Allegiance, page 9
part #3 of River of Souls Series
Kathe greeted the girls and continued into the cold room to check the supplies of meat. Veal and lamb in adequate supply. The beef, however, seemed off. She would have to speak to the butcher. Perhaps she could use this excuse to escape the house and visit the market for fresh supplies.
Coward.
Why not?
You know very well why not.
Still arguing with herself, she returned to the main kitchen, in time to hear Janna chattering to Steffi. “Gone,” she was saying. “As quick as a blink and in such a terrible mood. I even heard Micha say—”
She broke off at Kathe’s appearance. Steffi gulped down a nervous laugh. Janna drove both fists into the bowl of dough. She stopped herself in time and proceeded at a gentler pace. Some day she would make a fine pastry cook, but first she would need to learn control. More important, Kathe would have to speak honestly with her mother. Until then …
“Do you mean Lord Kosenmark?” Kathe asked casually. “Has he gone away?”
Steffi and Janna exchanged glances. “I thought you had heard,” Janna said. “He rode away at dawn. And…” Her gaze flicked toward Steffi. “And, well, it was sudden.”
So there were secrets. No doubt Kathe would hear the details soon enough. She smiled, in that brisk manner she used to disguise her unease at Lord Kosenmark’s doings. “Well, then,” she said. “That guarantees us a quieter day, no?”
The girls all laughed, though it was a fluttering, uncertain laugh. Kathe held on fast to her own smile, but underneath came a stream of unbidden memories. This was just like the time before, when Kosenmark departed suddenly with a company of guards. Gerek had spent the next few weeks secluded in his office, hardly speaking to anyone except the senior runners and perhaps Mistress Denk. He, too, had abruptly left the city, and not by his free will, as she later learned.
It’s not the same, she told herself firmly. It could not be.
Still thinking of that other time, she laid out a tray with coffee, bread, and pastries, the kind Gerek loved best. If nothing were wrong, if Janna had exaggerated … Well, Kathe was simply taking her beloved a late-morning refreshment as she almost always did.
Her first check to these comforting thoughts came at Gerek’s office. Locked—not just with his key but with magic. Kathe was no mage, but she had lived six years in this household with its layers of spells on every door. She knew magic when she touched it.
She set the tray on the floor next to Gerek’s office door and mounted the stairs to the fourth floor. Even before she rounded the next landing, she heard the commotion of servants hurrying back and forth. That alone was unusual, but as she climbed the last few stairs, she saw more signs of a crisis. No runner waiting in the alcove to carry messages. The door itself—always shut and locked—now stood open to reveal an army of servants swarming through Lord Kosenmark’s office. Lord Kosenmark was not in view, nor was Gerek.
Then she caught sight of Mistress Denk, supervising the work.
“Mistress Denk.”
The other woman glanced toward her. Kathe hesitated. All the questions she needed to ask, she had to ask in private, not here, with dozens of servants about. She shook her head. Denk gave her a sardonic smile, as if she understood Kathe’s dilemma.
Kathe turned back toward the stairs. Now she truly wanted to find Gerek, and at once.
The wing of offices was empty. She thought she would have better luck with the next, which included a small library and several parlors, but Gerek was not in the library, nor the first two rooms she checked. With growing unease, Kathe entered the next, a favorite among the courtesans for its soft couches and the grand view of the lawns and the gardens. Doves gathered on the ledge below the window and their murmur was like a chorus of water flutes, only much softer.
Today, the parlor stood empty and quiet. Even the doves were silent. Brilliant sunlight poured through the arched windows. It was a day to tempt the kitchen girls to make excuses to visit the gardens, or loiter in the markets.
It was then Kathe realized where Gerek had gone.
She hurried to the window. Even as she scanned the grounds, a solitary figure emerged from the shadows of the house and crossed the lawn. The person was Gerek, clad in dun-colored robes. Ignoring the bench and roses, Gerek made directly for a gap in the bushes that led into a wilderness garden. Kathe knew from experience that a person could just see the edge of Lord Kosenmark’s grounds from that point. Beyond were the stables and a maze of small lanes that led into the city.
