Passion Play (18 page)

She unlaced her dress and slid it off. Her shift followed. The cool air lapped against her bare skin. Without warning, she saw Alarik Brandt’s dark eyes, staring as she undressed for him.

Stop. He’s not here. He cannot hurt you.

She picked up the nightgown. A faint draft from above rippled over her body.
Softer than a lover’s kiss,
she thought. Like a caress from memory that had never been.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“STOP. DON’T LIFT
the blade so high.”

Kathe moved Ilse’s hand, which held the knife, to the correct position. “Now make tiny cuts. Pretend you are chopping up snowflakes.”

She watched as Ilse carefully minced the bundle of parsley. “Better. But you need to relax, Ilse, or you’ll cut yourself.”

Ilse nodded. Relax. Concentrate. Try to ignore Lys and Rosel, who whispered and giggled at the next worktable. She adjusted her grip on the handle. That small change did feel more natural. Keeping the blade close to the cutting board, she made a series of tiny cuts, shredding the parsley into fine dots.

“Excellent! Now do the rest of this bundle, then start on the cabbage. I’ll come back in a moment.”

Once Kathe had left, Lys leaned close to Rosel. “I thought pets weren’t allowed in the kitchen.”

Rosel snickered. “Talking pets. Watch. I bet she cuts off her finger.”

Ilse closed her eyes a moment. Knife. Sharp. Wound. Grief. Just as well she wasn’t playing word links right now. She’d never be able to keep her distress a secret.

The teasing had begun the second day, after Kathe spent an hour teaching Ilse the most basic chores. Teasing was natural, Ilse had told herself. She was the new girl, after all. That night, however, when Ilse went with the other girls to the house baths, the questions had started. Dana had asked what it felt like to have mountains of gold. Rosel had wanted to hear where Ilse came by her scars. Steffi had wondered aloud why Ilse had been so sick that Lord Kosenmark had Mistress Hedda visit every day for a month. Lys said nothing, but she had watched every exchange with a calculating expression.

Ilse finished with the parsley and scooped the heap into the waiting bowl. Next came a small pile of blood-red cabbage, which Kathe had told her must be shredded into pieces no longer than her little finger. Lys or one of the other senior girls would mix these ingredients into a salad. Ilse’s only concern was to cut the pieces correctly. She worked far slower than the other girls, but once she settled into a rhythm, it wasn’t so bad.

Still, she was relieved when Kathe reappeared with one of the house runners trotting behind her. “I finished the parsley—”

“Good,” said Kathe, but she looked distracted. “Ilse, I came to tell you that Mistress Hedda is here to see you. She comes at the worst times for us, though I guess our good times are bad for her. Ah, now I sound just like my mother.” She paused to take a breath. “Never mind me. Just go with Mathes here, who can show you to her. But please hurry.”

Ilse wiped the knife with a clean rag and rinsed her hands. As she followed the runner out the door, she heard a stir of whispers, and Kathe hushing the girls irritably. More gossip, she thought with an inward sigh.

Mistress Hedda waited for her in a small plain room near the back of the pleasure house. It looked more like a workroom than one used by the courtesans, and contained little furniture other than a few wooden chairs and an old desk. A small cot stood in the corner under the window, which had the curtains pulled open to admit the late-afternoon sun. Mistress Hedda sat on the cot, bent over an open trunk, sorting through her herb packets and vials and murmuring numbers and names as she did so. At Ilse’s entrance, she looked up. “Good day, young woman. I’ve come for one last examination. Sit down here.”

Ilse sat on the cot. Mistress Hedda took her left hand and laid her fingers lightly over Ilse’s wrist. “A touch fast. But nothing to worry about. The fever is definitely gone. Now chin up, dear, and look over my head.”

She muttered to herself, something about the flesh around the eyes looking puffier than usual. “Are you sleeping well?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mmmmm. So very proper. I see Greta has you trained thoroughly. Now please lie back. Stockings off, please, and legs apart. I want to make certain you’ve had no setbacks.”

