Passion Play (53 page)

With another sigh, she put away her notes and checked over her writing materials. Paper for taking notes. Blotting paper. Pens and a penknife. Ink and water. All ready, including her self-control. She gathered up her materials and descended to the second-floor parlor where the meeting would take place. Raul had already arrived. He stood, bent over a table spread with papers. He glanced up, his expression the usual one of blank politeness. “Mistress Ilse, you are early.”

“Yes, my lord.” She took a seat in the corner and opened her writing case.

Raul turned his gaze to the papers, leaving Ilse free to watch him in silence. He looked weary, grieved and weary, as he had ever since Dedrick left him. Faint shadows circled his eyes, and his luminous skin was drawn taut beside his mouth. Oh but he was beautiful in her sight. It was not the gold of his eyes, but their shape when he studied something intently, the light catching the iris just so. Not the full mouth, but the shadow his lip made when he laughed. Not the long lean hands, but the way they gripped a knife or wielded a pen. He was unaware of her, and yet he had made it impossible not to love or desire him.

Love. Once she had thought never to feel love or desire. Alarick Brandt, her time with the caravan, had burned away all such hopes. But then, like the bare trees, when winter gave way to spring, she had felt the warmth of passion. A painful, consuming emotion. A dangerous one.

I wish my heart had remained dead,
she thought.

With a start, she realized Raul had stopped reading and was studying her in return.

“You look wan,” he said. “Are you ill?”

She shrugged. “Tired, my lord.”

Raul went back to reading. Ilse fiddled with her pens, rearranging them in order by size. It had been a mistake to come early. It was all a mistake. No matter how she tried, she could not rout out this exquisite pain. The poets said it was the lover’s choice, to follow the knife from tip to hilt.

But I am not a poet, and I do not wish to die of love.

“Lord Kosenmark?”

“Yes, Mistress Ilse?”

“I need to speak with you, my lord. After your meeting with Duke Feltzen, of course. But soon. Please.”

“What about?”

She drew a breath to steady herself. “About finding you a new secretary.”

Kosenmark straightened up. “You wish to leave?”

She nodded. “I think it best.”

“But why—” He stopped. A look of comprehension passed over his face, followed by a careful blankness. “Yes. I see. We must talk, but not here and now.” He glanced from her to his papers with a distracted air. “Let me conduct this meeting alone. Come to my office in two hours, and we can discuss everything in private.”

She started to protest that she could work, but Raul had already turned his attention back to the papers. With a sigh, she put her writing materials back into her case. It was what she needed, she told herself. A fresh start, with new friends and a different employer. She might even go to Duenne as she first planned.

She was telling herself the same thing two hours later when she arrived at the fourth floor. Lamps were burning in their brackets, but the alcove was empty. She tried the door and found it locked. Of course. He always kept it locked when he was absent. Locked to everyone except her and him.

He shall have to change the spells once I leave,
she thought.

She almost turned around. Only the knowledge that it wouldn’t be easier tomorrow stopped her.

Reluctantly, she laid her hand over the latch and spoke the words to unlock it. The door swung open and a puff of cool air blew from the dark rooms within.

Ilse lit several lamps and built up the fire. Then she sat by the fireplace to wait. In the corner, the largest sand glass turned over slowly, its contents flashing like silver in the lamplight. A beat of silence, then the chimes rang softly. Once, twice … all the way to ten. Already the smaller glass was tilting toward its next revolution. It was impossible to stop time, she thought. Like the wind, like the ocean tides. Like the pull of her emotions. She could not resist it.

Restive, she stood and went to the garden doors. Outside, a light snow was falling again. Clouds blotted out the stars and moon, but lamplight from the office illuminated the nearest paths. Summer’s lush foliage had long withered and blown away. Now silvery lines painted the stark branches. One intricate pattern exchanged for another, she thought.

She pushed the doors open and went outside. The air was crisp, and a breeze whirled the snowflakes around her. Hugging her arms around herself, Ilse threaded her way between the rose-marble statues and ornamental trees. Clean cold air, like that of Melnek in late autumn. Memories of childhood chased through her thoughts. More recent memories soon overtook those. She passed the bench where Raul told her about Brandt’s death. He wanted to set her free, he’d said. Free to leave Tiralien, and make a life in Duenne if she wished. She’d misread his intentions then. She’d misread them during their long conversations, their lessons with Ault. She’d flirted with dreams and imagined herself Raul’s equal, like Stefan and Anike, free of titles and rank.

But she was a merchant’s daughter, and he was Raul Kosenmark, heir to House Valentain, and Prince of Veraene.

“Ei rûf ane gôtter,” she murmured. “Komen mir de lieht.”

Light coalesced at her fingertips, casting a green-gold halo around her. She held the beacon aloft, then on impulse she set it free to drift skyward, catching on the falling snowflakes.

“Ilse?”

Raul stood at the open door.

“Duke Feltzen?” she asked breathlessly, trying to bring her voice under control.

“We completed our business.”

His tone was unreadable, like his shadowed face. She wanted to make excuses, thinking that she had chosen a bad time for this interview, but Raul was beckoning her inside. “The night air is treacherous. Come inside, and we can have our talk.”

Ilse walked past him swiftly, catching a whiff of cedar and wood smoke and musk from his skin. Desire welled up, that strange new desire, all the more powerful from its previous absence. She suppressed it ruthlessly, but she knew her face was hot. When she reached the chairs, she bent down to fuss with her skirt hem, brushing away bits of leaves and twigs from the garden path. Perhaps he would attribute her ruddiness to the cold.

