Passion Play (43 page)

“Is he having any success?” Theysson asked.

“Some. Baron Quint, among others, are persuaded by Lord Khandarr’s arguments that we would conquer the invaders before they cross our borders.”

“Quint.” Ehrenalt looked as though she had tasted something sour.

“What about your father?” Theysson said. “Where does he stand?”

Kosenmark shrugged, clearly uneasy. “He’s made no public declaration, but everyone knows his opinion. Which means he finds himself at the center of the opposition despite his efforts. Or rather, his studied avoidance of any effort.” In a softer voice, he added, “We cannot sustain a war without cause. My father should know it. He should take a stand.”

“Perhaps,” said Iani, “he waits for his son to take action.”

“I cannot. Not when the king himself dismissed me from Duenne.”

“He dismissed you from his Council,” Theysson argued. “But you could go back to court and lead the opposition yourself. Berthold once thought you might—”

“Berthold is dead,” Kosenmark said flatly. “Besides, we are caretakers, not rebels.”

The leader of the opposition is not a rebel,
Ilse thought, but she could see that both speakers had left a great deal unsaid. Theysson and Kosenmark stared at each other a moment longer. It was Kosenmark who dropped his gaze to the tiled pathway. Theysson shook her head and sighed.

Faulk stared at Kosenmark, his eyes flat and bright. Kosenmark met his gaze steadily. “Lothar, you appear displeased.”

“Not displeased, my lord. Simply puzzled. You see, I have a dozen agents in Duenne—five in the court itself, one of them in the king’s bed. For all that, I have no genuine news from Duenne. Nor do you, except for insignificant rumors brought to us by the usual means. And yet Lord Dedrick has uncovered a raft of plots and alliances and schemes, all within a single month. And so I’m curious if Lord Dedrick mentioned the name of his excellent source.”

“He did. His sister.”

“Interesting. The queen recently appointed Lady Alia as one of her companions, am I right?”

“She did.”

Ilse held her breath. She could feel Kosenmark’s anger, running just beneath that still blank face. Faulk had to realize it, too, because his thin smile carried a hint of nervousness, as though he sensed the danger of his games.

“We all know Lord Dedrick,” Iani said quietly. “We can trust him.”

“But can we trust his sister? Her concerns are not the same as Lord Dedrick’s. Or ours.”

“Enough, Faulk.” Theysson flicked her fingers to one side. “Your suspicions are valid, I admit. However, I’d like to hear the rest of what Lord Kosenmark has to say.”

“Yes,” Ehrenalt said. “I can see by his face that he’s told us only half.”

“Less than half,” Kosenmark said in a breathy voice. “When Dedrick brought me his news, he also brought me a gift. A gift of great significance, though he didn’t realize it himself.”

As he spoke, he took a small square packet from his shirt, wrapped in oilskin. He untied the strings and unwrapped the oilskin with meticulous care, and then the layer of silk underneath. No one spoke for a moment, then Ehrenalt leaned forward. “A book?” she said doubtfully.

“An old book,” Ilse said.

Kosenmark favored her with a smile. “Very old. The antiquarian provided Dedrick with a certificate of its authenticity, stating that the book was produced three hundred years ago. Dedrick bought it for me because he knows I love such things. I put his gift away without examining it until late last night. And when I did … Let us say that sleep became a difficult matter.”

Ilse half stood to get a better view of the book. Clearly an antique, just as Kosenmark said, its covers were two thick squares of dark red leather, stiffened by wood, Ilse guessed, and fastened with leather ties along its spine. The ties had almost disintegrated with age, and the covers were scored and cracked so that the wood showed through. Kosenmark had not opened the book, but she could see how the pages had turned dark, and though he handled it carefully, bits of parchment crumbled away and floated toward the ground.

“This book contains the memoirs of Karel Simkov,” Kosenmark said. “He served two decades in the Károví army. Just before Dzavek invaded, Simkov deserted to Veraene at first, then settled in the Kingdom of Ysterien, away from the front. There he took a position as a prison administrator, having had such experience in Rastov.”

