Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Ilse hesitated and saw him frown. Gulping down a breath, she said, “To see how Adelaide managed it, my lord.”

“Because of what happened to you?”

She nodded. “I tried pretending. I said … I said I was willing. Once I even—” Her voice failed her then.

Kosenmark touched her arm. “Come with me,” he said softly, his tone entirely different from before. “I’ll have someone notify Greta where you are. Never mind about the tray.”

With a gentle pressure against her back, he guided her to the stairs and up to his office. There he paused and spoke briefly with the runner, who disappeared down the stairs. Ilse continued to weep. She could not stop seeing Alarik Brandt’s face, feeling him inside her, hearing herself cry out. She was dimly aware that Kosenmark had opened the door and was leading her inside.

He led her to the nearest chair. “Sit.”

She sank into the chair. A green light flickered at her right, a hint of magic’s scent curled through the air, then a brighter yellow halo sprang into life. No voices filtered from the rooms below. No music drifted up from the common rooms, which surely were open by now. Only the hiss of the sand glass as it turned to the next hour broke the hush.

Kosenmark pressed a cloth into her hands, a handkerchief, which smelled faintly of cedarwood. She blotted away the tears until the handkerchief was soaked. He took away the cloth then and held a wine cup to her lips. “Drink. Slowly.”

It was wine mixed with water. She tried to take the cup herself, but her hands were shaking badly. Kosenmark wrapped his hands around hers to steady them. “Please do not drop it,” he said mildly. “That is my favorite pattern.”

He was smiling. She tried to smile back, but she was sobbing too hard. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it, she told herself, then realized she was saying the words out loud. Kosenmark appeared unperturbed. He helped her to drink the wine, then took the cup away and sank onto the floor at her feet.

“Tell me,” he said, “was I right? Is your name Therez Zhalina?”

Ilse closed her eyes. “It was. Not any longer.”

“And your father is Petr Zhalina.”

She tensed and nodded.

“I’ve heard his name,” Kosenmark said. “He’s spent a fortune, they say, sending out messengers, offering rewards for news of what happened to you. Why did you leave?”

“My father wished me to marry. His choice, not mine.”

“And you disliked his choice?”

“I did. I met the man once. He frightened me, my lord. I can’t say why.”

“But your father didn’t listen.”

She opened her eyes. Kosenmark’s expression told her as little as his voice. “No, my lord. He said he would sign the contracts the next day. And there was no one who could argue with him.”

“I see,” Kosenmark said softly. “Who was the man?”

“Maester Theodr Galt. He controls the shipping contracts.”

Kosenmark’s only reaction was a sudden thinning of his mouth. “I know that man.” Pause. “Let me guess what else happened. When you discovered no one could help you, you packed a satchel with plain clothes and a few other belongings—whatever you could find in a hurry. You took some gold, and with it, you bought passage to Duenne.”

She blinked in surprise, and he smiled sadly. “Let us say that I was once faced with a similar choice. Similar but not the same. I had chosen my future, and my fears were those of second thoughts. In the end, I decided to stay. The following morning it was too late to undo that decision.”

He was talking about the night before they gelded him. It could be nothing else. “My lord …”

Kosenmark lifted a hand. “What plans did you have for Duenne?”

She covered her confusion by drinking deeply. Even watered, she could tell it was a fine vintage, this wine—light and golden, with hints of summer pears and lemons. A man who bought such wines would find her plans childish.

But he was waiting, patiently, for her answer. “My plans were very bad ones, my lord.”

“Possibly. Tell me, anyway. I promise not to laugh.”

So he guessed that as well. “My last night in Melnek, my father had a dinner party—the one where he introduced me to Maester Galt. A man named Baron Eckard was there, too. He talked about his time in Duenne, at court and in the city.”