Raul had ordered wine. He poured for them both and handed her a cup. His favorite pattern, she remembered. Rose petals etched upon dark red crystal, the pattern so faint you only saw it when the light glanced over its surface.

She drank a swallow. Raul cradled his cup in his hands, his gaze somewhat absent.

“So you wish to leave,” he said at last.

She nodded.

“I admit I have been difficult to work with this past month.”

His voice sounded higher than usual. She had once found that aspect of him unsettling—hearing a woman’s contralto tones from the throat of a fully grown man. No longer.

“It was a difficult time,” she said. “I understand.”

“Then why? Are you tired of your lessons? Have I given you too much work?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. You did nothing wrong, my lord.”

“Are you certain of that, Anike?”

Ilse stood up with a start. “My lord …”

Raul held up a hand. “Wait. Let me speak.”

Her pulse beating fast, she sank back into the chair.

“I once said I would not make a cage,” he said. “I meant that. And I think … I think I understand why you wish to leave. If you wish my help in finding a new position, I will give you that. It’s the least I can do for how I treated you.”

“But my lord—”

She broke off at the change in his expression.

“I was wrong,” he said. “Wrong in so many ways. The way I acted. It was not fair to you or to Dedrick. But I was being selfish and arrogant. I told myself it was mere friendship. I lied. Or rather, I wanted your friendship and more, so I took more. In the end, I drove Dedrick away. Now I’ve done the same with you. I cannot ask you to forgive me, but I am deeply sorry.”

For a moment, Ilse could do nothing but stare. It was impossible to take in his words at first. And then, like a star winking into existence, came the thought,
That is why Dedrick left. He knew. He knew Raul Kosenmark loved me.

An impossible word—love—too great for her to comprehend.

But the star burned bright inside the darkness.

She managed to draw a breath against the sudden thickness in her throat. Love. It was not just a creature of her imagination. It was real, this gift of joy. She had but to speak, to choose. Her heart, which had seemed to stop, raced forward.

Raul had not moved since he spoke, did not take his gaze from her face. He looked, she thought, as though he were memorizing her features, one by one. Like a starved man who sees a feast receding from his grasp. Ilse set down her wine cup. Stood and circled the table. She felt weightless, skimming inches above the floor, and only when her fingertips touched his cheek, did she find herself anchored securely. Raul’s eyes went wide. Ilse cupped his face in her palm, bent down, and kissed him upon his lips. Once. Twice. His breath puffed against her, an exhalation of surprise and delight.

“Come with me,” she whispered, drawing him toward the doors to his private rooms.

They passed quickly through a maze of rooms, where doors and closets and passageways led in all different directions. It was dark in his bedchamber, the room lit only by the shimmer of snow through the windows. With a word of magic, Raul lit the nearest lamp and turned toward Ilse. He unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide onto the floor. Ilse laid a palm over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

“Whatever you wish,” he whispered. “However you wish. Whenever you wish.”

A momentary panic, which faded before desire. “I wish for you.”

She unbuttoned her dress and let it slide to the floor, next to his shirt. She stepped from her shoes. Another brief surge of irrational dread, then she lay on the bed. Raul was now dressed only in his trousers. He knelt beside Ilse, his face going taut. Without looking away, he unlaced his trousers and slid them over his hips.

In form, he was nearly like any other man, thick and rising stiff and red with passion. In size, however, he was more like a boy, and underneath the penis was a smooth hairless expanse, as though magic had burned away the flesh and hair.

“He was a master surgeon,” Raul said in a thin voice. “He left no scars that I could discover. He helped me as much as he could.”

Ilse reached out and took him into her arms. “You are beautiful. Come to me now, please.”

He slipped into bed next to her and covered her mouth in a kiss. Terror veered sharply into a desire so strong it overcame everything else. She kissed him back, tasting cedar and wood smoke. Sweat and passion. His warm skin against her shift. Then he tugged off her stockings and shift and was running his hands over her body, kissing her all the while.

“Ei rûf ane gôtter,” he murmured. “Ei rûf ane kreft unde strôm. Ane liebe de gôtter.”

A sharp green scent enveloped them as he entered her. Magic saturated the air, so intense, that her blood sang and her pulse thrummed. There was no moment like it. No time before, no time after. Only now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“MARRY ME,” HE
whispered.

“Marriage?” she said breathlessly. “What would—”

“—my family say?”

A puff of laughter escaped her. “Have you found a way to listen to my thoughts as well?”

They lay close together, she with her cheek against his chest, he stroking her hair. Magic’s green scent lingered, mixed with sweat and musk and perfume. The snow had ended, and a pale dawn lit the windows.

Raul paused in stroking her hair. “This is why I love you. You keep me honest. No, I have not found a way to listen into your thoughts. If I had, I would have asked you to marry me long ago.” He slid down so that they were face to face. There was just enough light to see that his expression had turned pensive. “It’s asking a great deal,” he said. “Considering who I am. What I am. But would you anyway?”

Yes. Now. Forever. Ah but he was being too impetuous. She tried again. “What about your family?”

“My mother and brother will be quite pleased. If it matters, so will my sisters.”

“You have sisters?”

“Three,” he said, laughing. “You look shocked. Dismayed, even. Are you saying no?”

“I’m— What about your father?”

“He will agree. Once he comes to know you.” Raul traced the outline of her face with one finger. “You are already more than a lady and a duchess to me. What comes after is just an outward ceremony.”

Duchess. The thought left her breathless.

Raul brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and kissed her again. “There is no hurry for you to answer me yes or no. Let me court you properly, as I should have courted you before. Give yourself time to think over what you want. Then decide. Until then …”