Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

She nodded. He knew magic. Why then had he called in a healer?

“You must have some questions.”

“Too many to ask, my lord.”

He smiled. “Fair enough. Well, to save you the effort of speaking, I will offer you a handful of answers. You have a place here until your health mends. After that, I can offer you work, if you like. Wages, room, and board. We’ll discuss particulars once you’ve recovered.”

She tried to detect any hidden demands behind his offer. Though she heard none, but then, she hadn’t with Alarik Brandt. “Thank you, my lord.”

Kosenmark tilted his head. “I hear so many contradictory things in that cool and proper tone. For one, you do not trust me.”

Because I trusted too easily before.

He must have guessed some of what she thought, because he said, “Never mind about it for now. You owe me nothing, child. Not even gratitude. Can you accept that?”

He expected an answer this time. “Yes, my lord.”

“But you are still uneasy. Why?”

“Because you have no reason to help me.”

He sighed. “Then think of it as charity, if you like. Do you have any more questions?”

Ilse shook her head.

“Now that is untrue,” he said. “I see a hundred lurking behind your eyes.”

“No more than you have questions for me, my lord. And yet you have not asked them.”

At that, his mouth puckered, and she saw laughter in those golden eyes. “You are observant. And stubborn, as Mistress Hedda observed. Yes, I have questions. I shall not ask them, however, because I doubt you would answer.”

Laughter with a knife’s edge, she thought. The phrase sounded like a quote, but she couldn’t remember the poem, or even if it came from a poem.

“If you asked me, I would answer you honestly,” she said.

He was still studying her with that same expression. “Perhaps you would indeed.”

* * *

ILSE SPENT THE first week confined to bed. She slept, waking for visits from Mistress Hedda, who came to renew her spells, or when Kathe fed Ilse the willow syrup and other concoctions Mistress Hedda had prepared. It was a strange house she had come to. Mornings were always quiet. Afternoons brought the muffled sounds of chambermaids at work, but it wasn’t until night that the house woke, with laughter and more voices and music drifting up from the rooms below.

The second week, Ilse made a slow shuffling circuit of her room. Within a few days, she could walk unaided down the corridor. She spent her mornings sitting on a sunny terrace by the house’s formal gardens, wrapped in blankets. Other houses were just visible above the trees and stone walls—dark red and copper roofs, chimneys, and farther off, a bell tower. Once or twice, she thought of home. Of Klara and her grandmother. She winced away from those memories, as from a still-tender wound. She wanted more time—months and years—before she could think upon them with any clarity.

As for today, and this strange new house … Well, there, too, she found herself unable to dwell upon anything more than the small surface details. The transparent sunlight of winter. The bittersweet flavor of the tea Kathe brought her. The scent of soap and sweet herbs she smelled on her pillow. Luck had brought her to Lord Kosenmark’s doorstep. His kindness had rescued her from death. What came next, she had no idea. It was enough to sit quietly and let her body mend.

Kathe sometimes joined Ilse on the terrace, when her duties permitted. Ilse soon learned that Kathe’s mother was Lord Kosenmark’s chief cook and that Kathe was her mother’s assistant. Mother and daughter had worked together for a household in Duenne before coming east to serve Lord Kosenmark, and Kathe told Ilse stories about those years, bright amusing tales that featured some of Veraene’s most famous names. But for all Kathe chattered, she told Ilse nothing about this particular house, or about Lord Kosenmark.

One morning, at the end of the month, Mistress Hedda announced that Ilse was cured. Or mostly cured. “You are both young and lucky. Mostly lucky.”

She poured out a thick black concoction and muttered a few words, before handing the mug to Ilse. “Drink all of it.”

Ilse pinched her nose shut and drank the medicine down. In spite of the strong taste, her stomach settled immediately. A moment later, her skin tingled with warmth. “What is it for?”

“

Cleansing your blood,” Mistress Hedda said shortly. “If I were one of the old mage-surgeons, I’d tell you that it purges your soul in preparation for magic. Myself, I call it a strengthener. Whatever its name, you will need it for your interview with Lord Kosenmark today.”

Ilse set the mug down quickly. “Today?”