My love, you must not …
Gerek sank onto the grass. The movement came so quickly, her own heart leapt in sudden apprehension. She spun around and nearly collided with a maid outside the parlor. Kathe called back an apology. Whatever the girl said in reply was lost on her. Kathe skimmed down the stone stairwell to the bottom floor. Hanne and Gerda were carrying trays with coffee and fruit into the common room. Hanne turned, as if to speak to Kathe. Kathe waved her aside. A dozen more steps brought her down a seldom-used corridor to a side door, which opened onto a narrow lane.
The same door where Ilse Zhalina knocked, three years ago.
She had no desire to revisit memories of that night, or of that visitor, however. Kathe sped along the lane, through a series of small alcoves bordered by more ornamental trees, until she came to the grassy lawn. There she paused and shaded her eyes, searching for the still dark figure she had glimpsed from the window.
This midday hour the grounds were empty, the air shimmering with dust and warmth. But there, ahead, was Gerek. He sat upon the grass, heedless of the unforgiving sun.
Quietly she approached her betrothed. He did not acknowledge her presence. She did not expect it, and simply knelt in the grass a few feet away. She could tell he had not slept at all the previous night. His clothes were rumpled, the skin beneath his eyes bruised and creased, and his hair looked as though crows had played havoc with it. He was a large man, built like an ox, as his mother often said. Brown and sturdy. Very clever. Dependable. Until she came to know him, she had not realized how much she wanted a man she could trust. Oh, to be sure, Kathe loved his intelligence, the warmth and passion and tenderness of his embrace, but the matter of trust was like a key to the entire treasure of Gerek Haszler.
For several moments she did nothing but drink in the scents and sights of the surrounding gardens, the proximity of her beloved. Summer had come upon them without her noticing. All the flowering trees had shed their blossoms after spring. The rosebushes were still in bloom, their scent thick in the air, and from farther away came the sharp fragrance of crushed grass. Bees hummed among the bushes.
“I-I can almost imagine it,” Gerek said softly. “A whole c-city, complete, filled with … booksellers and scholars and merchants and artisans and all manner of people free to walk the streets. I remember … I remember a bench overlooking the harbor, where you can just hear the waves hissing against the shore.”
“I remember that bench.”
She and Gerek had met there by chance, on his first outing into the city. From later conversations, she knew that day marked the beginning of another kind of connection between Gerek and Lord Kosenmark.
Another connection, another clue to the day’s strange beginning. It had to do with Lord Kosenmark, with the politics of Veraene, and certain other secret doings of that man, which Kathe was not supposed to know about.
“What is it?” she asked softly. “What has he done now?”
Gerek bowed his head. He was weeping, Kathe saw. It took all her strength to keep herself from reaching out to embrace him. It took all her strength not to ride after Lord Raul Kosenmark to demand an accounting for his behavior.
Later, she thought. Later I shall confront him and all the rest.
Gerek swiped a hand over his face. “He is gone. Gone to Duenne. He s-s-s-says … Toc damn him, i-ignorance is n-not a shield. No-no matter how much he wishes it were.” He swiveled around to face Kathe. His eyes were wet, his glare as fierce as she had ever seen before. “He goes to argue with the king. He…” He drew another, rattling breath. “He gave us the house. Gave Lord Gerek Haszler the house. You are to have a great sum of money, and more to run the house until … until I-I-I-I don’t know what.”
He named the sums, which made Kathe’s breath go still with astonishment. The house, a treasure by itself. The sum for its expenses an extravagant amount, enough to keep the house running with all its staff for at least six months. And then for her—with that much money she could set up her own household. It was a treasure, one last gift, from a man she thought impervious to gratitude.
Gerek had bowed down until his forehead touched the ground. He was weeping still, as if a dear friend had suddenly died.
And perhaps he had, Kathe thought. She reached out and laid a hand on Gerek’s shoulder. “Is the house yours, then?”
