider a change in your duties here? You said you wanted to work as a scribe. You could serve Maester Hax as his assistant.”

Ilse looked up, startled. “Why, my lord?”

“Because Maester Hax is growing old. Because I need someone with your skills in writing and language. Because whatever your father’s failings, he did educate you, which makes you a better scribe than a cook’s helper. Or do you prefer washing out pots and barrels?”

So he knew about that, too. She touched the minute cracks in her work-roughened palms. “But my lord, you don’t know me. How can you trust me?”

“I know you well enough. I’ve heard what Kathe and Greta say of your character, and I’ve observed you myself. The offer is not charity,” he added in the face of her continued silence. “I have more concerns than just this house, and Maester Hax needs someone to handle the everyday correspondence, so he can concentrate on more intricate matters. And you would not be running away, Mistress Ilse. Not this time.”

It made her skin prickle to hear her private thoughts spoken out loud. “How did you—?” Comprehension came at once. “You heard.”

Kosenmark shrugged. “You might as well say I spied on you. Yes, I heard, both the situation and your solution. You are not running away, Mistress Ilse, but moving on to the next challenge. Besides, it will give you money enough for Duenne, should you decide to go.”

He set his wine cup aside and held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand, which encompassed hers easily. His palm was callused, the rest smooth and warm to her touch. She felt a trace of magic’s current. Within came an easing of long tension. The sensation was painful, as though hope were a physical thing, too long kept imprisoned inside its cage, and only now unfolding after a very long time.

I have a choice. I can choose—not a new life entirely, but a next new step toward it.

Briefly, she thought of Lys and Rosel, and felt a twinge of misgiving. They would not take this new favor well. But then, she shook away the thought. “My lord, I am grateful … with the sweetness of true gratitude offered freely.”

A smile lit his face briefly. It was like a flare of sunlight on an already bright day. “And as freely returned. Now I remember you also like Tanja Duhr’s poetry. I shall take that as proof I chose well. Come. We begin tonight.”