Allegiance, page 7
part #3 of River of Souls Series
When they reached the fourth floor, Kosenmark unlocked his office door with a spell. Once they were inside, he relocked the door and held out his hand. Gerek yielded the packet and watched as Kosenmark broke the wax seal. A subtle change in the air was the only sign of magic working, but in the next moment, the packet unfolded into three closely written pages. More Immatran, Gerek could see. In addition to her knowledge of magic and spy craft, Benik was gifted in languages—another trait that qualified her for her dangerous post.
Kosenmark quickly read through the report. “This is very great news, indeed,” he said softly. “Leos Dzavek believed dead. The council in turmoil, but not for long. Markov oversees the investigation. Karasek is organizing the troops. Risova controls the capital city of Rastov and the immediate surroundings. Ah, that is interesting…” He bent closer to the pages, humming to himself as he read, then looked up at Gerek with bright eyes. “Duke Karasek returned from his mission to Hallau Island, but almost immediately departed from the capital, first to track the assassins, then to notify the garrisons of the king’s death.”
“He is the s-senior commander,” Gerek said tentatively.
“Yes, but why go himself? Why not send his captains and trusted couriers for the task?” Kosenmark shook his head. “There could be any reason—good or bad—for such a decision. What concerns me is that they have not found the body.”
“N-n-no body? Then how do they kn-kno-know—?”
“By magic. When the councilors entered the king’s study, they found the signs of a battle with magic. Dzavek had vanished, along with certain irreplaceable treasures—Benik cannot tell which ones. The three chief councillors—Karasek, Markov, and Černosek—refuse to admit anyone else into the rooms, including the servants. There are rumors of magical traces pointing to Immatra and Duszranjo, but no conclusive evidence … Various factions within are maneuvering for power … which makes Karasek’s absence all the more puzzling.”
His attention captured by one phrase, Gerek barely paid attention to these comments about councils and factions. “Irreplaceable treasures. Does that mean s-someone s-s-stole King Leos’s ruby?”
“Possibly, but do not mention that to anyone, not even Kathe. Think how dangerous that knowledge is.”
Oh, yes. Lir’s three jewels had returned to the world. Leos Dzavek had recovered the ruby, only to lose it once again. If Lord Khandarr ever suspected anyone of such knowledge, they faced arrest and torture on the chance they also knew of its location. With even a single jewel, Veraene could launch a war against Károví and no one in the council would object.
Speaking of the king …
“What of Armand?” he said. “Our king. He has his own s-spies in Károví.”
“Of course. I suspect Armand will read a very similar report this week or next.”
Then how long until he gathers his soldiers?
But Gerek could tell Kosenmark’s thoughts were not upon Armand of Angersee and his quest for war. Kosenmark had turned away from his secretary and stood with his face averted, as if gazing through one of the many tall windows that overlooked Tiralien’s red-tiled roofs and the seas beyond. Gerek knew better. There was a tautness in Kosenmark’s stance, at once an air of weariness and barely suppressed excitement.
He is thinking of Ilse Zhalina. He has never stopped thinking of her.
He knew better than to mention Zhalina’s name. Kosenmark had not mentioned his beloved once since Gerek first came to this house.
Before he could decide what to say, how to say it, or if he should speak at all, Kosenmark gestured to the door and recited a string of Erythandran. The ripple of tension brushed against Gerek’s cheek. A sharp green scent filled the air, and the lock clicked open.
A clear dismissal. Gerek bowed his head and retreated from the room.
* * *
RAUL KOSENMARK WAITED until the door swung shut behind his secretary. Only then did he return to his desk, where he spread out the pages of Danusa Benik’s report. A very neat script, with few corrections, and the ink all of the same color and hue, which suggested she had written out the whole in one session.
Several key points of the letter troubled him, items he had not mentioned to Gerek Hessler.