“Yes, I-I s-said—”
“Can you do whatever you like?”
He nodded, an angry, frightened nod.
“Well, then,” she said. “You could sell the cursed thing. We—or you—could go to Valentain. Or wherever you liked. There’s nothing binding you to Tiralien.”
You could be free of Lord Markus Khandarr and the rest of the shadow court.
Quite possibly, he had understood the question behind the questions, because he sighed. When he straightened up, she saw his lips were curled into a bitter smile. “S-so I might. And you might s-study under the duke’s chief cook.”
She smiled, though her lips trembled. “The great Adona Pavlakakis from Andelizien. My mother told me about her. It’s true I would learn a great deal about fine cookery, but only if I could remain meek and respectful.”
He laughed weakly, shook his head.
Kathe leaned forward and gathered his hands in hers. “Let me tell you my thoughts. You might disagree. Or not. But listen. I think…” She drew a long breath, and another. Why was this so difficult to say?
Because I love him. Because he might …
She pressed onward, in spite of those thoughts.
“I believe you should return to your father’s house. Just for a few weeks,” she added, before Gerek could protest. “There you could formally and openly receive Lord Kosenmark’s letter. You can refuse it or not as you like. But you might as well take the gift. You can always sell the house later, after we…”
After they married. If he still wanted that.
“Do you think that a good i-i-i-dea?” Gerek asked.
That he stuttered so, to her, was a measure of his distress. That she did not attempt to comfort him, a measure of hers.
“I want you to do what you like,” she said, softly and fervently. “If you would rather stay at home with your family, then do that. If you would rather—”
“No, I—” He bit his lips. Made a visible effort to swallow. “You are my wife, as long as you wish. I love you, Kathe.”
It was as though a great hand had loosed its grip around her. She breathed and managed a smile. “Well then. Let us go back to the house and make our plans.”
They helped each other to stand, but when Kathe indicated the path toward the house, Gerek hesitated. “There is another s-s-secret of his that I-I kept from you.”
Kathe silently cursed Raul Kosenmark. Of course. There were always more secrets with him. Even as a young man in Duenne, secrets had trailed after him.
Kosenmark, however, had departed. Her first concern was Gerek. “What is the secret?” she asked.
Another pause. Another visible swallow, as he collected his thoughts and commanded his tongue to fluency. “He loved her,” he said at last. “He n-n-never stopped. N-neither did she. It was a ruse to protect you all. To protect them. I-I-I only knew it at the end.”
No need to give any names. He meant Ilse Zhalina. The young woman, almost a child then, who arrived at Kosenmark’s doorstep three years ago, bloody and close to death. She had worked hard to prove herself in the kitchen, then as Kosenmark’s assistant and secretary. And as Kathe’s good friend. All that had unraveled in the strange affair of Ilse’s quarrel with her beloved.
For a long while, Kathe could do nothing. Even breathing came with difficulty. She always loved him. She lied to me. They both did.
Gerek stood solid and unmoving. Her ox. Her trusting, dependable ox. He expected her to rage. No, he expected worse. Kathe wanted to growl and shout. It was all Kosenmark’s fault, didn’t he see? The man seduced them all to secrecy, from Dedrick to Gerek to all his other friends. Including Ilse Zhalina.
She gripped his hair and pulled him close.
“You are both idiots,” she said. “You and Lord Kosenmark. But you, you, I love.”
His eyes went wide. Clearly this was not the reaction he expected.
“Even though I-I kept secrets from you?” he whispered.
“Even though,” she said firmly.
Gerek rocked back on his heels, but almost immediately he engulfed her in an embrace and buried his face in her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Hush,” she whispered. “You do not need to be sorry. Not to me, beloved.”
Only when his breathing had steadied, and she knew herself to be under control, did she gently withdraw from his arms. “Come,” she said. “We have much to do.”
