Passion Play (20 page)

Here was nothing like Petr Zhalina’s house, and Kathe was her friend, but she still wished she had kept her expression under better control. It would be too painful to explain how she had failed, how she thought it necessary to leave this house. And why.

I can stay here six more months. Eight if I need the money. Then I can go to another house where no one knows about my past.

It was a lie, she knew. Wherever she went, the other servants would guess her background and mistrust her. Still, a new house would know nothing about her time with the caravan. She could reinvent herself, like Josef, one bit at a time.

Kathe was glancing at her from time to time, her expression thoughtful. “Is there anything I can do about this nothing?”

Ilse scooped up the garlic and deposited it in a bowl. Taking up a new clove, she peeled away the papery skin and snipped off the ends. “No. It’s something I need to figure out myself.”

“Ah. Very well.” Kathe paused, then continued in a softer voice. “But you do understand that you are as much my responsibility as Hanne or Rosel or the rest of the girls are. My mother trusts me to act for her. I hope you would trust me, too.”

Ilse shrugged. “Trust is a chancy beast,” she said, thinking of an old folktale her grandmother used to tell.

“One with a soft pelt and sharp claws,” Mistress Raendl said. Ilse jumped, then jumped again when the cook laid a hand on her shoulder. “Leave the garlic for Kathe, since she proves she can chatter and carve at the same time. You come with me. I have a new assignment for you.”

She beckoned Ilse to follow her through the kitchen’s outer doors and down the wide lane used by delivery wagons. A side pathway took them into a small bare courtyard—little more than an alcove, and occupied only by a stone bench and a few trees that had shed their leaves.

“We might be safe here,” Mistress Raendl said softly, scanning the windows above them. “Lord Kosenmark listens to us, you see. I told you that once, but I wasn’t clear enough. He listens all the time. Through the vents, in the corridors, with spy holes and other means. He had the architect and builders take this house apart, or nearly, and rebuild it that way.”

“Mistress Raendl, why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’s asked for you to serve at a private supper tonight, and I need to explain more about him so you don’t blunder. It’s not that I expect you to say the wrong thing, but you have a very expressive face. You might look … disturbed. Or even just curious. Both would be a mistake. How much have the girls told you about Lord Kosenmark and what happened to him at court?”

Ilse’s growing apprehension vanished at this new revelation. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Lord Kosenmark was at the King’s Court?”

Mistress Raendl sent her a sharp glance. “That is where I met him. He used to visit my mistress, the Countess Hanau. When Baerne died, and then the countess, Lord Kosenmark invited me and my daughter to serve in his new household. The duke was furious when he heard. He said he wanted his heir at home, if not at court.”

“Lord Kosenmark is the heir? I thought—” Ilse broke off, embarrassed.

Mistress Raendl smiled grimly. “I can guess what you thought. Yes, he is the heir. No, he cannot have children. It was the price he paid, to serve in Baerne’s Inner Council. So you see why you must not let any shock, or worse, pity, show on your face.”

Ever since she had first heard Lord Kosenmark’s strange high voice, she had refused to dwell on what that meant. There were any number of innocuous reasons—a childhood illness, an unusual trait inherited through the family. She had not wanted to think of the obvious one.

But Lev Bartov had guessed right, and Ilse remembered Eckard’s expression when he refused to speak of the matter. “The king ordered him to … to sacrifice himself?”

The cook nodded. “Baerne declared he trusted only men who spoke harsh truths in a woman’s voice. Five Houses accepted this decree. Three of them sacrificed their second sons. Those who had none to spare were faced with bitter choices indeed.”

“So they could not sire heirs,” Ilse murmured. “To keep their loyalty to him and not their family.”

“Yes,” Mistress Raendl said. “You see the results. Lord Kosenmark has a brother, but he chose to meet the king’s demands himself. He took it badly when the Baerne died and Armand chose new advisers.”