Benik had dated the letter from eight weeks ago. That alone did not worry him. A courier traveling by swift messenger packet could sail from Rastov’s port to Tiralien in ten days, given the right winds, but this letter had come by a much more circuitous route, passed from agent to agent, until it reached the bookseller in Tiralien. Dzavek’s death had taken place two weeks before that. Benik must have waited until she confirmed the king’s death and observed its aftermath before writing to Kosenmark. Again, the mark of a cautious, meticulous agent.
But that left four weeks between Hallau Island and Karasek’s return to Zalinenka. According to the rumors Benik heard, Karasek had reappeared alone and on horseback, in the same hour as Dzavek’s death. Time spent in the magic plane could account for his absence, but the coincidence of his reappearance was too strong. Why go to Zalinenka and not back to Hallau?
He rubbed his hand over his face, then shuffled the pages together and slid them into his letterbox. The air stirred as the paper slid through the narrow slot—the current briefly called to life by the box’s layers of spells. He would read Benik’s report again tonight and again the next day, gleaning additional clues from the words she chose, and those she left out. Even so, he knew the essentials. Dzavek dead. Karasek returned from the magic plane. And no mention of mysterious prisoners or recent executions.
Ilse lives. I know it. She and Baussay both.
He had last seen them on Hallau Island, when Karasek and his soldiers attacked at night. Karasek had seized Valara Baussay. The woman had fought free and leapt into Anderswar and the magical plane. Ilse had followed at once. A moment later, Karasek pursued them.
So what happened next?
He tapped his fingers together and closed his eyes. Baussay wanted to return home. She was desperate to take her throne and deal with the Károvín invaders. So, home to Morennioù. Except why hadn’t she done so long before? Why bargain with Raul at all?
I don’t know. I only know she must have been present in Zalinenka. She and Ilse.
He could picture a confrontation between the Morennioùen queen and Leos Dzavek. Baussay had tried to steal Lir’s ruby. He had prevented her. And Ilse …
I can’t think about that now. I have to trust that she and Baussay escaped. Otherwise, Benik would have heard that rumor, and there would be no question of who killed King Leos.
He turned to a more palatable mystery—that of Duke Miro Karasek. Why hadn’t he remained in Rastov with the other members of the council? Benik spoke of turmoil at court, rumors of assassins, and violent unrest throughout the capital city. Was it possible that Karasek still hunted for Ilse and the Morennioùen queen? Again, Raul needed more information.
Which brought him to the main point: Veraene itself. Armand of Angersee would soon have the same news from his own spies. With Leos Dzavek dead and Károví bereft of Lir’s ruby, Armand could make the case that now was the time to reclaim Károví for Veraene, for the empire. Raul knew Armand’s reasoning. Once—if—Veraene conquered Károví, Armand could declare war against other former provinces—Hanídos, Andelizien, or even those that had never completely submitted, such as Ysterien. From there he could expand northward to the old territories once ruled by the Erythandran tribes, abandoned when they rode south into the plains.
Except Károví would not submit so easily. It would be a costly, bloody war with no clear victory. His own father had used that argument with Baerne. Raul had attempted the same with Armand with less success. In the past few years, there were fewer and fewer in Duenne’s Council to speak against him or the King’s Mage. After Dedrick’s death, no one dared.
It is time and past to act.
He took out a sheet of paper and wrote swiftly.
Beloved Father, I wrote to you before, urging you to attend court. I told you it was all the old reasons—the king’s senseless desire for war, the duplicity and ambition of his advisers. I could not say more, because I did not know more for certain myself. I advised you to watch, to listen, to use only the gentlest persuasion with the king because his unpredictable temper might harden his resolve instead of turning him aside.
I was wrong. We must, all of us, speak openly and urge the king to peace. If you can support me in this matter, I promise …
He paused, wondering what great promise his father would accept. What promise Raul knew he could keep. He crossed out the last few words and continued.
I will explain more once I see you at court. I have some matters to arrange in Tiralien first, but I shall arrive in Duenne within the next month.
He signed his name, then sealed the letter with wax and three layers of magic.
