Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

To her relief, the bells began to ring the hour. Ehren went to his father’s side. Therez took her position by her mother. A quick touch of fingertip to fingertip brought a brief smile to her mother’s face. Then the footman was opening the doors to admit their first guest—old Count Hartl, whose mansion stood opposite theirs. Soon after came an official from the silk guild, followed by Klara’s father and mother, along with Klara herself and her several brothers. Klara took Therez’s hands in hers and leaned close to whisper, “I have some news to share. It was just decided today, and my father says—”

“Klara,” said her mother. “Save your gossip for another time, please.”

“Find me later,” Therez whispered back.

Isolde Zhalina led these first arrivals into the salon. Over the next half hour, dozens more arrived, and between the many polite greetings, Therez found she could breathe more easily. It would be a good evening, a successful one. Her father would be pleased. There would be no obstacle to Ehren returning to his studies, or her spending the year in Duenne. No whispered accusations to their mother.

“Baron Mann,” said the footman.

Baron Mann sauntered into the entry hall. “Maester Zhalina,” he said. “Young Ehren.” He turned toward Therez, just as she rose from her curtsy. She had a swift impression of jewels and silks and darkly handsome looks. “Maester Zhalina’s beautiful daughter. Greetings.” He caught hold of her hand and kissed it.

“My lord,” said Petr Zhalina. “We are honored.”

Mann smiled blandly. “Indeed.”

A dry chuckle caught Therez’s attention. A newcomer stood in the doorway, a stocky man of medium height and dark hair, frosted with silver. Therez recognized him immediately—Baron Rudolfus Eckard, once a member of the King’s Council. A cool breeze accompanied the baron’s entrance, penetrating the thin silk layers of her dress. She shivered.

Father must have promised the world to lure this man into our house.

Petr Zhalina bowed. “Baron Eckard.”

Eckard smiled pleasantly. “Maester Zhalina. Thank you for the kind invitation. You’ve rescued an old man from a dreary evening alone.”

“Liar,” Mann said, with evident amusement. “Your house is never empty, Rudolfus. But come, shall we join the others?” He relinquished Therez’s hand and gestured toward the next rooms.

“Gladly.” Eckard turned toward Ehren Zhalina. “Maester Ehren, would you join us in the salon? I hear you spent last year in Duenne. I’d be grateful for any recent news.”

Mann grinned. “He wants a more dignified report than mine.”

Baron Eckard mildly observed that they were blocking the entry hall. He and Mann departed with Ehren Zhalina for the salon, with Mann immediately embarking upon a story about recent court doings. Therez was wondering why an influential baron would ask Ehren’s opinion, when the outer doors opened again, and the footman announced, “Maester Theodr Galt.”

Theodr Galt, the newly elected head of the shipping guild, strode inside. Like Mann, he was dark, but tall and powerfully built, with his long black hair tied into a loose braid, such as the more conservative nobles wore. He wore a suit of wine-red silk, patterned in subtle diamonds. When he moved through the light, the cloth seemed to shimmer and change. He was a rich and influential man, destined to become even richer and more influential with his new position and his approaching marriage. But for all his advantages, Therez thought he appeared dissatisfied as he made his bows to her father.

“Maester Zhalina. How fares your business?”

“Never so good that I could not wish it better. Perhaps we could discuss matters after dinner.”

“Perhaps.”

They exchanged guarded looks, then Petr Zhalina motioned to Therez. “Therez, please escort Maester Galt into the salon. Tell your mother that I shall stay here to greet the last of our guests.”

Galt offered his arm to Therez, who laid her hand on his sleeve. He smiled, and covered her hand with his. As soon as he did, a strange prickling ran up Therez’s arm and down her spine, and she felt a sudden tightness all along her skin. Within came the sensation of a string drawn to its limit, a barely subdued fury. Without thinking, Therez recoiled from his touch.

“Is something amiss?” Galt asked in a cool voice.

“I—” She gulped down a breath. Her pulse was thrumming in her ears, and she caught a whiff of an intense green scent, as though someone had crushed a handful of grass under her nose. It’s just my imagination, she told herself. She managed a weak smile to Galt and her father. “My apologies, Maester Galt. Nothing is wrong, just a moment of faintness. Please, let me escort you inside.”

To her relief, the sense of overwhelming tension faded. She escorted Galt through the doors to join the other guests.

The salon was crowded with all of Melnek’s richest and most influential families. Merchants and guild masters, City Council members, and minor nobility. A group of older merchants had gathered in one corner; Therez turned in that direction, thinking Maester Galt would like their company.

“N

o.”

With a slight pressure of his hand, Galt steered her between the many guests, toward the center of the room. Several younger couples played word links. Near the musicians, she spotted Klara next to her cousin Lev Bartov. Another, older group of men were talking politics. Rumors of war. More troops sent to northern garrisons in Ournes to quash the faction demanding a separation from Veraene. Talk about closing the border in Morauvín and the next province over, even though that would mean a disruption of trade for Melnek and the other big trade cities. So the rumors were true, she thought. And after her father had worked to establish a new liaison with those Károvín merchants.

“What are you thinking?”