Passion Play (41 page)

“Who told you?” she said abruptly. “You never said.”

“A man,” her father said slowly. “His name was Alarik Brandt. He wrote me last month.”

Cold washed over her skin at the sound of Brandt’s name. “But how did he know?”

Her father stared at her with an odd expression on his face. “How? He heard about you in one of the taverns here. A serving girl told him stories about a rich girl she knew. A runaway from Melnek. When Brandt asked for particulars, she described you exactly. Even the name matched—Ilse. The same one you told Brandt.”

Lys. It must have been Lys. Or maybe Rosel. They left her memories enough to recall Ilse and how she arrived at Lord Kosenmark’s house. But it didn’t matter which one. What mattered was that Brandt knew where she lived. Now she remembered Volker and Brenn telling her they came every spring to Tiralien. Brandt might have seen her when she went to market with Kathe—

“You do know this man, don’t you, Therez?”

A bitter taste filled her mouth. “Oh yes,” she said thickly. “I know Alarik Brandt. I took passage with him from Melnek. Didn’t he tell you that part?”

Her father frowned. “Not exactly. He told me you took passage in Mundlau.”

Something was wrong, more wrong than Alarik Brandt finding out where she lived and writing the news to her father. Her father’s voice sounded oddly strained, and his mouth puckered as though he tasted something disagreeable.

“I took passage with him in Melnek,” she repeated. “I was there, hiding in Brandt’s caravan, when Váná Gersi came to our camp. Brandt knew that. He charged me double—”

Petr Zhalina gestured sharply. “Therez, I checked the man’s reputation. All the agents say he’s strict and reliable. And I didn’t want to mention it. Not yet. But the man said he had trouble with you. Some money went missing just about the time you ran away from him …”

She wanted to scream that her name wasn’t Therez and that Brandt was a liar, but she could see that her father wouldn’t believe her account. Hands shaking, she finished off her wine and poured a second cup. Her father was staring at her now, as though he could not recognize her.

“Therez, did you hear me? Did you steal from him?”

“I heard you,” she said in a low voice. “No, I stole nothing. And I’m alive. Are you satisfied? Will you leave now?”

“Not without you.”

Ilse took a quick step backward. “No.”

“What do you mean no? You are my daughter—”

“Am I? I thought I was an entry in your ledger books. Something you could trade to Theodr Galt. He won’t make that trade now, I imagine.”

Petr Zhalina’s face darkened. “How dare you say that?” he whispered. “You who came to this kind of house.” He jerked out the words one by one. “Know this, Therez Zhalina. You may come willingly with me, or I can notify the watch that you belong to me.”

He circled the desk and grabbed for her. Ilse darted around the other side, but her father moved faster than she thought possible. He intercepted her before she reached the door and seized her by the wrist. Ilse tried to twist free, but her father caught her other arm and pushed her against the wall.

“Bind my arms, why don’t you?” she cried out. “Alarik Brandt did that, too.”

“He should have whipped you.” Her father was breathing hard from the effort of holding her still.

“Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to sell me. Just like you, selling me to Theodr Galt.”

“You—” Her father’s voice broke with anger. “You ruined that contract. You and your thoughtless—”

“I was not thoughtless. I asked for a say in choosing my husband. You denied me that. You wanted to sell me to the highest bidder. It’s too late now. I sold myself instead.”

His fingers tightened, making her wince. “What are you saying?” he whispered.

Ilse jerked her chin up, met his eyes. His face looked gray in the half light, or was that her imagination?
Tell him. Lie. No. No more pretending.
“I made a trade,” she said. “Just like you did. I begged Alarik Brandt to make me his whore. I said I would do anything to hide from you.”

She closed her eyes a moment, remembering that exchange. Alarik’s eyes, glittering in the firelight. How she had deliberately shucked off her clothing. The sensation of his callused hand on her breast. Her father was leaning against the wall, shaking his head in disbelief. “No. That can’t be true.”