Mistress Hedda pulled the curtains shut and lit a lamp. Ilse did as ordered and stared at the ceiling while Mistress Hedda examined her, all the while asking about her dreams, her appetite, and whether she had any cramping. Her touch was both gentle and impersonal, which made the ordeal easier, and the need to answer questions helped Ilse keep her mind away from painful memories.

She sat up and rearranged her clothing while Mistress Hedda wrote down instructions for her to give Mistress Raendl. “You are much stronger, but not entirely well,” Hedda commented. “You have shadows here still.” She touched Ilse’s cheek, which was warm. “When I happen to see you next, I want these hollows gone and your color brighter.”

Ilse tucked the slip of paper into her pocket. “No more draughts then?”

“None. I brought my physicks and my bottles for Josef today. The silly boy caught cold from sleeping with his window open. He’s a southern flower and should know better.”

Ilse had seen Josef in passing—he was a slender young man, often sought by the nobles, according to the other courtesans. “I thought we were in the south.”

“There talks a girl from the borderlands. But Josef comes from Valentain, where the winters are hotter then your northern summers.”

Valentain. So he came from Lord Kosenmark’s homeland. “I wondered why he came north then?”

“An invitation perhaps,” Hedda said drily. “I’ve heard six stories, all different, and those were from Josef himself. I believe he likes to reinvent himself each year.”

They all had,
Ilse thought. Josef, Nadine, even Kathe and her mother had reinvented their lives when they left Duenne’s Court to serve in Lord Kosenmark’s unconventional household.

“And you, what does Kathe have you doing?” Mistress Hedda said.

Ilse smiled. “Washing and drying dishes. Today she started me on mincing and chopping.” She had not known there were so many terms for using a knife, nor that there were so many different knives in a kitchen. But Kathe was patient, and her mother often said she appreciated an honest effort.

“Do you like it?”

“Well enough.”

Mistress Hedda’s mouth twitched. “The truth now.”

Ilse dropped her gaze to her hands. “I’m not doing as well as I’d like. But I certainly like it better than where I was.”

“Do you get along with the other girls?”

Ilse shrugged. “Well enough.”

Hedda’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Well, I won’t badger you, and Josef is waiting.”

As she hurried back to the kitchen, Ilse wondered if she ought to have told the truth. But what was the truth? She hated the teasing and the questions, but there were times when Dana showed her the sketches she made, and sometimes Janna and Steffi let her join in playing cards during breaks. In turn, she had taught them the word-linking game, though only Janna showed any skill or inclination for it. But nothing erased the awkwardness she sensed, from shy little Hanne all the way up to Lys, the most senior girl in the kitchen. It came from her accent, the fact that Kathe spent more time supervising and teaching Ilse while the others had earned their places through skill or years of apprenticeship.

I’m a charity case, and they know it.

She came into the kitchen, dodging out of Lys’s path as the other girl charged through the doors with a heavy tray. Hanne and Dana polished silverware. Janna was setting out rows of clean wine cups. Two spit boys rotated the huge beef roast that the kitchen girls would later slice and garnish. Kathe was not in sight, but off in one corner, Mistress Raendl and Mistress Denk discussed small details of the night’s menu.

“Ilse! What took you so long?” Rosel said, coming up behind Ilse. “Dana needs help with the radishes. Special client for Adelaide. You need to polish these before she cuts them up.” She propelled Ilse toward the cutting board, where a heap of dirty radishes waited. “Here’s a rag. Don’t stop polishing until you can see your face.”

Ilse picked up one radish gingerly. Even she could see that these radishes were filthy and spotted, as though someone had picked out the worst from a very bad barrel. “Are you sure?”

Rosel’s face was bland, but she heard muffled giggles from the others.

“Of course she’s sure,” Janna said. “She—”

She broke off suddenly. The other girls bent over their stations. Ilse realized that Mistress Raendl was beckoning impatiently to her. “Stop daydreaming, girl. I need a tray for Lord Kosenmark and Maester Hax—water and white wine and cups and those new rolls. Stay if they ask you. Otherwise come directly back. And throw out those radishes—they’re rotten.”

