Allegiance, page 33
part #3 of River of Souls Series
“Ilse, Ilse are you well?”
Marte, sounding anxious.
Ilse nodded. “I am. But I wish to go.”
“So do we all,” Heloïse murmured.
They hurried out a side door, and up the stairs to their private chambers.
* * *
THE INTERIM COUNCIL sentenced Theodr Galt to death. His execution would not take place immediately, however. He would spend a year in prison, in a cell deep below the palace, where he would be permitted no light, nor any visitors other than the guard who brought him a daily meal of bread and water.
Ilse heard the news without any joy. Death only meant death, not redemption. Would he comprehend, in his next life, the mistakes he had made in this one? She doubted it.
A week after that, the queen’s body was discovered in the river. The children’s bodies, all three, were recovered from a grave outside the city. Ilse tried not to consider which political factions would benefit from these deaths.
To her relief, the next few days distracted her from the matter of Theodr Galt and the queen. At Duke Kosenmark’s request, the council had assigned her new quarters, and the duke himself had settled a temporary allowance on her. When she protested, the duke waved away her objections. “You cannot be beholden to us. You do not need to be. The council knows you have served Veraene, and they are happy enough to provide. Besides,” he smiled at her with a dry amused smile that said he was nearly recovered, “you will have money from your family soon enough.”
Money. From Ehren.
A letter confirmed the duke’s words. The money she had inherited, which Ehren had in turn inherited from her when everyone thought her dead, returned to her once more. She accepted the new rooms gladly and hired a maid to oversee her clothes and the rest. Theda had served other nobles in the palace. She took on the task of hiring the several underservants Mistress Ilse would require.
Those were the easiest decisions Ilse faced. Soon after she gave testimony, a runner came to her with a letter requesting her opinion on matters between Károví and Veraene. It was signed Duke Feltzen.
I know you, she thought. You came to Raul asking for his advice. When he did not prove an easy target, you attached yourself to Armand of Angersee.
She wrote back, “If you wish a capable emissary, and that is what I advise, then speak with Baron Mann.”
“I thought you loved politics,” Nadine said, when Ilse told her about the exchange.
“I do,” Ilse said. “I dislike political games, however. Baron Mann is adept at both. Besides,” she added, “he will see the situation with fresh eyes.”
She was not free of further importunities so easily, however. Others invited her to informal discussions about the kingdom—Duke Kosenmark, other members of the council, and others on the outskirts of power. They had recovered Duke Karasek’s letter from the king’s office, burned but still legible. Károví was in turmoil. Several key members of the nobility were gaining control, among them being Duke Markov, which Ilse expected, but also Ryba Karasek, now the duke of Taboresk. Ilse attended these sessions and found herself consulted in matters of state. She discovered a new joy in using her knowledge of Veraene and Károví and even Morennioù.
Meanwhile, Baron Eckard and Emma Iani arrived in court. Letters had gone out from Duenne’s Council, notifying the provinces of the king’s death. Baron Eckard, held in prison, was freed. Emma Iani and the rest of Raul’s shadow court had come out of hiding. Kathe and Gerek had taken possession of the old pleasure house in Tiralien. Their plans, at this point, were uncertain.
Through all these weeks, Ilse had visited Raul Kosenmark daily.
He had gained in strength. There had been a setback after his own testimony to the court, but since then Benno Iani reported constant progress, at least in the physical. However, Ilse could not convince Raul to speak of anything except inconsequentials. It was as though he had abandoned the kingdom for …
For nothing, she thought.
“He is afraid,” Emma Iani said as she sat by Ilse Zhalina’s fireplace.
“Does that surprise you?” Ilse asked.
Emma shook her head. “I would be surprised at the opposite. He wants the crown. But he cannot take it without believing himself a traitor.”
