Passion Play (42 page)

“Think of someone you hate,” Ault said under his breath. “Imagine they have just captured you.”

Her father. Alarik Brandt. Theodr Galt.

“Which one?” she whispered.

“The one you wish most to break free of.”

Ilse looked into his face and tried to picture Theodr Galt. No, she had escaped him thoroughly. Brandt, then. For a moment, she panicked. She fought down the panic. Concentrating on doing exactly what Ault showed her, she stepped left and pulled hard. Ault gripped tighter. Ilse jerked her hand back. When she felt him loosen his grip, she twisted free. What came next? A strike. And another. She tried copying Ault’s fluid movements, but she could guess how clumsy she looked.

“Make the fist before I grab you,” he said as she rubbed her sore wrists. “Then relax your hand and move fast. We’ll do it slowly until you learn the motions, however.”

They practiced that move a dozen times. Ault showed her two more techniques, both starting from the same position. Once she had them memorized, he made her repeat each one slowly at first, while he critiqued her every move. The next round he exhorted her to move as quickly as she could. By the time he announced the lesson was over, her arms and wrists ached.

“Good enough for one day,” he said, nodding. “We’ll repeat these techniques tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Now sit over there and watch. You might learn something from Lord Kosenmark’s lesson.” He turned toward Kosenmark, who was already standing. “Shall we show her steel, my lord? Or do you prefer the wooden practice blades?”

Kosenmark’s teeth flashed in the bright sunlight. “Steel, Benedikt. It fits my mood today.”

Ault and Kosenmark selected their swords from the rack. “First position,” said Ault, raising his sword.

“Ready.”

Ault’s blade swung toward Kosenmark’s. A quick series of strikes and blocks followed, the swords moving so fast they changed into bright blurs as metal caught sunlight. Ilse held her breath. There was a pattern, she could almost see it from how one blade turned and twisted and met the other in a crash, and then the same happened but in reverse as Kosenmark and Ault each took turns advancing or retreating across the yard. Ault, of course, was the master, and every movement showed it, but Kosenmark was far faster and more agile than she had expected. He was strong, too; more than once he caught Ault’s sword and nearly wrenched it from his grip.

It made Ilse think how strength and skill were not enough. So many other factors could change a man’s life within a heartbeat.

I believed I was safe, too,
she thought. Safe from Brandt. Safe from her father.

She began to see why Kosenmark had offered her the gift of these lessons. There were no guarantees, but with the right instruction, she could learn how to keep away from dangerous choices such as those that led her into servitude with men like Alarik Brandt.

Or if she could not avoid them entirely, how to break a hold, turn a weapon, run toward freedom.

Kosenmark sent her a glancing smile as he dodged a thrust from Ault. He was still smiling, grinning as he parried the next stroke.

That is what I want,
Ilse thought.
I want to be fast. Strong. Like him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ILSE REPORTED TO
the practice courtyard early the next morning, expecting to find Kosenmark and Ault at their drills. To her surprise, the place was empty except for one long lean cat, which had stretched itself along the crown of the wall in the sunniest spot. It opened one eye lazily, yawned, then shifted to an infinitesimally more comfortable position.

“I wish I were still sleeping,” Ilse said.

The cat’s only response was to twitch one ear.

Benedikt Ault came through the gate. He glanced to where the cat had just moments before lain. He gave a wry smile, as though amused. “I see you are prompt,” he said to Ilse. “Good. Are you also ready?”

“As ready as I can be. Where is Lord Kosenmark?”

Ault opened up the weapons rack, shook his head, closed it. “He went on an errand in the city. We are to start without him.”

He had her work through the same techniques from the day before. More than once, Ilse allowed herself to be distracted by birds flitting past, or the cat, which eventually returned to its post on the wall. Her distraction earned her more than a few bruises and some sharp words from Ault. Trying to concentrate on his instructions, Ilse wondered briefly why she had agreed to these lessons. Because Lord Kosenmark suggested them. Because she wanted to please him. She frowned. No. Because she wanted that same grace and strength she saw in Kosenmark when he fought with Benedikt Ault.

