Passion Play (31 page)

“And what constitutes proof?”

Ilse started. Lord Kosenmark’s back was toward her, but she saw how his shoulders stiffened, and his head jerked up. That strong, clear voice had not come from anyone inside this room. It had sounded from the air, as though a ghost stood in their midst to address them. Ehrenalt’s face went blank. Iani and Theysson made as though to stand, but when light flared at the glass windows, they subsided into their chairs.

The courtyard door swung open and a man entered the room. He was tall and thin, almost as gaunt as Lord Vieth, but without the same quantity of gems and fine robes. His hair was long and brown, streaked with silver. His eyes were the color of yellowed parchment.

He looked at each face in turn. A brief look of disappointment appeared and was gone, almost before Ilse registered it. Then he shook his head. “You have no answer for my question, none of you. How long must we wait before we defend ourselves? Until the gutters in Duenne are choked with blood?”

He’s a mage,
Ilse thought. Powerful enough to send his voice through walls and doors, to stand among us like a presence. She had seen tricks before, magic workers who could produce the illusion of throwing their voices, but this was no trick. She had heard the voice emanate from air. She had heard it
breathe
.

Kosenmark bent his head, very slowly, as though it pained him. “Lord Khandarr. Greetings.”

Ilse stilled a tremor at the name. Lord Markus Khandarr, the King’s Mage. How had he found them?

Khandarr stared at Kosenmark without blinking. “You have no answer for my question, I see.”

Kosenmark shrugged. “As usual, I have only more questions. Why don’t you join us? We were having an interesting discussion.”

“I know about your discussion. And I see you are still courting power, Lord Kosenmark.”

“No more than you, Markus.”

Khandarr’s lips parted in a smile. He raised a hand, and Ilse felt the air ripple across her skin. Beeswax and expensive scents gave way to magic’s fresh green tang. Khandarr said nothing more, but the air grew thicker until it was hard to draw a breath, and her skin pulled tight across her forehead. A deep painful pinch in her gut made her gasp. Her throat clamped shut, and her vision went dark.

Dimly she heard Khandarr speaking. “Here is my power. It is enough to make you whole.”

He flicked his fingers. All at once, the painful hold upon her throat vanished and Ilse could breathe. She gripped the chair in front of her to stop herself from sinking to her knees. Khandarr would like that, she thought. She would not give him the satisfaction.

Kosenmark licked his lips. Sweat gleamed from his face, and his lips had turned pale from effort, but he did not look away from Khandarr. “Thank you, but no,” he said. “I shall have to make do with myself as I am.”

Khandarr crumpled his hand into a fist. The current vanished. Someone cried out in surprise, and Kosenmark lurched backward. He recovered himself with an effort and faced Khandarr. “Leave us,” he said softly, and there was a cold and unforgiving note in his voice that Ilse had never heard before.

“Why should I?” Khandarr said.

“Because you are not yet ready to declare yourself king.”

“Neither are you,” Khandarr snapped. With that, he whirled around and stalked through the courtyard door, into the darkness, and was gone.

Ilse stumbled away to lean against a wall. All around the others were talking in quick low tones. Iani was reassuring the others that Khandarr had truly left them. Kosenmark murmured a series of instructions to his colleagues. Something about continuing to watch both sides of the border. Iani was to investigate Anderswar. Eckard was to listen for news from the border. Ehrenalt was to keep a watch on the shipping news. Theysson would continue to mingle in Vieth’s circles, and to listen.

“Unless you feel the danger too great,” Kosenmark said. “Tell me now.”

Eckard shrugged. “He knew my opinions before.”

“And mine,” said Iani. “We have done nothing wrong except talk. Even Armand, with all his suspicions, cannot find fault with us.”

Kosenmark bowed his head. Agreement? Acquiescence? Ilse could not tell which. “So,” he said. “As we planned, let us return to Lord Vieth’s festivities.”

They left the room one by one. Kosenmark stayed behind, with Ilse at his side. Nothing had been decided, she thought with faint disappointment. Even the jewels had not provoked the surprise Ilse had felt when she first read those words and realized their meaning. And who had betrayed their meeting? Kosenmark was turning over the same question, she thought, because he watched each person as they departed.

When they were alone, he turned back to Ilse. “Come. Our play is not yet over.”

They took a more direct route back, to a different corridor outside the ballroom. Ilse could hear the sound of plucked strings—the musicians were playing a slow-moving wheel dance. A few lamps illuminated the corridor. By their light she could see a doorway leading out to another small courtyard, and another opening into a small sitting room. To her dismay, Lord Kosenmark was eyeing her closely.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

“Your face and mouth are all wrong,” he said. “You don’t look as though you just had a dalliance. Kiss your hand.”

Confused, she did so.

He shook his head. “No good. Kiss hard. Harder. Let me see.”

She lowered her hand.

Kosenmark frowned. “It’s not working. But I have an idea. Excuse me.”

He took her face between his hands. Ilse had just enough time to brace her hands against his chest before he kissed her on the lips. It was a long hard kiss, with all the force of passion, and yet strangely impersonal. Ilse held herself rigid throughout, but he did not draw her closer. He touched only her cheeks, which he held firmly as he tilted her head one way and then the other, pressing his mouth against hers. Just when she thought she might suffocate, he drew back an inch.

“Almost,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Before she could react, he kissed her again. Softly. A series of tender kisses that sent her heart racing with greater panic.
Pretend, pretend,
she told herself.
He’s pretending, too.

A skilled and expert pretense. Gradually, for he did not seem to be in any hurry, her muscles relaxed, her hands no longer pushed quite so hard against his chest, and her mouth opened to his, and when he paused she kissed him back.

Shocked, Ilse pulled away just as Kosenmark did the same. Through her palms, she could feel his heart beating, and she was all too aware of his warm hands cupped around her shoulders.

