Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

He nodded. “Dozens of times. We sent our reports. I offered … not my advice, exactly, but my concerns. The king never replied, and after the third time, he sent our runners away from court.”

She let out her breath, not certain how to reply. When Kosenmark gestured to one of the chairs, she sat and accepted the cup of coffee he poured with his own hands. She sipped and let the heat sink into her bones, gradually feeling more a part of the outside world.

Kosenmark refilled her cup without her asking. “I do listen,” he said softly. “Not always well. Not always with my full attention. I can be overhasty, as you know, and good intentions are no excuse for any injustice. But I am willing to learn.”

She glanced at Hax, whose pale eyes watched her steadily. “We will talk,” he said. “After we resolve a few matters. You understand the risks, I believe, Mistress Ilse. Grant us a few moments of your trust, and we shall grant you hours or days of ours, if necessary.”

They used none of the constraint she had noticed in the past few weeks. Was it because they trusted her at last? Or were these words for whoever listened?

“Is there no other way?” she said. “Short of intrigue?”

“None that we have discovered,” Kosenmark said.

“Unless you count a direct challenge,” Hax said.

“And that I will not—”

A knocking interrupted him. Kosenmark broke off and stood. “Come in.”

The door opened onto one of the guards. “Captured, my lord. Just as you said.”

Ilse started up. The spy.

Kosenmark and the guard had already vanished through the doors. Ilse spared a glance for Maester Hax, who sank back into his pillows. He looked exhausted, but he waved her on. “Go. See who it is.”

A knot of guards told her where to look—the servants’ corridor between Maester Hax’s quarters and another set of rooms. A girl was crying and babbling loudly, all mixed together, but in all the noise, Ilse could not make out who it was.

Kosenmark had made his way into the center of the commotion. “Let her go,” he said. “She won’t get away this time.”

A scuffle broke out. Then the girl broke through the guards and fell to her knees in front of Ilse.

Rosel. But I thought—

She’d thought the spy would be Lys. Lys who hated Ilse. It was far easier to believe she also harbored ill-will toward Ilse’s master, not Rosel, who only wanted to please her best friend.

Or perhaps she wanted to please someone else.

With a scowl, Rosel jumped to her feet and tried to push past Ilse, but Kosenmark caught her by one arm. Rosel squawked and tried to twist free, but he held her easily.

“I didn’t do it!” she cried out. “I didn’t do anything. I swear. It was her!”

She jabbed her finger at Ilse. Kosenmark dragged her back from Ilse. “No lies,” he said. “We can tell the difference. Especially now that we know where to look. Benno. Come here, please.”

Lord Iani squeezed between the guards. “This closet?” he asked Kosenmark, pointing to a wide door set in the wall.

“That one, yes.”

Iani ran his hands over the doorframe, his expression turned inward. “Ei rûf ane gôtter,” he murmured. “Komen mir de strôm. Widerkêren mir de zeît. Ougen mir.”

The air went taut and thick, and a sharp green scent filled the corridor. Ilse heard a noise off to the side—the guards were subduing their prisoner—but though her stomach turned at the sounds, she could not take her gaze from the closet. Its outline had turned indistinct, as though a mist rose from the floor, but there was no mist.

Iani continued with a stream of Erythandran, and the green scent intensified. Now Ilse could make out figures moving through the mist. Lys. Janna. One of the runners. Two of the chambermaids. Ilse even saw herself, walking slowly along the corridor, then pausing, as though uncertain where she was. One chambermaid opened the door and took out several blankets and a stack of clean sheets.

Next came Rosel, hurrying down the corridor with a tray filled with dirty dishes. The girl paused and looked around, clearly nervous. She set the tray on the floor and drew a thin metal rod from a cord around her neck. Ilse strained to see what Rosel did with the rod but the girl’s shadowy form had disappeared into the closet.

Time flickered past and Rosel emerged with a stunned expression on her face. She snatched up her tray and ran down the hall, her image growing fainter with every step.

“More,” Kosenmark said. “I want to see more.”