CHAPTER FIVE
FOR EMMA IANI, the summer season was her least favorite. Incipient thunderstorms hung above the city, and the air felt heavy and charged, as if wrapped in an excess of magic. This year was the worst that she could remember, stifling and hot, with a constant threat of storms that reflected her own anxious mood. If she were to write a poem about these days, the storm clouds would make a suitable metaphor for the kingdom and its politics.
But she had given over writing poems since Benno’s return from Duenne’s Court. Metaphors were too simple, too soft, and words mere lines of ink upon the page. Once she had believed the opposite, that words were sharp and dangerous weapons, but she had spent countless nights watching over Benno, waiting for the inevitable nightmares, ready to hold him in her arms, or remain quietly nearby, whichever he required. Words had not injured him, weapons of magic had. It had taken weeks before he could bear any mention of Duenne or the King’s Mage without weeping.
And so I give myself over to a life of nothing, Emma thought. To the elegant frivolity of musical evenings and conversations about inconsequentials.
Such as this gathering at the regional governor’s palace.
She surveyed the assembly hall where a dozen guests stood about in twos or threes, while a trio of musicians played a lilting recursive melody on water flutes. A very exclusive gathering, to be sure. Tall windows overlooked the city below and the moonlit seas beyond. Within, Lady Vieth had kept to the simplest furnishing so that nothing would distract from the guests themselves, all of them dressed in patterned silks cut in the highest fashion. Watching them, Emma had the impression of a costly jewel box and its gems.
Benno leaned close to her. “You are scowling.”
Emma consciously smoothed out her expression to one pleasantly bland. “It was a momentary discomfort, my love. If I might be so vulgar as to mention it, my feet ache.”
“Liar,” he murmured. “What is wrong?”
She glanced toward the other guests. All came from noble families of impeccable lineage, patrons of the arts, with fine sensibilities toward music. And—a point she had not missed—they were all famously apolitical. Emma had briefly wondered if Lady Vieth wished to mend Emma’s and Benno’s reputation after the events of the previous autumn, but it was far more likely the royal governor and his wife simply wanted an evening of exquisite music.
“I fear my jewels are not bright enough for this company,” she said quietly.
His mouth twisted in silent agreement. “We might go.”
“Soon,” she replied. Whatever she thought of the other guests, she liked Lady Vieth and did not wish to offend her. Her own dark moods were not Hella’s fault. “Let us wait another half hour.”
No sooner had she spoken when a stir among the other guests caught her attention. She followed the direction of their gazes toward the entryway. Her fingers tightened around her wine cup as she recognized the newcomer.
Raul Kosenmark.
He was dressed in elaborate attire of dark red silk robes, layers upon layers, with minuscule rubies sewn into the cuffs and hems. An enormous ruby hung from one ear. As he glided between the other guests, the lamplight caught each jewel so that they glittered like drops of fresh blood.
Next to her, Benno drew a sharp breath. Emma laid her hand on her husband’s arm. He was trembling.
I shall murder that man for coming here tonight, she thought.
Kosenmark paused by Lord and Lady Vieth to make his formal greeting. He glanced around the room. His gaze took in the musicians and the collection of guests, passing lightly over Emma and Benno with nothing more than a polite smile. He seemed to note and appreciate a new trio of miniature paintings, hung in a position of prominence on one wall. All this took only moments. Then Kosenmark was gliding toward them, with that same polite smile on his otherwise expressionless face.
“Lord and Lady Iani.”
Emma quelled the impulse to growl. Too many would witness any friction between them, and while these other nobles were famously apolitical, their friends might not be. So she smiled pleasantly. “Lord Kosenmark. I had heard you returned recently from a pleasure cruise. Alas, your presence was missed in the city.”
“My apologies for my absence. The decision was borne of impulse. I wished to sample a warmer climate before the summer storms prevented me.”
Emma heard a faint edge in his voice. A warning, perhaps, to tread softly.
“I hope your journey was a pleasant one,” Benno said. “Lord Vieth had earlier expressed disappointment that you were not to be among us tonight. I see you reversed your earlier decision.”