* * *
NADINE WATCHED FROM the high vantage point of the third story as Kathe played out a mawkish scene with Gerek-the-fool. They sat upon the lawn, oblivious to the dust and glaring summer sun. Gerek faced the outer boundary of the property. Yearning, Nadine thought. She could see nothing but his wide back, but his mood since the famous return of Lord Kosenmark and his minions had veered between irritating bliss and equally irritating gloom. Kathe sat beside him, slim and straight-backed.
There were no listening pipes outside the house that would allow her to hear the conversation itself, but she could guess its substance well enough. All the courtesans were awake and chattering about Lord Kosenmark’s sudden departure. Nadine had not shared any of the secrets she had uncovered for herself over the past six years. A little judicious spying. The practice of carelessly glancing over the envelopes the senior runner carried to Kosenmark or his secretary of the moment. All habits learned in previous houses, previous lives. And most effective, when she had discovered certain key listening devices scattered around the pleasure house. Nadine knew about Kosenmark’s political games. He might claim a higher cause for his actions, but in truth, they both wished to survive in a chance-riddled world.
Secrets are for learning, a lover had once told Nadine.
The lover had later attempted to murder her. A misstep, which he regretted, but his advice otherwise had proved to be good.
In the gardens, Kathe took Gerek’s hands in both of hers and spoke energetically. Talk, talk, talk, talk. As if words could alter their situation. Kosenmark had vanished to his fate in Duenne. Most likely he would commit some unpardonable act of honesty against the king. Had he even considered the fate of those in Tiralien?
Slippers trod the tiled floor behind Nadine. Even before the person spoke, Nadine recognized the strong scent of lily, Tatiana’s favorite perfume. She straightened up and laid her hands on either side of the window frame, making it more difficult for Tatiana to see past her.
“Do you think we shall open for business tonight?” Tatiana said.
“Of course,” Nadine replied. “That is our purpose—to bring pleasure.”
Tatiana laughed, a low, gurgling laugh that served her well with her clients. “Indeed. Speaking of pleasure, shall we go down to the baths together? We’ve a new supply of soaps carved in lascivious shapes. Johanna tells me they were most effective with Lord Gerhart.”
Kathe stood and held out her hands to Gerek, who lumbered to his feet. Nadine leaned closer to the window. More talk. More pauses and stares. Ah! Kathe gripped Gerek by the hair. She had lost her temper, then. Good. For all that Nadine had helped the fool to declare his love, she could not fathom why Kathe admired him. Perhaps she had underestimated his abilities in lovemaking.
“What are you watching?” Tatiana said.
“Idiots in lust,” Nadine replied. As Tatiana attempted to peer over her shoulder, she gracefully swung around and ran her fingers down the other courtesan’s arm. “Perhaps I shall come with you to the baths.”
Tatiana eyed her with a speculative smile. “Alone?”
“We shall have to bribe the attendants.”
“Done.”
She kissed Nadine lightly on the cheek. It was a tentative kiss, as though Tatiana were not certain of its reception. Nadine laughed breathlessly. She let her hips sway forward—just a brief contact—then slid her hand around Tatiana’s back and pulled her into an openmouthed kiss. “I shall have to repay you for the bribe,” she murmured.
“You shall,” Tatiana whispered back.
But as Nadine accompanied her companion to the baths, her mind ran upon politics rather than things sexual. I must listen harder, she thought. I must make my own plans and not let the future catch me unawares.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE DAY BEGAN well before dawn for Armand of Angersee, king of Veraene.
He flung himself from his bed, screaming, arms flailing, trying to fend off the monsters swarming in from the fog-bound realms of dreams and magic …
Armand, Armand, wake up.
He twisted away from those cold hands. It was his father again, stinking of wine. His grandfather …
Baerne of Angersee’s face hovered over his, like a dull brown cloud against an autumn sky. The old man’s eyes were bright with madness, his lips black from chewing lime and bitter weeds. He muttered something about Lir and Toc, and the necessity for true allegiance, unalloyed by house or province. Only when you sever the flesh, he whispered, can you truly be certain of your allies.
