CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“MARRY ME,” HE whispered.

“Marriage?” she said breathlessly. “What would—”

“—my family say?”

A puff of laughter escaped her. “Have you found a way to listen to my thoughts as well?”

They lay close together, she with her cheek against his chest, he stroking her hair. Magic’s green scent lingered, mixed with sweat and musk and perfume. The snow had ended, and a pale dawn lit the windows.

Raul paused in stroking her hair. “This is why I love you. You keep me honest. No, I have not found a way to listen into your thoughts. If I had, I would have asked you to marry me long ago.” He slid down so that they were face to face. There was just enough light to see that his expression had turned pensive. “It’s asking a great deal,” he said. “Considering who I am. What I am. But would you anyway?”

Yes. Now. Forever. Ah but he was being too impetuous. She tried again. “What about your family?”

“My mother and brother will be quite pleased. If it matters, so will my sisters.”

“You have sisters?”

“Three,” he said, laughing. “You look shocked. Dismayed, even. Are you saying no?”

“I’m— What about your father?”

“He will agree. Once he comes to know you.” Raul traced the outline of her face with one finger. “You are already more than a lady and a duchess to me. What comes after is just an outward ceremony.”

Duchess. The thought left her breathless.

Raul brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and kissed her again. “There is no hurry for you to answer me yes or no. Let me court you properly, as I should have courted you before. Give yourself time to think over what you want. Then decide. Until then …”

Until then. Yes.

*  *  *

ILSE WOKE TO the bells ringing late morning. Her eyes opened to an unfamiliar bedchamber, flooded with sunlight through the tall windows. She took in a few scattered details—cream-colored walls, a few brightly colored paintings in between openwork shelves, the fragrance of cedar mixed with that of sun-dried linens. A warm body pressed against her back.

Raul stirred and nuzzled closer, one arm drifting over her body. “Good morning, love.”

It was as though he said that every morning. A strange sense of vertigo overtook her.

“What’s the matter?” he said softly.

“I love you.”

His laugh tickled her ear. “You mentioned that last night. Once or twice.”

She had mentioned a lot of things. Embarrassed at the memory, she buried her face into the pillow. What must he think of her? What would the rest of the house think, once they learned about last night? Because they would learn soon enough.

Raul kissed her shoulder. “You seem unhappy. Are you sorry?”

“No. Not that.”

“But you are not yet easy with me. I understand.” His weight shifted imperceptibly, so that his body no longer pressed so close. “I think I was babbling last night,” he said. “Many things. All of them true.”

At that she laughed weakly and hiccupped. “You lied. You can read my thoughts.”

“You’re very sweet when you hiccup. Did you know that? No, I cannot read your thoughts, I can only guess from the pictures your faces makes, or the colors of your voice, or the scent of your gestures. We should take a holiday today, just you and I. Would you like that?”

The sudden change in topic left her dizzy. “A holiday?”

“Yes. Something fun.”

She twisted around to face him. “Fun?”

Raul grinned wickedly. “You look confused. Should I get a dictionary?”

He was deliberately provoking her. “What kind of holiday?” she said.

“I don’t know. Riding. Or we could visit the theater this evening, if your hiccups have stopped. I’ve heard that Vieth has engaged musicians for a special performance for the city. It would make up for our last outing. Would you like that?”

Music. It had been so long since she last heard real musicians. Not since Lord Vieth’s banquet. Swiftly upon that memory came one of Lord Dedrick’s sister, confronting Raul Kosenmark about Dedrick. Ilse had not forgotten the expression on Lady Alia’s face, nor how Ilse must have appeared to everyone there.

Raul must have read her thoughts from her face, because he murmured, “I promise no one will bother you. They must see that it’s different between us. But if you would rather stay within the grounds, that, too, would be a delight.”

Extravagant. Like a brief and gaudy fire. She suppressed that thought. “I’m not afraid. Let us go and hear these famous musicians.”

But Raul was not content to leave their schedule to chance. He rambled on about how they might spend their holiday together. Breakfast first. Then they might drill together, though Ault would surely scold them for being so tardy. Afterward, would she like to walk through the gardens? It seemed as though Raul wanted to make up for the month’s lost hours. When Ilse protested, he reluctantly admitted that she should leave him long enough to bathe and dress in clean clothes.

Ilse returned to find Steffi and Janna laying out dishes on the table by the windows. Raul immediately came forward and took her by the hand. “What took you so long?” he said with a smile, as he escorted her to her chair. Ilse glanced around in time to catch Janna’s surprised look.

