Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

“Not exactly. The king’s displeasure should never be taken lightly.”

Throughout this exchange, he had held her closer than the figure required. Now he slid a hand along her back, looking down at her with an expression that bordered on warm. Ilse started to draw back when Kosenmark whispered, “I’m sorry. There are those who watch us, and this seems the best pretense. Can you bear that?”

His breath tickled her cheek, but she forced herself to relax, at least outwardly. “I’ll try.”

“Good. Now, we have a choice. We could end this act with a show of outrage from you. In that case, you would remain here among the ordinary guests, while I attend to certain private concerns. That would spare you any more indignities.”

Leaving her outside the meeting. “What is the other choice?”

His golden eyes, so close to her face, took on a speculative look. “You might come with me and attend to those same concerns. It would involve a further ruse, and some damage to your character.”

“A dalliance?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Would they believe it? What about—”

“Dedrick? He left me. I’m a disappointed man. That makes it more believable.”

Ilse hesitated. She hardly liked to bring up the matter of preferences, but apparently her thoughts were clear from the look on her face. Kosenmark laughed softly. “That, too, would be believable. However, I would understand if you refused. We should have to make a scene then. I would stalk off, leaving you angry but untouched on the ballroom floor. The choice is yours.”

Ilse took a deep gulping breath. “I will go with you.”

“Very well. Please excuse the familiarity.”

His cheek grazed hers, then Kosenmark straightened up with a throaty laugh. His eyes were brighter, his gaze more intense. It took all her control not to bolt.

“Try to look as though you enjoy it,” he murmured.

She nodded and leaned against him briefly, her heart pounding. His lips brushed the top of her head. His breath feathered her hair. The dance had taken them to one side of the crowded ballroom, where several arched passageways led to the interior of Lord Vieth’s palace. They ducked through one into a servant’s corridor. Kosenmark drew back from their embrace. With a light touch, he indicated they should turn left.

As she expected, Kosenmark knew Lord Vieth’s palace quite well. He led Ilse through several passageways, then down a flight of steps and along an elegant gallery, decorated with brilliant frescoes showing all the legends about Lir and Toc, from their birth to their season of love, from Toc’s blindness to his death and rebirth. At last they came to a doorway set deep into the marble walls. Kosenmark opened the door without knocking and ushered Ilse inside.

She entered a parlor, small and elegant, whose walls were covered in painted scenes of the empire days. Opposite the inner entrance, glass doors opened onto a courtyard, half-lit by lamplight streaming from the windows above and opposite their room.

Ilse took in the opulent furnishings, the polished floors, and rare paintings in one glance. Then her attention was upon the four richly dressed men and women who sat around the fireplace. Baron Eckard. Luise Ehrenalt. Lady Emma Theysson. One stranger she didn’t recognize.

Ilse felt a ping of satisfaction at seeing Lady Theysson, she who had such skill with words. Baron Eckard, she had expected. Luise Ehrenalt was also no surprise, considering how often Ehrenalt visited the pleasure house. Still, from all the weeks of preparations, she had expected that far more people would attend.

Baron Eckard started when he saw Ilse. He sent a questioning glance toward Kosenmark, who slid around Ilse and into the last remaining chair. “My lord—”

Kosenmark forestalled him with a curt gesture. “To business. We must be quick before others miss our presence. I’ve asked you here to discuss our suspicions.”

“Suspicions?” said Luise Ehrenalt. “Call them proof. The signs are plain enough. King Leos is obviously preparing for war.”

“The signs are not as plain as you would have them, Luise. Yes, we know that Károví has begun naval maneuvers off the Kranje islands. And I received confirmation this week that the king has recalled certain high-ranking officers from Taboresk, Duszranjo, and Strážny. Both clues point to an invasion, yes, but we cannot know where yet, or why.”

“Veraene, of course,” said Ehrenalt.

“There is no of course,” the unknown man said.

“How can you say that, Benno?”

Kosenmark made a quick gesture that brought immediate quiet. “My lord Iani. Mistress Ehrenalt. Please. I have more news to report.”

He took a parchment sheet from inside his shirt. Ilse recognized it at once—it was the same she had accidentally read a few weeks before, when she discovered Kosenmark’s secret activities. Vnejšek. Jewels. Yes. The paper’s edges looked more frayed than before, as though Kosenmark had folded and unfolded the letter often.

Ehrenalt’s mouth thinned as Lord Kosenmark read the words in his high fluting voice. Lord Iani appeared lost in thought, but then sent a questioning glance toward Ilse. “Lir’s jewels,” he said softly. “Do you think he’s rediscovered them?”