Ilse hugged her arms around herself and looked upward. The walls rose straight up toward the floor where Lord Kosenmark had his rooms. How to read those blank windows that hid more than they revealed? Just so Lord Kosenmark’s exquisite golden eyes told her nothing, really, even when he professed anger or kindness or simple curiosity.

“Was it by choice that he left court altogether?” she said. “Or did Armand dismiss him?”

“I don’t know. I just know that three years ago he moved here and set up this house. He gave me no reason, of course. I’m his cook, not his friend.”

But she knew him well enough to know this most personal history. Ilse took in Mistress Raendl’s voice and manner, which was brusque, almost angry, as though she was offended by what happened to Lord Kosenmark. “You like him.”

Surprise, then a soft laugh. “I do. I remember him as a page. He was a wild one, they said. That changed when the Countess Hanau took him as her friend.” Mistress Raendl’s gaze turned distant and she smiled, as though she saw another Lord Kosenmark standing in the courtyard.

She sighed and her smile faded. “That’s all past. Today, our concern is just his entertainment. I told him yesterday what you said about not being afraid. He liked that, he said, and asked that you serve him and Lord Dedrick at their private supper tonight.”

Lord Dedrick Maszuryn—Lord Kosenmark’s companion and sometimes lover. The other girls told stories about him in private, punctuated with giggles and sighs. Ilse had seen him several times in the common room, but never alone with Lord Kosenmark. Lord Kosenmark a duke’s heir, she thought. An exiled councillor. A man very much alive to his condition, in all senses of the word. Yes, she would have to guard her expression carefully.

“Would that bother you?” Mistress Raendl asked. “If it does, I can suggest to Lord Kosenmark that you would prefer to stay in the kitchen.”

Ah, but then he would know she had lied about being unafraid. Ilse shook her head. “It won’t bother me. And thank you for telling me, Mistress Raendl.”

“Your thanks will be a good job. Come along. They’ll miss us in the kitchen and start gossiping about nothing all over again.”

Back in the kitchen, Mistress Raendl set Ilse to stirring sauces. Ilse tried to keep her thoughts on the task itself—stir with firm, even strokes—even though she kept seeing Mistress Raendl’s troubled expression as she recited Kosenmark’s history. Lys was watching her, she noticed, but to her relief, it was a busy night, with no time for chatter.

Two hours later, just when Mistress Raendl had ordered Ilse to make ready for serving dinner, a runner came with news that Lord Kosenmark wanted service to be set back an hour. Mistress Raendl scowled at the news. “Why?”

“Lord Dedrick sent word that he was delayed, I heard.”

Mistress Raendl muttered a curse. “Very well. Not that I have any say in the matter, but very well. Tell Lord Kosenmark that we are delighted to change our schedule to suit young Lord Dedrick. We’ll have to make new sauces then.” Still grumbling, she dismissed the runner and gave the sauces over to Kathe with orders to use them with the spiced fishcakes. She mixed a new batch herself and gave that to Ilse to stir, muttering, “The house will eat well tonight.”

Before Ilse had finished stirring that batch, the runner came back with more news. A short whispered exchange followed, then Mistress Raendl turned to Ilse, her mouth tight. “You’re to go make ready.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing much. Lord Dedrick hasn’t come, but Lord Kosenmark sent word to start without him. Go dress now. I’ll have the first tray ready before you return.”

Ilse ran for the dormitory, where she washed her hands and face, braided her hair afresh, and then changed into her best linen gown. Last week, Janna had shown her the cosmetics provided for these occasions. Working quickly, Ilse applied powder to her face, color to her lips, and dark kohl to her eyes. It had been months since she had used anything to decorate herself, and for a moment, unwanted memories joined her in the empty dormitory room. All she needed was scent and jewels …

… the sound of Paschke’s musicians, Baron Mann’s warm lips kissing my hand.

She suppressed that thought and hurried back to the kitchen. Mistress Raendl looked over her appearance and nodded approvingly. “Well done. You look neat and pretty.”

“Part of the presentation,” Ilse murmured.

Mistress Raendl’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Just so. Here is the first tray. Lord Kosenmark is dining in the Blue Salon. You know it?”