She turned back to Mistress Denk, and they were off again, talking about the evening’s menu. Ilse threw the radishes in the trash bin. No matter how distracted Mistress Raendl appeared, Ilse knew this assignment was a test. She filled a new carafe from the wine barrel, then a second with cool water, and set these on a clean tray. The rolls came next, arranged in a pyramid on a platter. Napkins. She would need napkins and plates for the rolls.

Janna came to her side with a stack of clean folded napkins. “It was just a joke,” she hissed.

Ilse started, nearly upsetting the tray. “What joke?”

“The radishes. Why did you tell on her?”

“I didn’t. I—”

“You did. Now the old woman is sure to give her scut work, and it’s all—”

“Janna. Ilse. Stop chattering.”

Her cheeks burning, Ilse hurried from the kitchen. Hurry, hurry, hurry were Mistress Raendl’s three favorite words, she thought. After two weeks of running errands, she knew most of the routes through the pleasure house. Down a connecting corridor, around through the back halls, and she came to the stairs, which she mounted as fast as she could without losing control of her heavy tray.

The runner on duty knocked for her.

“Enter,” said Kosenmark’s clear high voice.

Lord Kosenmark and Maester Hax were bent over Kosenmark’s desk, studying a large sheet of paper that draped the entire surface. Stacks of books covered the chairs, and the table by the fireplace had another tray filled with dirty cups and the remnants of a meal. One of the smaller sand glasses turned over, causing another larger one to tilt and sound a soft chime.

“On that table,” Kosenmark said, not looking up. “And pour us two cups, please.”

With some difficulty, Ilse cleared off the indicated table and set down her tray. She poured two cups of wine, taking care to mix them well with water. Lord Kosenmark took his absently and drank. Hax smiled at her. “Thank you, my dear. We were growing parched and hungry from talking. Ah, could you bring me a plate of those rolls?”

Ilse fetched him the plate. As she did so, her glance fell on the paper they were studying. It was a map of northern Veraene and Károví. Blue lines radiated from the coast to mark the varying depth; green ones showed mountains and other natural features. Along with cities, the map included smaller ports and harbors. A thick dotted line and arrow pointed eastward off the coast, labeled
Lir’s Veil
and
Three Hundred Miles
. That would be the magical wall of fire drawn by ancient mages three hundred years ago during the second wars to separate the island province of Morennioù from the mainland. But what caught her attention were the notations along the margins, with arrows drawn to various points on the Károvín coastline.

“Curious?” Lord Kosenmark said.

Ilse took an immediate step back from the desk. “My apologies, my lord.”

He handed her his cup. “Please refill my cup. More water this time.”

She did as he ordered, cursing herself silently. More than one person had warned her about undue prying. Even Kathe, with all her quicksilver chatter, rarely gave away any secrets. Keeping her gaze averted from the map, she handed the cup to Lord Kosenmark.

“Tell me what you saw,” he asked mildly.

Without looking up, Hax said, “Do not tease her, my lord.” He held a scrap of paper in his hand and seemed to be comparing it to something on the map.

“I’m not. I’m being curious. Just as she was.”

Hax shrugged and went on studying the map. Kosenmark’s attention remained on Ilse.

“I saw a map, my lord,” she answered, somewhat breathlessly.

“Of what?”

“Of Károví and Veraene.”

“How do you know that? Are you versed in maps?”

She met his gaze as steadily as she dared. “I come from the north, my lord. I recognized the names of cities and mountains and rivers.”

“Indeed. Do you understand Károvín?”

“Dobru i nem, my lord. Good and not good.”

“Dobr’ velmi,” he replied. “Very well indeed.”

He continued to study her with that cool unnerving expression. Then Hax gave a soft exclamation. Kosenmark turned to his secretary. “What have you found, Berthold?”