Janna leaned and whispered to Steffi. Ilse’s cheeks warmed. Raul, apparently oblivious, sat opposite her and poured coffee for them both. Only after the two girls left did he shake his head. “Everyone will know within the day. Do you mind?”

“No.” She smiled. “No, I don’t.”

“Evidently not because you aren’t hiccupping. Come, let us discuss our holiday.”

“Half a holiday,” she countered, thinking that he was too much like Nadine. They were both the children of wind and storm and unquenchable fire. Nadine. Ilse had a moment’s qualm. They would have to talk, she and Nadine. But now Raul was eyeing her with curiosity.

“Why half a holiday?” he asked.

“Because if I insist on half, then you will agree to one holiday and not ten. What about Mistress Denk’s accounts? And reviewing the tax assessment? What about,” she dropped her voice, “our work for the kingdom?”

That had an even stronger effect than she had anticipated. “Our work, yes.” He let out a sigh. “We had news from our friend last night. Duke Feltzen. It concerns Armand and our recent diplomatic exchange.”

Feint. Parry. Strike. The next move was to disarm, she thought. “Did Armand send him?”

“I cannot tell, though I suspect Lord Khandarr did. The duke himself is just as he claims—a colleague of my father, a loyal subject who is concerned about Veraene’s welfare, even above his own. He had heard how I opposed the war talk and came with news that Armand is reconsidering his approach to Károví. If we can believe it, Armand now speaks of diplomats instead of troop levies, and whenever a councillor proposes conflict, he recommends caution and tact and taking the long view.”

Ilse studied his face. “But you don’t believe him.”

“I don’t know. We must confirm the news, of course.”

“It sounds … hopeful.”

“It’s meant to.” He vented a long breath, still obviously troubled. “But that, too, can wait. Let us enjoy the harmony and tranquillity of now and here.”

“Even though tomorrow’s shadow reaches toward us?” she murmured.

“It reaches and yet cannot touch, for when it does, tomorrow becomes today,” he replied. “You are right about tomorrow, my love, but I want and need a day that concerns us alone.”

At drill, Maester Ault observed their performance with a face even blanker than usual. Once, Ilse thought she detected a glimmer of amusement in those dark eyes. Before she could decide, Ault barked at her to pay attention. He lectured Raul even harder, driving him through his sword patterns at a speed that turned the blades into gray blurs.

“Dismissed,” he said. “My lord, I see you found your point of concentration at last.”

Raul shot him a quick look, but Ault’s hooded eyes revealed nothing. Ilse turned away at once and busied herself with putting away her weapons. Within the day, Raul had said, but it seemed everyone had discovered it far sooner.

“Come.” Raul touched her arm lightly. “We can bathe and return to our plans.”

Ilse glanced from him to Ault, who stood with his arms folded across his chest, ostensibly gazing skyward. “Yes, but separately,” she murmured. “Not together.”

Raul followed the direction of her glance. “Yes. I think you are right. We should be somewhat discreet. For today,” he added under his breath.

But during the walk from the courtyard to the baths, Ilse had the impression of many eyes, like a constant light flickering of tiny raindrops over her skin. First there was Ault, who bade them good-bye and a good-day, but when Ilse glanced around as they left, she caught a speculative look on his face. Then there were the bath attendants, whose faces were utterly bland as she and Raul parted into separate bath chambers, but Ilse heard their whispers as the doors closed.

Raul finished before she did, leaving a message for her to join him in his office. The bath attendant’s voice was nothing but polite, but Ilse caught the woman’s curious glance as she turned away. Then, on her way to the fourth floor, she encountered Hanne, returning with an empty tray. Hanne went wide-eyed, then ducked her head and hurried past. A moment later, Kathe appeared on the stairs. She, too, carried a tray, and she was smiling with undisguised delight.

“Since when do you carry trays?” Ilse asked, somewhat archly.

“You know how long,” Kathe said with a laugh. “And you, since when do you sleep until late morning, now that you aren’t one of my kitchen girls?”

“Since today.”

They studied each other.

“You have changed since you came to us,” Kathe said softly. “In good ways, I think.”

“But not you,” Ilse said. “You’ve always been my friend. We should—” She stopped, embarrassed. “I mean, if you like, we could take a walk in the gardens, or into the parks, if you have time to spare.”