Heloïse lifted her head, but when Nadine laid a hand on her arm, the other woman pressed her lips together. Secrets, Nadine once said in an unguarded moment. It was enough of a clue for Ilse Zhalina that she directed the conversation in a different direction. Later, when she attempted to speak with Heloïse alone, she found the woman had disappeared, leaving behind Nadine in her most brittle mood.
In the weeks that followed, she wrote letters. She sent long overdue reports to her brother Ehren, to Kathe and Gerek in Tiralien, and eventually an indirect account to Alesso Valturri in Fortezzien.
We are all waiting, waiting, waiting …
* * *
AUTUMN SPUN INTO winter, leaf by wind-blown leaf. The bright gold grasses of the plains had darkened to brown, crimson speckled the northern hills, where oaks grew among the pines, and the color bled from the skies, the brilliant blue of autumn turning into winter gray.
Early one morning, a runner came to Ilse Zhalina’s quarters. Her newly hired maid, Theda, passed the man into the formal parlor where Ilse sat with Marte and Olivia at breakfast. “My lady.” He knelt before her and held out a thick envelope of ivory parchment, wrapped in silk ribbons and carrying the seal of Duenne’s Court. The scent of magic hung in the air.
Ilse stared at the letter. “What is it? Do you know?”
The runner was silent. She reached out and took the envelope cautiously. Magic bit at her fingertips, sharp and strong, as though her touch had unleashed a spell much more powerful than the ordinary one used to seal a letter against all but the intended recipient. Ilse dropped the letter back into the runner’s hands.
Olivia smothered a laugh, but Marte’s eyes were wide with curiosity. “I know the seal. It’s not for ordinary council business, only matter of state. Open it, Ilse.”
Reluctantly, Ilse took up the envelope a second time and touched her fingers to the seal. The magic surged through her veins, more bearable now. It immediately subsided, and the pages unfolded into her hands.
My Lady Ilse Zhalina, I write first to offer my apologies that our council has acted so slowly in recognizing your extraordinary efforts for the kingdom. You have gifted us with the opportunity for peace and prosperity. You have offered testimony without regard to yourself, and only for the truth, demonstrating a greater honor than any noble. It is with the full consent, therefore, and unanimous agreement of the Council of Duenne, that I offer you a title of the realm …
“No,” she said. “No and no and no. I do not need it.”
“What is it?” Marte asked.
Ilse laid the pages on the table and stared at them. “A bribe. Or so it appears. Duenne’s Court confers the title of Lady upon me and my heirs, not to mention…” She scanned further down through the letter. “Certain holdings, located in the northern district of Duenne itself, and the income that derives from such. Such title and holdings grants me a place in council, if I desire it. Oh, and full and free pardon for my part in assisting Morennioù’s queen to freedom.”
She glared at the runner. “Do they expect an answer?”
“No, my lady. But if you wish to send one—”
“Don’t,” Olivia said before Ilse could speak. “Not yet.” She gestured for the runner to go. He glanced at Ilse who reluctantly nodded. Once the door had closed behind the man, Olivia said, “Accept the title and lands. Everything. You will find them useful.”
Ilse eyed her doubtfully. “Useful how?”
“For following your heart’s desire,” Marte said. “Whatever that might be.”
Ilse released a long slow breath and glanced from them back to the letter. She reread its contents more closely, taking in all the details of the proposed title, seeing them now against Marte’s and Olivia’s words. The signature was from Lord Alberich de Ytel himself, Regent to the Council. She tried the title out on her tongue. Lady Ilse. It felt awkward, wrong. She tried again. Lady Ilse, member of the court. That went better. She had earned a place among the advisers in court, but nothing official. Perhaps this was the means for her to step from the shadows at last.
“You are right,” she said.
“Of course I am,” Olivia said.
Ilse hardly paid her any attention. She attempted a third pass through the letter, but though she had nearly memorized its contents by now, she found herself unable to truly assimilate its meaning for her and her future. She started up. “Excuse me. I must go.”
She made directly for Raul Kosenmark’s apartments.