“Better,” Ault said after the twelfth repetition. “Especially considering that you are a beginner. Remember what I told you about imagining your enemy. If you were to face a genuine attacker, you would not need that spur, but then you would also need to know the movements without thinking. Think. Memorize. Think again. Act. Ah, my lord, I’m glad to see you.”

Kosenmark came into the courtyard. He was barefoot and dressed in old cotton trousers cut very loose. He nodded politely to Ilse, but she could see the tension in his mouth and the faint line between his eyes. “How goes the lesson?” he asked.

“Well enough,” Ault said. “Perhaps you would like a bout while Mistress Ilse rests.”

Kosenmark hesitated, then nodded. Ault gestured toward the wooden practice swords. Both men picked out blades and took their positions.

It was like and unlike their bout from the previous day. After a salute, the two exchanged a flurry of blows, their wooden blades rattling loud in the morning. Kosenmark pressed hard, but as she watched, Ilse gradually realized that Ault did not press back. Though his blade moved in a blur, he used it only to guide Kosenmark, not to attack him.

Abruptly Kosenmark stopped. His face had a sheen of sweat, but he was not breathing hard. “Tired, Benedikt?” There was an edge to his voice, and he had not lowered his weapon.

Ault smiled grimly. “If you think so.”

“Benedikt …”

“My lord, I suit the lesson to the student and his condition. You know that.”

Kosenmark lowered his weapon. The tightness around his mouth had gone, and his eyes no longer had the unnerving blankness. “Yes, I do know that,” he said. “My apologies.”

“None required, my lord. Will you practice your next pattern, while I attend to Mistress Ilse’s lessons? Use the heavier blade, I suggest.”

Kosenmark exchanged blades and went to the far corner of the courtyard to practice a complicated series of moves. Ilse resumed her old position. She didn’t know Ault well—until yesterday, they had only spoken in passing—but she thought his smile was a shade warmer than before, as though he were satisfied about something. However, he only said, “Show me the second sequence, Mistress Ilse. The one that begins so …”

He guided her through the sequence, making comments and suggestions and corrections after every move. Off to the side, she could hear the soft thump, thump, pause, thump of Kosenmark’s feet on the dirt as he practiced.

“Good enough,” Ault said. “We should end for today. You will be sore,” he added. “That, too, will pass.”

She nodded, absently rubbing her wrists, which ached. So did the bottom of her feet. And her legs. She was surprised her scalp didn’t hurt.

Glancing up, she caught Ault’s amused smile. He probably knew exactly how she felt. “Take a warm bath for your muscles, and I shall have Mistress Hedda prepare a salve for your wrists. Do not stint on the warm water,” he said. Then to Lord Kosenmark, “Your turn, my lord. Would you prefer unarmed combat today, or another bout with the sword?”

“Sword,” Kosenmark said shortly. “Steel this time. I believe my control is better. Mistress Ilse, when you are done with your bath, please report to my office. We have some business to discuss.”

Her pulse jumped. “New business, my lord?” she asked. “Or old?”

“Both and neither,” he said. “And ask Mistress Raendl to send up refreshments for five guests as well.”

He turned back to Ault before she could ask what or if he had discovered something.

Ilse hurriedly washed and changed her clothes, her thoughts running through all the possibilities for this meeting.
We’ve received nothing in the past week. No letters. No special courier today. Even yesterday, the post contained nothing. Nothing, except …

Except Lord Dedrick, who had just returned from his father’s district.

She paused in tying the ribbon around her braid. Lord Dedrick must have heard new rumors. Yes, that had to be the reason. With renewed speed, she finished her toilette and caught up her writing case. A brief stop by her office for her notes on the Károví situation, and then she was running up the stairs.