“Oh, I am not the one with the busy schedule. Let us say tomorrow. I daresay if I tried to claim you today, Lord Kosenmark would share a few words with me. Or my mother would. We have a new pastry cook, you see …”

She rolled her eyes.

“I see,” Ilse said, laughing. “One of these days, you shall have to speak with your mother about the pastry cooks.”

Kathe grinned. “Someday. But not today.”

She shifted her tray to one side and hurried down to the kitchens, while Ilse continued upward.

*  *  *

AS HE HAD promised, Raul courted Ilse throughout the following months. He took delight in presenting her with gifts of jewels and silks, perfumes and paintings, and rare books that he discovered in the back rooms of Tiralien’s finest antiquarians. He even commissioned an artisan to create for her a tiny sand glass, which they used to play word links. When she thought he had run to the end of his inventiveness with gifts, he hired a ship and crew. With two more ships as their escort, they sailed southward along the coast. He showed her Tiralien from afar, as it looked with the sun setting behind it, its towers like a ruddy crown amid golden fire, then ordered the ships to sail down the coastline to Fuldah, Lunendal, and Konstanzien, around the point where Osterling Keep stood, and toward the open southern seas. They spent a night with all the lamps on the boat lit, and Ilse could only think of diamonds sparkling on the black silk waves.

And when they returned to Tiralien, he brought her to Lord and Lady Vieth’s next banquet and danced with her alone.

“You are my gift,” he told her, when she protested his latest offering, a string of pearls she found upon her pillow.

“I am not a thing,” she murmured. She let the pearls slide through her fingers. They felt like silk beads, so fine they were. Fine droplets of white, catching all the colors of the world in the lamplight. He had matched them to her newest gown, another gift she should have refused.

Raul touched her cheek with his hand. “I’m sorry. I only meant that I cannot do enough.”

“Gratitude—”

“—is a bitter root, but sweetened with love, it pours strength and joy into the soul.”

She smiled, somewhat pensively. That morning she had found a bouquet of flowers in her parlor, with a note reading, I wish you joy.

The note had no signature, but the flowers, blooming far out of season, had a faint whiff of magic about them.

Nadine. She had not openly avoided Ilse, but they had not spoken alone since Raul’s break with Dedrick. Even when they did speak, Nadine’s voice took on a polished brittle quality. Her courtesan’s voice, Ilse thought. Used when she entertained a stranger.

I wish you joy. The words carried so many different meanings. I forgive you for wounding my heart. I’m sorry I tried to wound you back. I would like to be your friend.

She was still thinking of Nadine that same evening, when she and Raul sat in the upper gardens in the new pavilion, wrapped in fine woolen robes against the evening damp, counting the stars as they appeared. Spring had nearly arrived. Hard buds lined the branches, and the air tasted green, as though magic hovered just beyond their perception.

“You seem troubled,” Raul said.

“I was thinking about Nadine.”

“Ah.” He kissed her cheek. “Is she angry with you?”

“Not anymore.”

One of the guards coughed. Ilse drew back from Raul’s next kiss.

“What’s wrong?” Raul said.

“I never feel entirely alone with you,” she murmured. “Except in your rooms.”

“Our rooms. It never bothered you before.”

Ilse breathed a sigh. How to explain that she understood why the several perimeters of guards, even within the pleasure house grounds, while saying that she disagreed.

“I had hoped this secret war between you and Markus Khandarr was finished,” she said in an undertone.

“I hoped the same thing. Secret wars inside a kingdom often turn into wars with its neighbors. And do not think that Károví is the only one of our neighbors who watches us anxiously. Immatra would gladly take over the province of Ournes, if their king thought us preoccupied. Ysterien, too, might decide to expand its borders. If only Benno could write to me, then I would know what Markus is doing.”

Benno Iani had disappeared from view, and Emma Theysson reported that she had heard nothing since he left for court. In place of their regular spies, they now depended on news from merchants or clients who visited the pleasure house. Even that required delicate planning, for Lord Kosenmark would not openly involve the courtesans in this business.

“We had no guards on the ships,” she said.

A moment’s silence. “We did. All the sailors had weapons. And …” Another brief pause. “And I hired three more ships to keep watch from a distance. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Cold prickled her skin. “I wish you had told me.”

“I did not wish to argue with you.”

Instead he had lied. Or rather, he had not lied outright, but he had concealed things from her. A sick feeling washed over her. “Raul, all the reports say you’ve won your battle with Markus Khandarr. Let things be now. Or are you just playing more games?”