Once Iani had declared his friend recovered, Raul had requested, and received, separate quarters from his father and sisters. They lay on an entirely different floor, in a different wing, which Ilse could see from the balcony of her own rooms. The appointments for these new quarters seemed relatively plain and small compared to the Kosenmark family suite. A modest entry hall, leading into a sunny parlor, with a second more spacious sitting room that served as his library.
Ilse found him in the sitting room, dressed in a plain shirt and loose trousers. His sword lay on the cushions next to him, along with various tools for sharpening and cleaning. Almost three months after his ordeal in Anderswar, his flesh and bones had healed, though he still tired easily. It was the new hesitation in his manner, the gravity that had overtaken his passion and joy, which troubled her.
He smiled as she came into the room. “My love.”
“My love,” she replied.
She was tense and breathless, uncertain how to proceed.
“You seem anxious,” he said at last.
Ilse laughed softly. “That is because I received a most interesting letter this morning.”
“About your pardon?” He smiled faintly. “I have mine as well.”
“That and more.” She hesitated a moment, not certain how to relay the news, nor how to frame the questions that came with it. “The council … It appears the council wishes to confer a title on me.”
His golden eyes widened and there was a quirk at his lips that reminded her of the old Raul Kosenmark. She wished she could leave the matter at that, but she could not. The truth, she told herself. No more secrets, especially not between us.
“Was that your doing?” she asked lightly.
The quirk vanished and he shook his head. “Not mine, nor my father’s. You have won this on your own, my love.”
So. He understood. She glanced at his sword. There were rust stains on the blade, as if it had been stored away without proper attention. Raul had the cloth and oil and tools ready to clean the weapon, but he had made no progress, and she wondered how long he had sat there, dreaming and doing nothing.
“Will you take up drill again?” she asked.
He shrugged. For that one moment, he had seemed alive and amused—ready to engage with the outer world—but the animation had leaked away, and he was staring at the sword as though it were an alien thing.
A rack of weapons stood by the wall, including two wooden swords for practice. Ilse took the shortest one from its hook. Its grip felt familiar, and she thought that it came from the old pleasure house in Tiralien—a coincidence, but one that confirmed her impulse. “Perhaps I should challenge you,” she said. “Lady to Lord.”
Raul glanced up, startled. “Ilse…”
She smacked him on the shoulder with the flat of the blade. “Get up. Show me you haven’t forgotten.”
Another hard smack sent him scrambling from the chair. He caught up the second wooden blade, but not before she landed another blow.
Raul grabbed her wooden blade. “Stop. I know what you’re doing.”
“Do you?”
She yanked her sword free and circled the chair to launch a flurry of strikes. Once and twice she penetrated his guard, but he managed to block the rest. Now he pressed forward to force her retreat. She circled around the table and chairs. Perhaps she ought to suggest a new drill to Benedikt Ault—swordplay with obstacles. It would prepare a student for a genuine skirmish, she thought, remembering her first true battle, the terror and confusion, the sick feeling when she killed a man, and how she nearly died.
She lunged forward, only to have Raul catch her blade on his. Before he could return the attack, she danced backward and out of his reach. Raul was grinning now. She laughed. When he flung down a chair between them, she leaped over it to engage with his blade. This time she was not quick enough. He caught her blade near the hilt and twisted his around, sending her sword spinning through the air.
Raul closed the distance between them and caught her in his arms. He bent to kiss her.
And stopped, his mouth inches from hers. With a muttered exclamation, he spun around and dropped the sword to the floor. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked breathlessly.
He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. He was breathing hard, trembling, too. “Nothing. No, I am wrong. Different. I can’t—” His voice broke. “I cannot tell who or what I am. He won, Ilse. Yes, he died, but he won.”
“No,” she said. Then in a louder voice, “You are wrong, my love. Markus Khandarr is dead. You killed him in Anderswar. We lost the king but not the kingdom. As for you … You will survive.”
