Passion Play (61 page)

Tears gleamed on his eyelashes. Raul brushed them away, paused a moment with his hand over his face. When he finally met her gaze, she saw that his face had smoothed and all trace of his pretended anger had vanished.
I love you,
he mouthed.

And I you, my love. And I you.
She glanced pointedly at the doors.
Do we continue?

Yes.

Ilse drew a long breath and prepared to scream with rage.

*  *  *

FOR THE NEXT
two weeks, they divided their hours between scripted arguments and nightly conferences. Their quarrels and their lovemaking took on a desperate edge, until it became difficult to separate the two.

Meanwhile Ilse sent letters by special courier to Mistress Beck and Mistress Adela Andeliess, who owned the pleasure house in Osterling. Mistress Andeliess’s steward had recently left her service, so Ilse wrote to apply for the position, saying that her qualifications were similar, secretary to Lord Kosenmark, liaison to the steward here, her upbringing as a merchant’s daughter. Five weeks later, she had answers to both.

Yes, delighted,
Mistress Beck wrote. Ilse forwarded her name and particulars to Raul’s agent, and asked him to transfer her moneys.

Please send me references,
Mistress Andeliess replied. Ilse provided those, including a terse but businesslike letter from Raul, and another from Mistress Denk.

She had taken care to let others know about these transactions. Thereafter, Eduard and Mikka and Johanna and the other courtesans sent her curious glances. Dana and Steffi and Hanne and the rest of the kitchen girls grew very quiet in her presence. Nadine said nothing, but whenever their paths crossed, her gaze passed over Ilse, as though she’d turned as invisible as the air. As for Kathe …

Ilse went to Kathe’s rooms one afternoon, before she returned to the kitchen for evening preparations. Kathe opened the door to her knock. Her first reaction was a startled exclamation, followed quickly by wariness.

“Do you have a free moment?” Ilse asked. “I’d like to talk.”

“Do we have anything to say, Mistress Ilse?”

“I’m leaving. I wanted to explain.”

“Explain what? That you—” Kathe broke off with a grimace. “Come inside. We don’t need to start more gossip by arguing in the hallways.”

She stood aside and stiffly gestured for Ilse to enter. There were books open upon Kathe’s small desk, and papers covered with what looked like menus and recipes, all written in Kathe’s neat handwriting. Except for a new carpet, the rooms were just as Ilse remembered, from the days when she and Kathe had taken their late-afternoon breaks here. Or later, whenever their work allowed a brief visit. Kathe had taught her and befriended her. Even when Ilse moved from secretary to lord’s mistress, she had remained someone Ilse could trust and talk to. But now …

“I know you’re leaving,” Kathe said without preamble. “And I know why. Lord Kosenmark was honest with you. But you—”

“I thought it didn’t matter,” Ilse said quickly. “But it does. Very much. I’m sorry.”

Kathe’s lips puffed in silent laughter. “Why apologize to me? I am not the one you wronged. Go to Lord Kosenmark. Beg his forgiveness. Tell him you wish to stay.”

“I can’t. It’s too late.”

“Then we have nothing to discuss.”

Ilse let her breath trickle out. “I’m sorry, Kathe,” she said softly. “I will not trouble you again.”

Kathe shook her head. If she grieved for their lost friendship, she hid it behind a remote mask. Ilse hesitated another moment, then silently left.

This moment, too, is part of the scheme. Unplanned and yet unavoidable.

*  *  *

ONE LAST TASK
. One last visit.

“Where are you going?” Raul asked a few days later.

“To visit a friend.”

His mouth quirked in smile. “One of mine, or one of yours?”

“Yours,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll make new ones in Osterling.”

He opened his mouth, but whatever he meant to say, he didn’t. He kissed her softly on the cheek and said he hoped she would return in time for a late private dinner. Ilse suspected he guessed her destination, but he didn’t ask and she didn’t offer.

She was still divided in her own mind when she arrived at Benno Iani’s small elegant house, in the same neighborhood as Lord Vieth’s soaring palace. The footman showed a very polite face when she announced her name, but she could tell he, too, had heard of the break between her and Raul. Would Lord Iani refuse to see her? Would he simply announce that he was not at home?

The footman came back with word that Lord Iani would gladly see her. Ilse followed the man to a sunny parlor at the rear of the house. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows. Outside, a profusion of russet and golden flowers made a splash of brilliant color against a gray stone wall.

Lady Theysson was not present, she noticed at once.

Iani smiled at her. It was a brief smile, but genuine. “Emma was here,” he said. “She left because she cannot bear to see what happened to two of her best friends.”

“And you?”

“You are both my friends. It grieves me to see you argue. It would grieve me more to lose you entirely. Why did you come to me?”

To say good-bye. To see if you and Emma believed our lies.

“To ask a favor,” she said.

His smile turned wary. “What kind of favor?”

“It’s about magic …”

As she explained her request, Iani’s eyes narrowed in concentration. It was a question of security. She remembered the spell Benno had used to alter Rosel’s memories. It had very specific properties, she knew. With it, a skilled mage could obliterate days or weeks, or he could blur memories from a single hour.

“You wish me to make you forget,” Iani said. “Now?”

She shook her head. “I want you to explain the spell. Write down the words and how to use them. In case … in case, I need to forget certain important details.”

In case Lord Khandarr ever decided to extract a confession from her, as he had from Lord Dedrick Maszuryn. Iani turned gray at the implication, but he was nodding. “Of course. I understand. Let us go to my study. I have some books I could give you on the subject.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon in close discussion. Iani gave Ilse three treatises about memory spells, including one describing keys to undo the magic.

