Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

“Do you like it?”

“Well enough.”

Mistress Hedda’s mouth twitched. “The truth now.”

Ilse dropped her gaze to her hands. “I’m not doing as well as I’d like. But I certainly like it better than where I was.”

“Do you get along with the other girls?”

Ilse shrugged. “Well enough.”

Hedda’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Well, I won’t badger you, and Josef is waiting.”

As she hurried back to the kitchen, Ilse wondered if she ought to have told the truth. But what was the truth? She hated the teasing and the questions, but there were times when Dana showed her the sketches she made, and sometimes Janna and Steffi le

t her join in playing cards during breaks. In turn, she had taught them the word-linking game, though only Janna showed any skill or inclination for it. But nothing erased the awkwardness she sensed, from shy little Hanne all the way up to Lys, the most senior girl in the kitchen. It came from her accent, the fact that Kathe spent more time supervising and teaching Ilse while the others had earned their places through skill or years of apprenticeship.

I’m a charity case, and they know it.

She came into the kitchen, dodging out of Lys’s path as the other girl charged through the doors with a heavy tray. Hanne and Dana polished silverware. Janna was setting out rows of clean wine cups. Two spit boys rotated the huge beef roast that the kitchen girls would later slice and garnish. Kathe was not in sight, but off in one corner, Mistress Raendl and Mistress Denk discussed small details of the night’s menu.

“Ilse! What took you so long?” Rosel said, coming up behind Ilse. “Dana needs help with the radishes. Special client for Adelaide. You need to polish these before she cuts them up.” She propelled Ilse toward the cutting board, where a heap of dirty radishes waited. “Here’s a rag. Don’t stop polishing until you can see your face.”

Ilse picked up one radish gingerly. Even she could see that these radishes were filthy and spotted, as though someone had picked out the worst from a very bad barrel. “Are you sure?”

Rosel’s face was bland, but she heard muffled giggles from the others.

“Of course she’s sure,” Janna said. “She—”

She broke off suddenly. The other girls bent over their stations. Ilse realized that Mistress Raendl was beckoning impatiently to her. “Stop daydreaming, girl. I need a tray for Lord Kosenmark and Maester Hax—water and white wine and cups and those new rolls. Stay if they ask you. Otherwise come directly back. And throw out those radishes—they’re rotten.”

She turned back to Mistress Denk, and they were off again, talking about the evening’s menu. Ilse threw the radishes in the trash bin. No matter how distracted Mistress Raendl appeared, Ilse knew this assignment was a test. She filled a new carafe from the wine barrel, then a second with cool water, and set these on a clean tray. The rolls came next, arranged in a pyramid on a platter. Napkins. She would need napkins and plates for the rolls.

Janna came to her side with a stack of clean folded napkins. “It was just a joke,” she hissed.

Ilse started, nearly upsetting the tray. “What joke?”

“The radishes. Why did you tell on her?”

“I didn’t. I—”

“You did. Now the old woman is sure to give her scut work, and it’s all—”

“Janna. Ilse. Stop chattering.”

Her cheeks burning, Ilse hurried from the kitchen. Hurry, hurry, hurry were Mistress Raendl’s three favorite words, she thought. After two weeks of running errands, she knew most of the routes through the pleasure house. Down a connecting corridor, around through the back halls, and she came to the stairs, which she mounted as fast as she could without losing control of her heavy tray.

The runner on duty knocked for her.

“Enter,” said Kosenmark’s clear high voice.

Lord Kosenmark and Maester Hax were bent over Kosenmark’s desk, studying a large sheet of paper that draped the entire surface. Stacks of books covered the chairs, and the table by the fireplace had another tray filled with dirty cups and the remnants of a meal. One of the smaller sand glasses turned over, causing another larger one to tilt and sound a soft chime.

“On that table,” Kosenmark said, not looking up. “And pour us two cups, please.”

With some difficulty, Ilse cleared off the indicated table and set down her tray. She poured two cups of wine, taking care to mix them well with water. Lord Kosenmark took his absently and drank. Hax smiled at her. “Thank you, my dear. We were growing parched and hungry from talking. Ah, could you bring me a plate of those rolls?”

Ilse fetched him the plate. As she did so, her glance fell on the paper they were studying. It was a map of northern Veraene and Károví. Blue lines radiated from the coast to mark the varying depth; green ones showed mountains and other natural features. Along with cities, the map included smaller ports and harbors. A thick dotted line and arrow pointed eastward off the coast, labeled Lir’s Veil and Three Hundred Miles. That would be the magical wall of fire drawn by ancient mages three hundred years ago during the second wars to separate the island province of Morennioù from the mainland. But what caught her attention were the notations along the margins, with arrows drawn to various points on the Károvín coastline.