Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

“STOP. DON’T LIFT the blade so high.”

Kathe moved Ilse’s hand, which held the knife, to the correct position. “Now make tiny cuts. Pretend you are chopping up snowflakes.”

She watched as Ilse carefully minced the bundle of parsley. “Better. But you need to relax, Ilse, or you’ll cut yourself.”

Ilse nodded. Relax. Concentrate. Try to ignore Lys and Rosel, who whispered and giggled at the next worktable. She adjusted her grip on the handle. That small change did feel more natural. Keeping the blade close to the cutting board, she made a series of tiny cuts, shredding the parsley into fine dots.

“Excellent! Now do the rest of this bundle, then start on the cabbage. I’ll come back in a moment.”

Once Kathe had left, Lys leaned close to Rosel. “I thought pets weren’t allowed in the kitchen.”

Rosel snickered. “Talking pets. Watch. I bet she cuts off her finger.”

Ilse closed her eyes a moment. Knife. Sharp. Wound. Grief. Just as well she wasn’t playing word links right now. She’d never be able to keep her distress a secret.

The teasing had begun the second day, after Kathe spent an hour teaching Ilse the most basic chores. Teasing was natural, Ilse had told herself. She was the new girl, after all. That night, however, when Ilse went with the other girls to the house baths, the questions had started. Dana had asked what it felt like to have mountains of gold. Rosel had wanted to hear where Ilse came by her scars. Steffi had wondered aloud why Ilse had been so sick that Lord Kosenmark had Mistress Hedda visit every day for a month. Lys said nothing, but she had watched every exchange with a calculating expression.

Ilse finished with the parsley and scooped the heap into the waiting bowl. Next came a small pile of blood-red cabbage, which Kathe had told her must be shredded into pieces no longer than her little finger. Lys or one of the other senior girls would mix these ingredients into a salad. Ilse’s only concern was to cut the pieces correctly. She worked far slower than the other girls, but once she settled into a rhythm, it wasn’t so bad.

Still, she was relieved when Kathe reappeared with one of the house runners trotting behind her. “I finished the parsley—”

“Good,” said Kathe, but she looked distracted. “Ilse, I came to tell you that Mistress Hedda is here to see you. She comes at the worst times for us, though I guess our good times are bad for her. Ah, now I sound just like my mother.” She paused to take a breath. “Never mind me. Just go with Mathes here, who can show you to her. But please hurry.”

Ilse wiped the knife with a clean rag and rinsed her hands. As she followed the runner out the door, she heard a stir of whispers, and Kathe hushing the girls irritably. More gossip, she thought with an inward sigh.

Mistress Hedda waited for her in a small plain room near the back of the pleasure house. It looked more like a workroom than one used by the courtesans, and contained little furniture other than a few wooden chairs and an old desk. A small cot stood in the corner under the window, which had the curtains pulled open to admit the late-afternoon sun. Mistress Hedda sat on the cot, bent over an open trunk, sorting through her herb packets and vials and murmuring numbers and names as she did so. At Ilse’s entrance, she looked up. “Good day, young woman. I’ve come for one last examination. Sit down here.”

Ilse sat on the cot. Mistress Hedda took her left hand and laid her fingers lightly over Ilse’s wrist. “A touch fast. But nothing to worry about. The fever is definitely gone. Now chin up, dear, and look over my head.”

She muttered to herself, something about the flesh around the eyes looking puffier than usual. “Are you sleeping well?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mmmmm. So very proper. I see Greta has you trained thoroughly. Now please lie back. Stockings off, please, and legs apart. I want to make certain you’ve had no setbacks.”

Mistress Hedda pulled the curtains shut and lit a lamp. Ilse did as ordered and stared at the ceiling while Mistress Hedda examined her, all the while asking about her dreams, her appetite, and whether she had any cramping. Her touch was both gentle and impersonal, which made the ordeal easier, and the need to answer questions helped Ilse keep her mind away from painful memories.

She sat up and rearranged her clothing while Mistress Hedda wrote down instructions for her to give Mistress Raendl. “You are much stronger, but not entirely well,” Hedda commented. “You have shadows here still.” She touched Ilse’s cheek, which was warm. “When I happen to see you next, I want these hollows gone and your color brighter.”

Ilse tucked the slip of paper into her pocket. “No more draughts then?”

“None. I brought my physicks and my bottles for Josef today. The silly boy caught cold from sleeping with his window open. He’s a southern flower and should know better.”

Ilse had seen Josef in passing—he was a slender young man, often sought by the nobles, according to the other courtesans. “I thought we were in the south.”

“There talks a girl from the borderlands. But Josef comes from Valentain, where the winters are hotter then your northern summers.”

Valentain. So he came from Lord Kosenmark’s homeland. “I wondered why he came north then?”

“An invitation perhaps,” Hedda said drily. “I’ve heard six stories, all different, and those were from Josef himself. I believe he likes to reinvent himself each year.”

They all had, Ilse thought. Josef, Nadine, even Kathe and her mother had reinvented their lives when they left Duenne’s Court to serve in Lord Kosenmark’s unconventional household.

“And you, what does Kathe have you doing?” Mistress Hedda said.

Ilse smiled. “Washing and drying dishes. Today she started me on mincing and chopping.” She had not known there were so many terms for using a knife, nor that there were so many different knives in a kitchen. But Kathe was patient, and her mother often said she appreciated an honest effort.