“I am not playing games, Ilse. I know this man and I know—”

“It’s the same old excuses, Raul. If you only—”

They both broke off at the sound of nearby voices. One of the guards was hailing someone. Ilse heard the exchange, then the sound of weapons going back in their sheaths. The next moment, a house runner came toward the pavilion. Another followed, carrying a lantern.

“Mistress Ilse.”

The runner bowed and presented a thick packet to Ilse.

Ilse glanced at Raul. He gave a tiny shake of the head. No gift then.

She took the packet, which was heavy and wrapped in oilcloth and tied with leather cords, as though prepared for a long journey. Inside the oilcloth, she found an inner packet wrapped in heavy paper and a card with writing. She motioned for the boy with the lantern to come closer so she could read it.

Mistress Therez Zhalina, Lord Kosenmark’s household, Tiralien.

“Who brought this?” she asked in a faint voice.

“A private courier,” the first runner said. “He arrived from Melnek, he said, and asked to wait in the house for any answer.”

Raul leaned close. “Read it,” he said softly. “It’s nothing but words.”

“Words.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Words are sharp and dangerous.”

“Indeed. But don’t let his words be stronger than you.”

He was right, as always. Taking a deep breath, she opened the inner envelope, which contained a thick sheaf of papers, tied with a ribbon. A smaller sheet lay on top. It, too, carried her name, and this time she recognized her brother’s handwriting.

The letter was dated from Melnek, three weeks ago.

Dearest Therez, I wish I had written earlier, when Alarik Brandt’s letter came to us. I wish I had written after our father came back from seeing you. I wish any number of things to make writing this letter easier. But I did not. So now I must write to say that I have very bad news. Our father has died …

She must have made a sound, because Raul leaned close, his arm around her shoulders.

“What is it?”

“He’s dead. My father is dead.” Her throat closed on the word.

“Oh my love, I’m sorry.”

She tried to read on, but could not make sense of the words. She crumpled the letter and closed her eyes. Raul spoke quietly to the runner, who vanished at a run. Very soon the boy returned with a flask. Raul held it to Ilse’s lips. “Drink.”

She did, the alcohol burning down her throat, making her cough. Anger was gone, so was the first shock. Inside she felt only emptiness, and a small bright flame of grief. She turned her head away. “No more.”

“Are you able to read it now?”

She shook her head. Raul sighed and took the letter, motioning for the boy to stand behind him with the lamp. As he scanned the page, Ilse saw him frown, then his face smoothed to a neutral expression. “What is it?”

“He invites you to come home.”

She flinched. “No. I cannot. What does he want from me?”

“Nothing. Just the opposite. Your father made a new will this autumn, leaving you a third of his possessions. Ehren has sent you a copy of the will and a list of all your father’s possessions. He asks that you choose which items you prefer. You need not visit, however, though they would like to see you.”

She hugged herself tightly, saying nothing.

“He also says that your mother is not well.”

If she knew Ehren, that meant seriously ill.

“Just like our father,” she said. “He gives me a list of goods before he mentions our mother. Does he think I care about money?”

“Ilse. He’s your brother, not your father. Do not blame him.”

He reached toward her. She shook off his hand. “Do not tell me what to do, Raul. You were not there when Ehren told me to marry Theodr Galt.”

“Does that mean I have no right to say what I think?”

Two quarrels in one evening. Both left her shaken. Ilse took a deep breath. “Speak, then,” she said in a tight voice.

Raul nodded. “Very well. I know you are angry. I understand. And perhaps your mother and brother might have done more. But Ilse, your brother grieves, however clumsily. Do not cut him off without any reply.” In a quieter voice, he added, “It’s the right thing to do. And you believe in doing the right thing, I know.”

He made no move to embrace her, neither did he turn away. Another turning point—past the first joy, past the first genuine argument. She released a long sigh. “You are right. I should, I will write to Ehren. But no visits. Not yet.”

“I say the same myself,” Raul said softly. “I mean to visit my father, who is old. I have any number of duties waiting for me. A brother.”

“Three sisters,” Ilse added.

“Three barbed and dangerous creatures.”

He opened his arms. She leaned into them, feeling strangely bereft of desire, but craving his warmth and no longer caring about the presence of guards and runners. Gradually the strangeness fell away, as though an invisible, magical veil concealed the two of them from the world. Perhaps this was how kings and queens managed their lives.

She almost laughed to think of it. Almost.