Raul nodded. “Another impulse, you might say. I’ve neglected my friends these past several months, and I wished to make up the loss.”
Emma had to suppress her own trembling. He intends to regather his shadow court.
“Are you certain?” she asked.
His only reply was an enigmatic smile.
There was a pause as the musicians came to the end of their piece. Raul laid a hand over his heart and bowed his head, eyes closed and silent. Emma hated him in that moment. His love of music was unfeigned, she knew, but he used that love to disguise his other motives.
She shook her head. Anyone might accuse her of the same.
“What do you want?” she whispered.
“A conversation with you and Benno,” he replied just as softly.
“Tonight?” Benno said.
“Yes. The matter is urgent.”
Emma resisted the urge to cry out: You abandoned us. You pretended indifference. She was angry with him, yes, but underneath that first furious response, she was aware of other, contradictory emotions. You were afraid, just as we were. And now you know, you’ve heard, something that affects us all.
She pressed her lips together. What she thought about Raul Kosenmark the man did not matter. The welfare of Veraene and its people should be her chief concern. So she joined in the conversation discussing the finer points of the musical performance. She even managed an almost genuine laugh. Then Kosenmark continued on to the next gathering.
Benno touched Emma’s arm. She leaned against his shoulder.
“He is not a restful soul,” she said.
“It is not his nature,” he agreed. “But think how much easier we have it. He cannot escape himself.”
She shook her head. “You would see things his way.”
They lingered another hour before they offered their farewells to Lord and Lady Vieth. Most of the guests remained, and Kosenmark had not departed yet, but Emma found her ability to dissemble fading. She offered a wan smile to Lady Vieth, saying that a headache had come over her, no doubt the fault of the close weather.
At home, they retired into the common parlor, which overlooked a walled garden and the pathway running between their house and the next. Emma ordered the servants to bring them refreshments—spiced tea, a jug of strong wine, another of chilled water—then dismissed them to their beds. She and Benno drank tea and spoke of the evening’s entertainment as they waited.
It was not until midnight, however, that their patience was rewarded. Benno broke off in the middle of a sentence. His lips parted in a smile. Emma heard a soft scratching at the door to the garden. Benno was already moving across the room to admit their visitor. Raul Kosenmark no longer wore his gaudy costume of red silks. His clothing was dark and loose-fitting, and as he clasped Benno’s hand in greeting, his sleeve fell back to reveal a wrist sheath with its knife.
“You expect danger?” Emma asked. “No, don’t answer. Of course you do. You would be a fool not to.”
“So glad to know I’m not a fool in your eyes,” he said.
She ignored that comment and motioned to the chairs, while Benno inquired whether Kosenmark preferred tea, wine, or water. Kosenmark chose water.
There was no point in meaningless politesse. Emma asked the question she had wished to ask hours before, at Lord and Lady Vieth’s affair. “You’ve decided to involve yourself in politics again. Is that true?”
“I never stopped,” Raul said. “I only made the shadows darker, if you will. However, I received news last week that compels me to take a more open role.”
Compels. Interesting. “For many years, you argued against that.”
“I was wrong.”
Her desire to vent her fury died at that flat declaration. “What has changed?”
Kosenmark shrugged. “The necessity of the times. My own beliefs. A sudden acquisition of courage or foolhardiness, most likely a combination of the two. You seem displeased. What has changed with you?”
The answer should have been obvious, she thought. Dedrick. Benno. Ilse Zhalina’s abrupt departure, and Kosenmark’s own retreat into secrecy and isolation. Dedrick had died at Markus Khandarr’s hands in a prison cell in Duenne’s palace. Khandarr had forced Benno to watch, then sent him back to Tiralien, bound by magic to report every terrifying detail to Kosenmark. Rumor said that Ilse herself died by a murderer’s hand in Osterling Keep. She realized she was gripping both hands together. With a conscious effort, she untangled her fingers and met Kosenmark’s gaze.