Stop it. You’ve done enough.

But she couldn’t stop, not until she had told him every ugly detail.

“It is true,” she said. “I lay with every man in that caravan. Six a night. Four in the mornings. Five weeks of that until I was sick and with child, but it kept me away from you. Now do you understand?”

He covered his face with both hands. “Oh, Therez. Oh, child.”

Ilse said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

Only then did she notice a shadow falling into the room. Lord Kosenmark appeared in the doorway. His glance swiftly took in Ilse and then her father. He came inside and laid a hand on Petr Zhalina’s shoulder. “Come, Maester Zhalina. You look ill. Let me escort you downstairs.”

Petr Zhalina slowly lifted his gaze to Kosenmark’s face. Only gradually did he seem to recognize who this tall, high-voiced man might be. He jerked away from Kosenmark’s touch and stumbled out the door. When he reached the edge of the foyer, however, he paused. “Your grandmother died last month,” he said without looking back. “We buried her ashes in the mountains.” Then he rushed down the stairs and was gone.

Ilse closed her eyes.
Stone, I am rock and stone.

Kosenmark took hold of her elbow, laid another hand on her shoulder, and led her to her chair. He pressed her shoulder gently until she collapsed into it. Then he withdrew, but only to shut the door, for she could sense his presence as clearly as ever.

Moments later a wine cup was held to her lips. “Drink. Drink all of it.”

“Is he gone?” she asked.

“Yes. He is not here. He cannot harm you. Drink, please.”

Under his coaxing, she finished the cupful. He withdrew then. More sounds—of a fire lighting—then he was back and chafing her hands. She was cold, though the day was warm. Her stomach had squeezed into a knot. She thought she might be sick.

“No more wine,” he said. “Else that would send you to bed with a headache. And you looked quite ill when I saw you downstairs. I want a good return for my new secretary’s wages.”

He spoke lightly, teasingly. Ilse tried to laugh. A sob came out instead. She pressed a hand over her mouth to smother the next. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Sorry for what?”

“For showing you that, my lord.”

“Ah. That.” His voice was gentle. “I think I’ve shown you that, too. And you might call me Raul. We’ve earned our friendship, I think. Or if you can’t think of me as a friend, what about a sister? I sound more like one, I know.”

She gave a strangled laugh, which turned into crying, as she finally gave herself over to an outpouring of grief. Raul stayed by her side, waiting in patient silence until her weeping quieted to sobs and then exhausted silence.

“I wish I had not told him,” she said.

“So does he.” Raul paused. “Would you like me to talk with him—privately?”

She shook her head. “No. It won’t take away what I said.”

“As you wish.” He paused again. “But there is another matter. I heard what your father said about Brandt. If he does travel here regularly, you will have to take extra care when you go abroad in the city.”

A shudder went through her at the thought of Alarik Brandt. She wasn’t safe anywhere, not even in Tiralien. Brandt might decide to do more than spy on her. Or her father might petition the watch, just as he threatened. Lord Kosenmark surely would not care for the notoriety from that.

“I’ll have to leave,” she said out loud.

“Leave?” Raul said, surprised. “Why should you leave?”

“To … to save you the trouble, my lord. My father said he would summon the watch.”

“That is no trouble. You are my responsibility.”

“But my lord—”

“Raul. Call me Raul. Would you like water now? Tea?”

She shook her head. “No, my lord.”

His eyes narrowed with the briefest hint of humor. “You are a stubborn young woman.”

Ilse tried to summon up a smile, but it was too soon. She rubbed her head with one hand. When Lord Kosenmark handed her a cup of water, she accepted it gratefully. Weeping had left her with a dry mouth and sore throat, and she felt shaky, as though she had run fast and far.

I have. I still am.

Kosenmark touched her arm. “You look worried. Is it about Brandt still?”

She nodded reluctantly.