He studied her face for a long moment, his expression strangely intent. Not a lover’s expression. A searching curious expression that unsettled her more than the kisses had. But all he said was, “Much better. Now you look as though you’ve been made love to.”

“Nothing else?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “We had time for … other things.”

“Not with me. Not nearly enough time.”

She smothered a laugh. Kosenmark smiled, though he still looked strained. “Even better. You should appear pleased, delighted, entranced when you leave me—I have a reputation to maintain. Now,” he indicated the door to the sitting room, “to complete the illusion, I want you to wait here another half hour. You can hear the bells from here, I know. Then go back to the ballroom and sit in an alcove. If someone asks you to dance, tell them you are weary.”

“Where are you going, my lord?”

“To have brief conversation with a friend. Don’t worry. I shan’t lose my way.”

Without waiting for her reply, Kosenmark vanished down the hallway. Ilse retired to the sitting room he had indicated. Like everything else in Lord Vieth’s palace, it was exquisitely furnished, a tiny jewel in a larger treasure cask. Rich hangings covered one wall; a few cushioned chairs circled a table where a line of jade panthers marched across the polished surface; there was even a carafe of fresh water from which Ilse refreshed herself. She was glad for this time alone. Her cheeks burned. Her mouth felt swollen. Part of the evidence, she told herself, though she wished she could wash away the sensation.

After the second quarter bell rang, she reentered the ballroom. No one remarked on her appearance, though one woman glanced in her direction. Ilse found the nearest alcove and took her seat. Not far away, Lord Iani danced with Lady Theysson. Mistress Ehrenalt was drinking wine with another woman. There was no sign of Baron Eckard or Lord Kosenmark.

Then she saw him across the hall, scanning the room with narrowed eyes. His gaze stopped at Ilse and he came directly toward her. Now a dozen people watched his progress across the floor. Others stared at her, and she was conscious how she must look.

“Tired?” Kosenmark said, taking a seat beside her.

She nodded, aware of the heat from his body.

He leaned closer. “We might go.”

“To further the picture of our dalliance?” she asked.

“That would be one reason. But I also have more business awaiting me at home.”

He offered his arm. She took it, suddenly weary of intrigue and the relentless glitter of Lord Vieth’s palace. It was later than she had thought—the midnight bells rang as they made their way between the couples still dancing. Kosenmark appeared untouched by weariness. Only the tension in his arm told her that he was not as relaxed as he appeared.

Unexpectedly, he stopped. Ilse looked up to see Lady Alia Maszuryn blocking their path.

“Lord Kosenmark.”

Kosenmark nodded stiffly. “Lady Alia. I had not had the pleasure of speaking with you this evening.”

“You were occupied with other pleasures, it appears.”

Ilse tried to withdraw, but Kosenmark covered her hand with his. “Please stay,” he said. Then to Lady Alia, he said, “Whatever pleasure I derived from this ball is my business, not yours.”

“And not Dedrick’s?”

“Dedrick knows my intentions. Nevertheless, if he wants to complain, he should do so to my face, and not send a messenger.”

“He would if he were here.”

“Exactly,” Kosenmark said coolly. “If he were here.”

Lady Alia stared hard at him. Then she made an angry gesture and stalked away, leaving behind a trail of whispers and muffled exclamations. Kosenmark paid her no more attention. He leaned toward Ilse and whispered, “Do not worry about her.”

The crowds gave way before them. With a last effort, Ilse recovered herself enough to pay her respects to Lord and Lady Vieth, but she was relieved when the doors closed behind them.

Outside, the night was fine; the skies were dotted with brilliant stars. Kosenmark handed Ilse into the carriage and climbed in after her. He was silent now. As they passed from the torch-lit courtyard into the streets, shadows swallowed up the carriage’s interior, and she could see nothing except the dim outline of his figure. He was leaning back into the cushions, his face turned toward the windows.

“What did you think of tonight?” he asked after a few moments.

His voice sounded rough. Tired.

“It was strange, my lord.”

“Very strange,” he said, but he was obviously speaking more to himself. A momentary gleam of lamplight illuminated his face. He looked preoccupied, and he was turning Lord Dedrick’s ring around his finger. “An evening with success in all the wrong quarters.”

The meeting, he meant. Inconclusive even before Lord Khandarr’s appearance. She wanted to ask Kosenmark who might have given away his plans, but his gaze had gone remote. She settled back into the cushions, pretending to gaze out the carriage window, while opposite her, Lord Kosenmark continued to turn the ring upon his finger.

Who are you really?
she wondered.
What book are you? Has anyone, even Lord Dedrick, read you to the end?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THAT NIGHT IN
her dreams Ilse wandered through a brightly lit maze, while faraway bells ceaselessly marked the quarter hour. The echo from those bells was still in her ears when she woke to the bells striking from the nearby tower. A fragment of her dreams lingered, reminding her of the intersecting plots and schemes of the previous evening. Was it possible that Lady Alia’s confrontation was another invention? And what about Lord Vieth, who hid any trace of emotion behind that forbidding hawk face. Did he know about Lord Kosenmark’s activities that night? Was he a peripheral member of the shadow court, or did he stand to one side?

A flicker of unease passed through her, remembering Baron Eckard. He might not give her secrets away, but what if someone else recognized her? She was not as safe here as she had assumed.

Then I shall have to take care.

Her attention consumed by all the strange events of the previous night, she hurried through her toiletries and dressed. Lord Kosenmark would surely want to discuss those same events. He might even have answers to her questions about Lady Alia and Lord Vieth.

A guard stood outside her door. Ilse checked herself in mid-step. Slowly, almost as though she were still dreaming, she took in the man’s tense bearing, the weapons at his belt, and how his expression changed subtly at her appearance.