CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ILSE WROTE A short note to Ehren that same night, knowing delay would only make her task more difficult.

“… I cannot promise when I will visit, but I can promise that I will. Someday. But please understand that I cannot make my home in Melnek. I’ve made a new life with new companions. I cannot fit myself into old expectations.…”

The phrases sounded stiff to her ear, and she was painfully aware she had not mentioned their father’s death, nor their mother’s illness. With a sigh, she added a postscript. “Ehren, I’m sorry for how this letter must sound. It is difficult for me to express everything I think or feel or hope at this moment. I will write again before the month is over, and then I will answer all your questions about the will.”

Before she sealed it, Ilse gave the letter to Raul to read.

He read it through in silence, then regarded the last page a moment before he handed it back. “You are honest, not cruel. If your brother is as clear-sighted as you, he will understand.”

Ilse folded the sheets together. “I hope so. To be fair, we were both trapped by our father. We just chose different paths.”

Raul took her hands in his. “I’m sorry.”

She started. “For what?”

“For what I said outside. For not trusting you.”

Ilse laughed softly. “That’s odd. That’s what I wanted to say to you.”

*  *  *

SHE SENT HER letter to Ehren the next day. She told herself she would send him a more complete answer within the week, but it was a full three weeks before Ilse attacked the set of papers Ehren had sent her. Finally, late one afternoon, she locked herself in her old office, vowing she would not emerge until she had read and answered everything.

She started with the letter. For all its brevity, it took her an hour to comprehend.

The facts were simple. Their father had returned from Melnek in good health but he had spoken little of Tiralien itself. They had lost their hoped-for contracts with the shipping guild, but had acquired new contacts for the overland routes through Baron Mann, and this new business required all of Petr Zhalina’s attention throughout the spring and early summer. In retrospect, we ought to have foreseen what happened, Ehren wrote. Worn by months of anxiety, he tired easily, and needed constant reminders for details he once recalled without effort.

He grieved, Ilse thought. In his own way.

You never acknowledged that before, said her conscience.

She expelled a breath and willed her muscles to relax. Her father had grieved to lose his daughter. He had also tried to barter her life for a contract with Theodr Galt. Both statements were true. She could do nothing about it. She read on.

In late summer Petr Zhalina had taken ill from the fever. By autumn, he gave the business entirely over to Ehren, thereafter growing so weak, so fast, that Isolde Zhalina asked him if they should write to Therez.

Our father told us, “Therez is dead. I spoke with a stranger named Ilse.”

Ilse propped her head against both hands. Eyes closed, she thought of Raul. She thought of magic. She thought of anything except her final meeting with Petr Zhalina. After a while, she had collected herself enough to go on.

Little remained. Petr Zhalina refused to summon his daughter, but the next day he gave a new will to Ehren. A week later he died, and soon after their mother took ill from the same fever. Ehren thought she would recover with time and careful nursing.

He had declared her dead. And yet assigned her a third of his possessions.

Ilse slammed her fist against the desk. “Damn you,” she whispered. “Damn you twice over.”

She set the letter aside and poured herself a cup of plain water, before she took up the inventory of her father’s possessions, all written in Ehren’s neat script.

… One mansion in Melnek, thirty rooms, well-maintained. Attached to item 1, the following … Warehouse in Melnek center … Kerzstal Street … Storage barns, three, on the western docks …

The list of properties and possessions covered twenty pages, including several tracts of land outside Melnek, which Petr Zhalina rented to farmers. He also owned town houses in Duenne, more warehouses in Mundlau and Donuth. Ehren listed each one by number of rooms, the land attached, its condition, and an estimated value. Lists of personal items came next—his clothing, jewelry, the painting and statuary in the house—and Ehren had included a brief description and a valuation for each. Ilse found herself reading each entry with care, half hoping the list might provide her with a new portrait of Petr Zhalina. Where is your heart? Do the clues lie in the goods you sold, or the gems you acquired?

In the end, she found only a few more surprises and many disappointments. She reshuffled the pages into a neat square, retied the ribbons, and set the bundle aside. She drank a cup of watered wine, while she considered how to answer her brother’s proposal about the will.

He offered her the choice of taking her share in money or lands or even in jewels and other personal items, saying that their mother agreed to abide by whatever Ilse decided. Making amends for the past, Ilse thought. She felt a twinge of anger. The offer came far too late, and yet …

Unable to bear it any longer, she sought out Raul, who was gazing out the windows of their bedroom, an unheeded book in his lap. He looked around with a questioning smile.

“I love you,” she said.

“Is that how you’ve spent your afternoon?” he asked. “Considering that subject?”

“No. I already knew the answer.” Standing behind his chair, she rested her hands on his shoulders. Raul leaned his cheek briefly against her arm, and she felt a ping, a knot of tension sprung. Was this how love progressed, then? From passion to comfort to mutual sustenance?