Ilse nodded. “First floor. The far corner on the west side.”

“Excellent. Now hurry.”

The tray held napkins, silver goblets and spoons, and bowls of creamed soup, seasoned with green and red peppercorns. There was also a full carafe of wine. Ilse hurried along the servants’ corridors and through the more public wings, until she reached the more private wing beyond. She passed through several smaller suites, which were empty, and came at last to an arched doorway with paintings done entirely in blues and darker violet, which showed Toc’s death, Lir weeping over his body, and then the resurrection. Balancing the tray against her hip, she knocked.

Lord Kosenmark’s voice called out. “Come in.”

Ilse pushed the latch down with her elbow and swung around to push the door open with her shoulder. She was so preoccupied with keeping the tray level, she didn’t notice Lord Kosenmark’s appearance until she was fully into the room.

He’s naked.

She stopped in shock, then remembered Mistress Raendl’s warning about showing no surprise. She took a deep breath and continued forward, keeping her gaze on the table in front of her, and not the man seated behind it.

Kosenmark made a noise in his throat. Ilse glanced up. A priceless wine cup, carved from jade, sat to one side. It was empty.

He leaned back and gestured for her to refill the cup. Ilse set the tray down, keeping the table between herself and Kosenmark. He was not naked, she saw. He wore a pair of black silk trousers, which the huge curved table had hidden from her view. A fine gold chain glittered against his smooth chest, and his long black hair hung loose over his shoulders.

She refilled his cup. When he nodded for her to proceed, she laid out Lord Dedrick’s place setting. A glance showed her that Kosenmark still watched her. Her composure wavered, but she kept her hands steady. Soup. Spoons. Napkins folded just so. A wine cup that matched Lord Kosenmark’s.

Done. Now Kosenmark leaned back and indicated his own place. Ilse circled around the table to arrange his setting. The napkin had come unfolded. She folded it anew, as Kathe had taught her, and set that by the plate. Kosenmark did not move but she was distracted nonetheless. He was barefoot, and now she saw that his shirt lay discarded in the corner. She caught a whiff of his scent; the smell of wood smoke and cedar transported her back to the night he rescued her. Lord Dedrick had been present then, too, she remembered.

“My guest is late,” Kosenmark commented lazily.

His smiled bitterly at no one, finished off his wine, and poured another cup, emptying the one carafe. Wordlessly, Ilse replaced the empty carafe with the one she had brought. He must have been drinking steadily for at least an hour.

Kosenmark watched her, still with that same bitter smile. “Dedrick is often late,” he said softly. “But I make allowances for his shortcomings, as he does for mine.”

Ilse averted her gaze, then belatedly realized he might take that as disgust.

Kosenmark laughed. “You say nothing. What is there to say? Greta explained it all, didn’t she?”

“My lord?”

His face was flushed, his expression was entirely unlike his usual demeanor. “I heard you when she talked to you in the courtyard. She’s careful of the spy holes and vents and air shafts. She knows about the listening closets, too, I think. She was here when I had the house rebuilt. But perhaps she didn’t realize how the walls carry sound upward—to the open windows.”

Impossible to pretend she didn’t understand. “Mistress Raendl was instructing me, my lord. Nothing more.”

“Of course. You were curious, and she didn’t want you to blunder.” His voice was smooth, whispery like silk, sharp like the keen edge of winter. “I wondered what you thought of the story. Perhaps you’d like more details about my operation, and what spells the mage-surgeon employed to give me a semblance of manhood, without violating Baerne’s decree.”

She wanted to make an excuse to leave the room, but the harrowed look on Kosenmark’s face made it impossible to interrupt, even if she had dared to.

“Or perhaps it’s not curiosity,” Kosenmark continued. “Perhaps you simply pity me. You shouldn’t. I’m luckier than most. Lord Pommersien killed himself within a year of Baerne’s death. Duke Sellen resigned his title to his sister and spends his days in seclusion. And Count Thorren—”

“My lord, I don’t wish to know more. And I don’t pity you.”