Ilse glanced from the book to Kosenmark’s troubled face. The others seemed impatient for an explanation. Except for Benno Iani. He was smiling, lips parted and gaze bright, as though he guessed the book’s significance.

“A prison administrator,” he said softly. “Was he there when—”

“Yes,” Kosenmark said shortly. “He was.”

“Explain,” Ehrenalt said. “What is the connection?”

“Prisons,” Kosenmark replied. “Simkov held a trusted position in Rastov’s military prisons. He assisted with interrogations, and oversaw the prisoners’ welfare, both good and bad. It seems that one day, the king himself delivered a prisoner to Simkov—a man named Benacka.”

“Ah,” Theysson breathed. “Now I understand.”

So did Ilse. Benacka. Dzavek’s most trusted lieutenant. The man who stole Lir’s jewels from Leos Dzavek and hid them from all Erythandra. Dzavek had recaptured the man but not the jewels. The night before he intended to question Benacka, the man killed himself. Furious, Dzavek had launched a war against Veraene, believing the jewels to be somewhere in that kingdom. And here was the missing link between all those mysterious clues from Károví.

“Does Leos Dzavek know this book exists?” she asked.

“I doubt it,” Kosenmark said. “Simkov published them under his new name, Barend Happ. He paid to have a dozen copies printed. This might be the only one left.”

“How do they help us? Do they help us?” Theysson said. “What do they say?”

“I don’t know the how yet. What I can tell you is that Simkov spent five evenings alone with the prisoner. His task was to extract information—to interrogate the man—but, according to his memoirs, they spent most of the time just talking. Or perhaps that was Simkov’s usual method to gain his subject’s trust. Whatever the reason, that final evening Benacka rambled on for hours about the jewels.”

“What did he say?” Iani said urgently, reaching for the book.

Kosenmark stepped back and lifted the book high. “No. I’m sorry, Benno, but no. I would prefer you did not read this book. Not until we’ve decided certain things. According to Simkov, Benacka made no sense. He complained how the man hinted and teased but said nothing outright. However, I think if the right person read these memoirs, they would find a treasure of clues here.”

“The right person being Leos Dzavek?” Theysson asked.

“I haven’t decided.”

“You wouldn’t give the book to Armand, would you?” Iani asked.

“No. At least, I think not.”

“So what are your plans?” Faulk said.

Kosenmark vented a breath. “To be honest, I don’t know. Dzavek might use the jewels for defense alone, but as Mistress Ilse observed to me, the king is old. Who will inherit the throne when he dies? Who will inherit this book or the jewels? How will they use them?”

“Count Risov?” Ehrenalt said. “He’s the senior member in Council.”

“But not the most powerful,” Theysson said. “That would be Duke Markov.”

“Markov or Karasek,” Faulk said. “Karasek shares responsibility for the armies and he’s more popular. He’s also a mage in his own right.”

“But Markov has more years in Council. He also has an ally in Duke Černosek, and if his reputation is genuine, Černosek is second in magic only to Dzavek himself.”

Ilse listened as the others rambled on about Károví politics. She recognized all the names from reading Hax’s notes and her discussions with Lord Kosenmark, but she could not pluck out the facts as fast as the members of Kosenmark’s shadow court. So she listened and concentrated on memorizing more details about Károví’s Council and the mutable factions therein.

“So you see it’s not a simple choice,” Kosenmark was saying. “Even if I trusted Dzavek himself—and I’m not certain I do—I cannot trust Markov or Černosek or Risov. Possibly Karasek, but what if his ambitions include taking the crown and using the jewels to extend Károví’s borders?”

“War,” Theysson said softly. “It would mean Armand gets his war. And we pay the cost.”

“Yes,” Raul said heavily. “We do. So do those in Károví.”

“Every choice is a risk,” Ehrenalt said. “We must act.”

“Yes, we must act. But how?”