“I won’t need that spell,” Ilse said, trying to hand back the scroll.

“Take it anyway,” Benno said. “Please.”

Reluctantly she agreed, and he pressed the scroll into her hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

AUTUMN PASSED INTO
winter, marking the end of her second year in Tiralien. Kathe did not speak to her after that last private conversation, the courtesans avoided her as well, and by necessity, her hours with Raul were few and secret.

The last night, Raul came to her rooms after midnight. With a wordless gesture, he led Ilse into the bedroom and locked the door with bolt and magic. His expression made her throat catch—the deliberate way he moved, his intent gaze, as though he were committing every moment to memory.

She reached for him. He stopped her with a gesture. “Humor me.”

He set the lamp on the highest shelf, traced the gleam of its light along her cheek and jaw, the outline of her lips. Then he extinguished the lamp and kissed her where the moonlight did. His cheeks were wet with a silent flow of tears that unnerved her more than all the others he’d shed before. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant this night to contain only joy.”

“Then you want the impossible.”

“Always.” He drew her close, and she felt him shake with silent laughter. “Ah, my love. You are joy itself. Come, we shall make love by sunlight and moonlight together.”

“As Lir did with Toc,” she said. “For Toc died, and in dying was reborn.”

“Because death is but the prelude to life. Who could show us that hidden path but a god?”

He lit all the lamps in the room, making the room blaze with light.
Silver and gold,
Ilse thought, watching him.
The sun and the moon.

Raul turned. His eyes were wide and dark, the golden irises eclipsed by dark centers. “Now,” he whispered.

“Now,” she answered.

Keeping her gaze upon his face, Ilse unbuttoned her shirt. She paused a moment, feeling the cool air brush over her skin, then she slid the shirt off and dropped it onto the floor. Her skirt came next, and then the rest of her clothing—item by item—pausing each time that he might memorize how she looked. Once she had finished, he did the same for her, the candlelight gilding his skin with gold, the moonlight reflecting from his eyes.

Their last night—time to employ all their senses. Time to strip away every pretension, every barrier, as they had not dared before. They gave until their bodies collapsed, spent and exhausted. Raul traced patterns upon her breasts and belly; he caressed her thighs, and kissed away the spendings from between her legs.

I cannot refuse you anything,
she murmured.
Ask whatever you will, whatever you desire.

You are the elixir of my joy,
he murmured.
With you I am immortal.

Lir and Toc’s words, in their season of love.

“Lie back,” Ilse whispered.

Raul obeyed, lying quiescent while Ilse ran her hands over his body, combing her fingers through his hair, brushing her palms over his cheeks, kissing his neck and chest and groin. Wordlessly, she slipped her hand between his legs, urging them apart, and heard the quick intake of his breath as she kissed where the mage-surgeon had operated.

We are one. One heart. One desire.

They made love until dawn stained the sky with silver and white and palest red. “I will love you forever,” Raul said. He buried his face against her neck. His cheeks were damp.

“Raul.”

“Hush.” He kissed her tenderly. Again, softer still, each one an infinitesimal distance further from passion until they were lying apart, not touching.

“Now,” he whispered.

Now,
she thought, but her throat would not let the word pass.

Silently they rose from the bed. Raul wet a cloth in the washbasin and ran it lightly over her face, her throat, and down the curve of her hip. His expression had left carnal passion behind, and watching his face, Ilse felt a stirring in response—an emotion beyond desire that she could not name.

When he had done, he sat cross-legged on the bed and watched, his expression still intent, while Ilse dressed for her journey. He was a witness to her departure, she thought. He would remember every moment, and thus they would not truly be separated.

“I’ll fetch breakfast,” Ilse said softly.

Raul smiled pensively. “I’ll stay here and make everything ready.”

She nodded. They must leave no traces of this last night together.

Down in the kitchen, only a few scullions remained from the night shift. No one greeted Ilse. No one questioned her presence in the kitchen. Most likely they all knew she left today. For a moment, Ilse wished she could unwind the months to a point between today and her arrival. When she still had friends here. When Kathe smiled and Berthold Hax was alive.

Today isn’t yesterday. It cannot be.

Silently she prepared a breakfast tray herself with coffee and freshly baked meat pies. When she came back to her rooms, she found Raul fully dressed and pacing the outer sitting room. He paused. “Trouble?”

“None,” she replied. “The house is asleep.”

They shared coffee from a single cup, and ate from a single plate. They talked little except to make a few commonplace observations—how good the coffee tasted, a comment about the pastry cook’s gift for crusts, whether they heard birdsong outside or someone was whistling in the lane below.

Finally, the dishes lay empty before them. Outside, the bells rang six times. Ilse drank the last of her coffee. She stood, but sat again immediately.
I cannot leave him.

Raul kissed her. “Until forever, my love.”

She stood—she hardly knew how—and walked from her rooms, down the stairs and through the pleasure house’s grand front doors, where the coach waited, her baggage already stowed. Ilse waved aside the guards and mounted into the coach herself. A glance at the house showed nothing—only dark windows and a blank facade of dusky red stone.

The guards closed the coach’s door and took their posts. The driver mounted to her seat. Ilse shut her eyes. No tears. No sudden weakness. But when the coach rolled into motion, she leaned out the window for one last hungry glance. Far above, golden firelight flickered in a window. Ilse caught the strong dark scent of magic with Raul’s signature.
Until forever. That is my promise.