“I read Ehren’s letter,” she said. “And the will. All twenty pages.”

“You have a meticulous brother. Have you made any decisions?”

She took a deep breath. Of course he had read enough to know about Ehren’s proposal. “Yes. I will accept his offer. How or what, I don’t know yet.”

“Ah.” Raul placed his hands over hers. “Would you like to hear my advice?”

She liked how his hands felt, the palms warm and rough, the sense of strength and gentleness combined. She especially liked how his hands sought her, whether in the night or like now, to offer comfort. “Tell me. Or rather, tell me what you think. I can’t promise I’ll agree.”

Raul nodded. “Fair enough. Consider this, then. You might find it easier to accept your inheritance in money. If your brother needs to, he can sell certain items. Let him choose what to keep and what to sell. I can have my agent contact his for the details of the transfer.”

Ilse kept her gaze on their hands, brown against brown, like honey and tea. “Taking the money seems so cold.”

“Not entirely. Accepting your inheritance will soothe your brother’s sense of guilt, and your mother’s. If it troubles you to accept only coins, then pick a few items for mementos—a painting you loved or some jewels that you used to wear.”

Sensible advice, which took into account both her needs and her heart. Delicately given, too. Though he did not mention, nor did she, such an inheritance would grant her independence.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’ll write Ehren tomorrow.”

Raul tilted his head back to look up at her. “You don’t sound convinced.”

Ilse shrugged. “It’s not that. It’s … It hurt to hear what my father said about me. It hurt that I can’t talk to him again. Or argue with him. Or even tell him I was sorry. And yet, if he were here, I couldn’t say any of those things.” She swallowed against the ache in her throat. “I am his daughter, whether I like it or not.”

He lifted her hands and kissed them. “You are Ilse. You are yourself, and no one else.”

*  *  *

THEY DINED TOGETHER in midafternoon then separated once more, Ilse to write her brother, Raul to visit several city councillors. The visits were ostensibly social, but Ilse knew that Raul wanted news about Lord Khandarr’s doings in Tiralien. The war, as she called it, had subsided to doubts and suspicions on Raul’s part, but not entirely. It was not peace, it was more like an uneasy truce, where both sides ceaselessly watched the other.

For her own task, she carried her papers and writing materials to her old office—the one Berthold Hax had assigned her when she started as his assistant. A whiff of paper and ink lingered in the room, along with a sense of hopefulness that she associated with those early days as Hax’s assistant. Her own held too many painful memories—Hax’s death, Dedrick’s return from the capital, the last and most bitter argument with her father.

I lay with thirty men.

Your grandmother is dead.

She blew out a breath. Enough. She laid out her writing materials and arranged her pens, which helped to settle her thoughts. She selected a sheet of foolscap from the stack, dipped her pen in the ink, and tapped away the excess. Pretend you are writing a report for Mistress Denk, she told herself.

Three drafts later, she had a letter she could send to Ehren without regret or shame. She made a fair copy on good parchment, signed it, and set the letter aside to dry. Her task was done. But she paused, the pen still balanced between her fingertips, as though it wanted to form another word or two. The runner would ride back to Melnek tomorrow …

Ilse dipped her pen in the ink.

Dear Klara …

She crossed out the line and started over.

Dearest Klara. You know I left home suddenly. I don’t know what my family said, or what other rumors you heard, but here is the truth—the truth through my eyes, at least.

She wrote without pause, knowing that if she stopped, she might not have the courage to start again. She would not tell Klara everything—that would be too painful—but she would tell her as much of the truth as she could, as though Klara sat across from her, listening to the words Ilse set to paper.

… and so I left home, as quickly and secretly as possible. It was a difficult journey. I had intended to vanish into Duenne’s streets and find a position, but I had to change my plans suddenly. I will not say more. Imagine what you like. Imagine a difficult painful time. That is all.

She paused. There was no need to talk about her time in the kitchens. Or the business with Rosel’s spying. Even talking face to face, Ilse was not certain she could adequately explain things. She went on.

Eventually I found a home in Tiralien. And Klara, I found more than I looked for. He is more than any poet or historian. He is … He makes me laugh, Klara. He makes me think. You would like him.

Ilse spent the rest of the afternoon clearing up long-neglected business. Officially she was no longer Lord Kosenmark’s secretary, but she continued to handle most of the usual tasks. Before she was aware of it, evening had arrived. A runner brought her word that Raul had returned and was below in the common room.

“Tell Lord Kosenmark I shall come down directly,” Ilse said.