“I have an idea about that,” he said. “It won’t make the precautions unnecessary, but it might make them easier to bear. Or rather, it might help you with being less afraid.”

Less afraid. That was something she wanted to hear. “I’d like that, but how?”

“Lessons. Ones without paper or pens or dusty old books. We could start now, if you like.”

There was nothing but kindness in his expression. So strange, so different from how he had looked just a few hours before when Lord Dedrick had arrived. Lord Dedrick. She gave a jump. “My lord, what about—”

“Lord Dedrick?” Kosenmark’s expression went opaque, making Ilse wish she had not asked. But the look vanished, to be replaced by a wry smile. “Lord Dedrick went home to plead his case with his father. Do not worry about him. Come, we have at least a few hours before dark—long enough for you to decide if you like this new venture. But you best change into clothes you don’t mind getting dirty—trousers and a jersey. Oh, and boots. Meet me back here when you’re ready.”

He urged her out the door. Still wondering what kind of lessons he meant, she hurried to her rooms and changed into a set of old clothes from her kitchen days. Her momentary energy deserted her suddenly. She sank onto her bed, thinking,
What have I said to my own father?

Nothing more than what she’d thought these past six months.

A trembling overtook her. One, two quarter bells rang while she rocked to and fro. Stupid, weak, silly creature. No, not that. A stubborn creature, just like her father. But that was just as terrible a thought. Panic bubbled up into a high-pitched laugh. Ilse clamped her lips shut. Went rigid. Then forced out a breath, then another and another, until she thought she had recovered her self-control.

Never that. I shall never do that.

But it was enough to stand, to drink a long draught of water from the pitcher in her rooms. To think of what Lord Kosenmark had offered her. Lessons to defend herself. It was … not enough to erase what had happened before. But it was enough to give her strength for tomorrow.

Still unsteady, she finished dressing. When she returned to her office she found Raul wearing the clothes he used for his weapons practice. “I’ve notified your new tutor,” he said. “He’s waiting for us below.”

He led her down by the back stairs and out a side passage into the courtyard where Benedikt Ault waited, arms folded and smiling. He was a lean spare man, his dark hair brushed with gray, clipped so severely she could see his scalp. Though he stood a head shorter than Kosenmark, he had an air of strength and speed. He smiled faintly at them both. “Another session, my lord? Or was I too easy on you this morning?”

“Both and neither, Benedikt. Here is your newest student.”

Ault nodded, but he was studying Ilse with narrowed eyes—assessing her, she thought. She glanced from one man to the other. “Swords?”

“Knives, then swords,” Kosenmark said. “But first, the hand-to-hand techniques—if you agree. And if Maester Ault agrees. Benedikt, can you teach her enough to do battle with me?”

“Certainly, my lord. Stand to one side and watch,” he told Ilse. “I want to demonstrate first on Lord Kosenmark. Then you shall try the technique on me. Lord Kosenmark, if you please …”

Kosenmark took a stand opposite his teacher, feet planted apart. “See,” Ault said to Ilse. “Square, like his. Now watch. My lord?”

Ault held out his right hand and made a fist. Kosenmark gripped Ault’s wrist. “Open the hand like so,” Ault said, demonstrating as he spoke. “Now step left, outside the attacker’s foot. Roll the wrist toward you, lifting your elbow. So.”

Ault broke free of Kosenmark’s grip, whipping his elbow past Kosenmark’s throat. One, two strikes toward Kosenmark’s face and his groin, stopping short each time. Then he swiveled around, swinging his other hand in an arc toward Kosenmark’s temple.

“Again.”

He repeated the movements slowly, explaining as he went. Then he dismissed Kosenmark to one side and told Ilse to take his place.

Kosenmark sat by the wall, while Ilse took his place. Ault studied her stance a moment. “Almost, Mistress Ilse. More like this.” His hands pushed and pulled her arms, shoulders, and feet until he was satisfied. “Now, hold out your left hand and make a fist.”

She did so. He grasped her wrist.