Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

She nodded, aware of the heat from his body.

He leaned closer. “We might go.”

“To further the picture of our dalliance?” she asked.

“That would be one reason. But I also have more business awaiting me at home.”

He offered his arm. She took it, suddenly weary of intrigue and the relentless glitter of Lord Vieth’s palace. It was later than she had thought—the midnight bells rang as they made their way between the couples still dancing. Kosenmark appeared untouched by weariness. Only the tension in his arm told her that he was not as relaxed as he appeared.

Unexpectedly, he stopped. Ilse looked up to see Lady Alia Maszuryn blocking their path.

“Lord Kosenmark.”

Kosenmark nodded stiffly. “Lady Alia. I had not had the pleasure of speaking with you this evening.”

“You were occupied with other pleasures, it appears.”

Ilse tried to withdraw, but Kosenmark covered her hand with his. “Please stay,” he said. Then to Lady Alia, he said, “Whatever pleasure I derived from this ball is my business, not yours.”

“And not Dedrick’s?”

“Dedrick knows my intentions. Nevertheless, if he wants to complain, he should do so to my face, and not send a messenger.”

“He would if he were here.”

“Exactly,” Kosenmark said coolly. “If he were here.”

Lady Alia stared hard at him. Then she made an angry gesture and stalked away, leaving behind a trail of whispers and muffled exclamations. Kosenmark paid her no more attention. He leaned toward Ilse and whispered, “Do not worry about her.”

The crowds gave way before them. With a last effort, Ilse recovered herself enough to pay her respects to Lord and Lady Vieth, but she was relieved when the doors closed behind them.

Outside, the night was fine; the skies were dotted with brilliant stars. Kosenmark handed Ilse into the carriage and climbed in after her. He was silent now. As they passed from the torch-lit courtyard into the streets, shadows swallowed up the carriage’s interior, and she could see nothing except the dim outline of his figure. He was leaning back into the cushions, his face turned toward the windows.

“What did you think of tonight?” he asked after a few moments.

His voice sounded rough. Tired.

“It was strange, my lord.”

“Very strange,” he said, but he was obviously speaking more to himself. A momentary gleam of lamplight illuminated his face. He looked preoccupied, and he was turning Lord Dedrick’s ring around his finger. “An evening with success in all the wrong quarters.”

The meeting, he meant. Inconclusive even before Lord Khandarr’s appearance. She wanted to ask Kosenmark who might have given away his plans, but his gaze had gone remote. She settled back into the cushions, pretending to gaze out the carriage window, while opposite her, Lord Kosenmark continued to turn the ring upon his finger.

Who are you really? she wondered. What book are you? Has anyone, even Lord Dedrick, read you to the end?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THAT NIGHT IN her dreams Ilse wandered through a brightly lit maze, while faraway bells ceaselessly marked the quarter hour. The echo from those bells was still in her ears when she woke to the bells striking from the nearby tower. A fragment of her dreams lingered, reminding her of the intersecting plots and schemes of the previous evening. Was it possible that Lady Alia’s confrontation was another invention? And what about Lord Vieth, who hid any trace of emotion behind that forbidding hawk face. Did he know about Lord Kosenmark’s activities that night? Was he a peripheral member of the shadow court, or did he stand to one side?

A flicker of unease passed through her, remembering Baron Eckard. He might not give her secrets away, but what if someone else recognized her? She was not as safe here as she had assumed.

Then I shall have to take care.

Her attention consumed by all the strange events of the previous night, she hurried through her toiletries and dressed. Lord Kosenmark would surely want to discuss those same events. He might even have answers to her questions about Lady Alia and Lord Vieth.

A guard stood outside her door. Ilse checked herself in mid-step. Slowly, almost as though she were still dreaming, she took in the man’s tense bearing, the weapons at his belt, and how his expression changed subtly at her appearance.

“Mistress Ilse, Lord Kosenmark would like to see you at once. Maester Hax’s quarters.”