She washed away the dust and ink, then hurried down the stairs. The evening had already turned busy. Dozens crowded the common room, their voices rising in a thick hum. Ilse sighted Raul in the far corner, between Lothar Faulk and Emma Theysson. Covered dishes and wine jugs crowded the table in front of them. Raul looked up with a smile and beckoned to her.

“You look virtuous,” he said as she took the seat beside him. “You must have spent the day in your office, penning reports.”

Ilse laughed, self-consciously. “Kathe told you.”

“Hardly. It was your own inky fingertips that betrayed you.” He leaned closer. “We’ll make up for the time lost between us.”

Faulk made a wry comment about new lovers. Emma shushed him, but Ilse could tell she was thinking of Benno. Ilse evaded Raul’s embrace, staving him off by tossing a fresh plum at him. He caught it one-handed and bit into it, grinning. She was about to follow with a second plum, when a ripple of movement by the common room’s double doors caught her attention.

A glittering, perfectly coiffed and ornamented Dedrick Maszuryn stood at the entrance to the common room. The dark red silks of his sleeveless jacket swirled around, as though he had just that moment arrived. His face, caught in the bright glow from the chandelier, was still and dark and resolute.

Raul followed the direction of her gaze. Ilse heard his sharp intake of breath. Then, in one fluid motion, he stood and advanced toward Dedrick. Ilse held her breath, thinking she ought to call the guards. Surely Dedrick could see he wasn’t welcome here.

They met in the center of the room, which fell silent. Both men spoke in low quick voices. Ilse could not hear what they said, but she could see how Dedrick punctuated his words with quick gestures, as though to forestall any arguments. Raul lifted a hand. Dropped it as Dedrick made a placating gesture and spoke urgently.

Raul glanced back toward Ilse. He appeared to hesitate. Then, with a shake of his head, he took Dedrick by the hand. The two men vanished through one of the side doors.

Ilse closed her eyes, trying to quell the sick feeling in her stomach. All around, the conversations bubbled to life. Eduard resumed playing the hammered strings, while Mikka accompanied him on the lap harp. Ilse heard Emma speaking to Faulk, telling him to make way, then the rustle of silks as someone took Raul’s empty seat. Warm steady hands placed a wine cup within hers. She caught a whiff of a familiar spicy perfume.

“You must eat,” Nadine said. “Then drink some wine. You look ill.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are.” Nadine picked up a roll and broke it into pieces. “Small wonder, with you working all day in a stuffy office. Here.” She fed the roll to Ilse in small bites, then followed that up with a few sips of wine. Gradually Ilse felt the tightness in her stomach ease. She accepted a chicken pastry and nibbled on that with more appetite.

“Better,” Nadine said. She exchanged a glance with Emma, who looked concerned. “What say you, Lady Theysson? Should we send this child to her rooms?”

“That is best,” Emma said. “And I’ll send word to Lord Kosenmark. He’ll come to you as soon as he finishes whatever business came up. You know that it’s business,” she added in a softer voice.

They would not let her go, however, until she had eaten a few more pastries and finished off a glass of wine. “Kathe could send up a tray,” Nadine said as she walked with Ilse to the stairs. “But knowing you, you will forget to eat that as well. You are turning into Berthold Hax before your time. Shall I come with you? As a friend?”

Ilse smiled at her delicate phrasing, and shook her head. “I’d rather be alone. Thank you, Nadine.”

The fourth floor was quiet. Only the faint sounds of night insects came through the open windows of the landing, and within the office itself, the hush was absolute. As Ilse passed into the private rooms, she had the impression of passing into a void.

The private rooms themselves reminded her of the house in miniature—rooms opening into other rooms giving way to a passage that angled between still other rooms—parlors and sitting rooms and even a tiny library the width of two chairs. When she had first come to the pleasure house, Ilse had not thought much about the rooms beyond Lord Kosenmark’s office. Her duties brought her there seldom, and when they did, she came only to deliver trays with meals or drinks, or to take away the dirty dishes. The chambermaids who cleaned the private rooms were silent girls, who did their work under Mistress Denk’s personal supervision. That first time she had gone to his bed, she had not looked anywhere but to him.

At the center of the suite was a dressing room. Doors led off to a privy and washroom and various enormous closets. Ilse hesitated, then walked into the largest closet. She pressed her hand against a panel in the far wall.

The panel slid open to reveal a long narrow room that ran along the entire side of this complex. Unlike the other rooms, it was bare of furniture. A few high windows let in light during the day. At night, rows of lamps illuminated the entire space, their light glancing over the many square grates set into the floors and walls.

The listening room.

Raul had shown her this room their second evening together. She could still remember his explanation of which pipes and grates led to which rooms. He used it still, she knew. No chambermaids cleaned here, and she could read which grates he visited by the footprints in the thin layer of dust upon the floor. She ticked off the rooms’ names as she passed. Kitchen. Common room. Several parlors used by the courtesans for particular clients. Her old bedroom.