When she came into Lord Kosenmark’s office, the vast sand glass was just turning over in its cage; the last sands of the old hours and minutes were still falling through the smaller glasses. A soft chime sounded, marking the new hour. Six months since she first walked into this room. How quickly she had accustomed herself to its rare beauty. These days, she noticed the books and papers and maps, less frequently the new paintings or statues that Lord Kosenmark sometimes acquired. Most days, her focus was on the man himself and what he said, not his belongings.

Voices sounded from the landing. Kosenmark came into the office with Luise Ehrenalt at his side, both absorbed in conversation. “… better to describe the situation just once, Luise,” Kosenmark was saying. “That way everyone can hear your concerns—and you will have some. Mistress Ilse.” He paused and his eyes narrowed briefly. “You will regret ignoring Maester Ault’s advice about the bath, but I am glad to have you so punctual. Please, both of you, go directly into the gardens. The others should arrive soon.”

“Including Lord Dedrick?” Ehrenalt said.

She and Lord Kosenmark exchanged pointed looks. “Someday you must share your network with me, Luise,” Kosenmark murmured.

“When you share yours with me,” Luise said. “But in this case, the news came from Adelaide. She saw no reason to keep that from me.”

“True. Yes, Lord Dedrick will be present. Now, if you will excuse me, I will take a few moments and make myself look less like a street ruffian.”

Ehrenalt appeared caught between amusement and irritation. When Kosenmark made a shooing gesture toward the door, she went, shaking her head.

With the coming of summer, all the foliage had turned lush and thick. To Ilse, Lord Kosenmark’s gardens were like the pattern of his mind—lovely and intricate and deceptive. Even so small a garden had its secret nooks, and the paths were laid out so that just a few steps had taken them out of sight of the doors. So she wasn’t surprised when Luise said to her, “Lord Kosenmark loves a good mystery. I sometimes think he ought to be a street juggler.”

“Or a trickster prince, sent to teach us truth with lies.” Ilse caught Luise’s curious look, and added, “Just a poem I once heard.”

“I know the poem,” Luise said drily. “And it fits. More than you might realize.”

They had reached the garden’s center, where benches circled a tiled section. Ilse busied herself with arranging her case and writing materials, aware that Luise Ehrenalt was studying her with that same curious expression. She was saved from any further comments, however, when Emma Theysson and Benno Iani made their appearance. While Luise greeted them, Ilse skimmed through her notes on the Károví situation.

Faulk arrived soon after and seated himself with an air of weariness. “My lords are coming in the next moment,” he said, waving a hand toward the doors. “Most likely they are arranging what and how they wish to tell us whatever they mean to tell us.”

“Lothar, you are being elaborate again,” Emma said, but she was smiling.

“You mean convoluted,” Faulk replied. “It fits my mood, and besides, that is my chief qualification for being here. Ah, here they come.”

Lord Kosenmark came into view, alone. He stopped at the edge of the clearing and scanned everyone’s faces, as though gauging their mood. Jittery, Ilse thought, supplying the answer she would give. Jittery and curious and hopeful all at once.
His
mood was harder to read.

“Where is Lord Dedrick?” Faulk asked.

“Home,” Kosenmark said. “It seems he made a promise to his father.”

“A promise or a compromise? And were the terms advantageous?”

Kosenmark sent him a warning glance, but merely said, “Our business does not depend on his presence, but on the news he carried from Duenne.”

Ilse let out a soundless exhalation. So it was news from Duenne—disturbing news judging by his expression. She expected him to lay out the details now, the way he spread out his maps and scrolls, but Kosenmark appeared strangely hesitant.

“What is it?” Faulk said. “A crisis? A scandal? Did Lord Dedrick discover a treasonous plot?”

“You might say that,” Kosenmark said. “First the part we expected—Armand has begun inviting certain nobles into private interviews, mostly the older and more conservative members of court. I’m interpreting these interviews as a means to forge alliances on smaller issues. Stepping-stones for the larger issue of war.”