He cradled the book in one hand and rubbed his forehead with the other. He was missing Berthold Hax, Ilse thought. Hax’s experience. Hax’s knowledge about history and politics and economics. Hax’s ability to take the tangled skein of facts and rumors and possibilities and lay them out in clear patterns.

“What do you want from us?” Theysson said after a moment.

“I want you to think about our choices,” Kosenmark said.

“And these are?” Ehrenalt said.

“Give the book to Dzavek and hope that he finds the jewels. That Armand will drop his war plans. Or …” He started to rub his forehead, realized he was doing that, and sighed. “Or we do something else, and I have no ideas for that.”

He began to wrap the book again into its layers of patterned silk and dull oilskin. So that was it, Ilse thought, surprised. It was so unlike his usual way of conducting a meeting that she half expected him to keep talking, to give out orders or recommendations, once he had finished with the book’s protective covering, but Kosenmark said nothing.

“What do you want from us?” she said, repeating Theysson’s words. “To think?”

“To think. To consider,” he said. “To search your hearts and minds and past lives for any reason we ought to give aid and comfort to our king’s enemy.”

“I see.” Theysson studied her hands a moment. “How long are we to consider this matter?”

“Until we know how to act.”

Theysson exchanged a glance with Iani, who shook his head. They both stood and murmured a farewell to Kosenmark, who was still studying the book. Faulk left by another route. Ehrenalt waited a few more moments, as though, like Ilse, she expected Kosenmark to say more, do more. When it was obvious that he would not, she stood, her disappointment clear, and left by yet another path.

Ilse busied herself with putting away the pens and paper she had not used. When she looked up again, Kosenmark still had that same troubled expression on his face. “So what should I do, Mistress Ilse?” he said. “Should I play the traitor for the sake of peace? Or should I try to preserve the outward honor of my name and my house? Either way, I break my oath to preserve the kingdom.”

“I’m … I’m not your conscience,” she said.

“It would be unfair to lay that burden upon you. However, I do value your opinion.”

Still she hesitated.

He saw it and smiled. “Then answer me this: What would you do?”

That question was equally difficult,
she thought,
but perhaps he only needed to listen for a change.
That much she could give him.

“I’d write to the king,” she said. “Yes, I know you’ve done so before, but I would do it again. I would argue that we cannot buy glory with the blood of others, that glory seen from a distance might be an illusion, that war is neither evil nor good, except in how we conduct it and the reasons we choose for embarking on one.”

His smile grew pensive. “Excellent suggestions. But let us say you did send the king this letter and he answered with silence. Say further that you did send respected ambassadors and he turned them away. What if you persuaded others to speak your words and act out your deeds, in their names and not yours, so that the king would be influenced by the idea and not the person? What if you did that and his only response was coldness?”

Here, then, was the crux.

“Lady Theysson wants you to take the crown, doesn’t she?” she asked.

“She has suggested it.”

“And so did Maester Hax. And others, too. Am I right?”

He nodded.

Puzzles within puzzles, and schemes within schemes. Even those in the shadow court had their intrigues and their factions.

“But you don’t agree,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Kosenmark regarded her for several long moments. “Because I see a king who needs direction, not opposition. Besides, there are other players, and other ambitions at work. Remember, it is far harder to rebuild a kingdom than to fracture one.”

“But what if that kingdom were like a ship about to founder because its captain cannot or will not see the rocks?”

“For that …” He drew a deep breath. “For that I would have to be certain beyond doubt of those rocks.”

They had come back to his original question: how to act when neither choice was entirely good, and yet act they must. Perhaps that was a part of the difficulty, she thought. Lord Kosenmark had trained all his efforts to influence, and not to action.

Kosenmark fell to studying the book again, as though he could read its contents through the wrappings. Such a small object, hardly wider than his hands, the pages so fragile she could see a dusting from the paper all over the ground by Kosenmark’s feet. What if? she thought. What if Simkov had never written those memoirs? What if Dedrick had not visited that particular antiquarian? As well to say what if Armand of Angersee were born with a different nature.