Ilse knelt beside one grate that showed no sign of recent use. Here in the middle of the corridor, she heard a soft susurration, the sound of air moving through the vents and pipes, as though the pleasure house were breathing.

She pressed her ear against the grate. At first she heard only the pulse within her ear, then as she became accustomed to it, she heard the faint whisper of voices below. She turned her head slightly. Now the sounds were magnified, and she distinctly heard wine being poured.

“… mistake to come here …”

Dedrick’s voice. Ilse pulled away a moment. So she had guessed right.

Her pulse beating faster, she listened again.

“… going to Duenne. And so I thought—”

“Your father is a wise man.”

“My father had nothing to do with my going to court.” Dedrick drew an audible breath. Laughed softly. “My apologies. No, it was not my father’s doing. I decided, at last, to follow your advice and make myself useful to society and my family. I said it was best if I put a very great distance between us, Raul. Then last night, it came to me …”

Ilse pulled away abruptly. Her head swimming, she pressed both hands against her eyes, while all around her the whispers echoed.

*  *  *

THE BELLS WERE striking twelve before Raul came into the bedroom. He carried a shaded lamp, which cast only a dim light at his feet, none on his face. When he saw Ilse, he stopped and drew back a step, as though surprised. “You were waiting for me?”

She nodded.

Raul tilted his head. “It was not what you thought.”

“How do you know what I thought?”

“From the way you are sitting here in the dark.”

He set the lamp on a table and began to unbutton his shirt. He seemed preoccupied—not guilty or irritated or any of the emotions she would have guessed after such a meeting. Now that Raul was here, with her, she could see that Nadine was right. Whatever they discussed had to be business. Still Ilse could not rid herself of the memory of Dedrick’s tone when he first addressed his former lover. She wished she had listened longer, if only to dispel those doubts.

So ask.

I can’t.

Why not? Don’t you trust him to answer?

I do, but—

Ilse took a deep breath. “Raul. Why did— Why did Dedrick come here tonight?”

Raul glanced around. “To apologize. To say good-bye. Dedrick is going to Duenne next week.”

She tried to pretend surprise. “That was a very long good-bye.”

“He had a proposal to make. So I listened.”

Raul continued to undress, his expression distracted, as though he was still turning over whatever he and Dedrick had discussed. Ilse watched him, taking pleasure in how he moved, in spite of the doubt nipping at her.

“He loves you still, doesn’t he?” she asked quietly.

Raul sighed. “I believe so. However, he brought me news I cannot ignore.”

“News about Markus Khandarr?”

“Among other things. Lady Alia had leave from the queen for a visit this spring. She mentioned to Dedrick in private that Armand and Khandarr both spend more time in the old wing of the palace. I know which section she means. Baerne had the court mages set layers of spells on those rooms so that no one could spy on them. It’s all very vague, of course, which makes me believe the news more than not.”

Ilse shifted uneasily. “I … I heard something of what he said.”

She felt, rather than saw, Raul’s glance. “I thought you might,” he said in a neutral tone. “But not everything?”

“No. Not everything. I’m sorry.”

He waved a hand. “No matter.”

Ilse clasped her hands together, relaxed them. “What did Dedrick offer then?”

Raul still had not approached her. Though he had professed not to care, she could see that he did care, deeply, that she had spied on him. Then he shrugged. Some of the stiffness left him, and he sat beside her on the bed. “To use his words, he offered to be my eyes and ears, where others had turned blind and deaf, out of concern for their own affairs. It’s risky,” he said, half to himself. “Khandarr knows about the connection between us. But he must also know that we are no longer together, which offers Dedrick some protection.”

“Is that enough?”

“I don’t know. I do know that Dedrick insisted. Said he would spy for me whether I agreed or not. So I agreed, if only to enforce some caution. We had to work out a method and some channels for sending messages between here and there. That’s what took so long.”

Ilse said nothing. She could only think that Dedrick had made this offer because he loved Raul, and he still had hope. And she hated herself for those thoughts.

“You believe me?” Raul said, after a moment.

“Of course.”

“Then trust me. Don’t just sit there in angry submissive silence.”

Ilse flinched. “Raul …”

He rubbed his face and sighed again. “I’m sorry, that was not fair of me.”

She reached out and caressed his bare shoulder. “No. Neither was I being fair to you.”

I love you. I’m sorry. I forgive you. Please forgive me.

Each anticipating the other, they pulled off their clothes and lay down. He was a skillful lover, she was desperate for physical release, and they both reached passion quickly. When she rolled from atop him, Raul kissed her softly upon her lips and cheeks and neck. But afterward, lying in his arms, Ilse felt the tension underneath his apparent calm, like a reflection of her own.