“You cannot know.”
“I do know,” she said. “You, of all my friends, you ought to understand how much I appreciate your situation.”
She had caught his attention at last. “How?”
“How?” Her voice ticked upward. “How could I not? I gave myself to Alarik Brandt, just as you gave yourself to Baerne of Angersee. I thought I understood the trade. I did not. Nor did you, you poor child, scarcely fourteen years old. You thought you comprehended the world, or if not that, the world of Veraene’s Court. I thought I comprehended my own body. Whatever our beliefs, whatever our expectations, you must admit we both made a bad trade. And we both…” Her voice edged into tears, which she brutally suppressed. “We both struggled through, my love. We both survived.”
She said that last word in a breath, nothing more.
“We survived,” she repeated. “You transformed yourself. You fitted your body, your manners, everything to act as though you did not care that you had sacrificed your manhood, only to find that sacrifice discarded. I sacrificed myself to gain freedom only to find that Alarik Brandt had lied to me. Eventually, I discovered that his lies didn’t matter. I had myself. I had my life, my desires, my soul restored.
“The same is true for you. Baerne of Angersee and Markus Khandarr no longer matter. Your future is yours. Choose well, my love.”
She had no more words to speak. She could only stare at him, terrified and shaking with all the admissions she had never dared to speak before. Not even to him.
Raul remained with his back to her. “And you? What will you do now, Lady Ilse?”
“I will serve my kingdom,” she said. “However my kingdom wishes me to serve.”
Raul bowed his head but did not turn around. When he continued to be silent, she laid the wooden sword on the floor and silently left the room.
* * *
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, as she sat alone in her quarters, gazing over the sun-drenched rooftops of Duenne, a runner brought her a message.
No wax. Magic alone sealed the edges of paper.
Ilse touched her fingertips to the envelope. A fleeting glimpse of dark blue silk, rippling through the night, Raul’s magical signature, then the sheet of paper unfolded, and she was reading the message within:
I failed to give you a proper answer before you left me this morning. I did not have the words then, I am not certain I have them now. I can only say that once more you are the one friend I can trust to tell me the truth. For that I am grateful. I will take my place in council tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THROUGHOUT HER YEARS in Lord Kosenmark’s pleasure house, Nadine had never once considered what Duenne’s Court and Council might be like. Oh, she knew about the dangerous game Kosenmark conducted, and she spied on others herself whenever possible. All that was a personal matter, for her own preservation. In her mind, the thing called politics was merely an excuse for ambition or outright murder, and she wanted no part of it. Even those who claimed to serve a noble cause, Kosenmark among them, had committed several unspeakable acts in the name of government.
Today, however, she was in the heart of it all.
It was Heloïse Kosenmark’s fault. They had retired late, after an extended and useless conference with certain members of Duenne’s Court. Nadine had not paid much attention to the conversation itself. She only knew that Heloïse had wanted a great deal of soothing afterward before they could both sleep.
She was in the midst of a sensuous dream from past lives and lovers when her instincts woke her. She blinked and rolled over to see the lamplight dancing over the ceiling above. Sunlight glittered through the half-open shutters, a cascade of white and pale yellow. Heloïse bent over a cushioned bench, sorting through a pile of clothing.
Nadine watched from under the blankets, unwilling to emerge from her nest. Winter in Duenne was nothing like the hill country where her family lived, but she had come to love warmth and comfort during her time in Tiralien. She watched Heloïse pick up one gown, then set it aside in favor of another, and another—wisps of cloth and robes and trousers—as though mere clothing made a difference to one’s life.
“What is it?” Nadine asked. “What are you doing?”
Heloïse paused. With the sunlight at her back, her face was invisible in the shadows, but it was easy to read the tension in her sudden stillness. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
“Not until you tell me. What is wrong?”
“Nothing, I said. I just— I am going to observe the future, my love. A matter of the kingdom, if you must know.”
