Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Iani gave a sharp nod. Now he spoke so quickly that his words became a hum, as blurred as the images he conjured up from the past. Time flickered and spun and jumped. Impressions from the weeks and days past overlaid each other. Runners. Guards. Maids. An errant cat. Ilse saw Rosel enter the closet more than a dozen times, always with that thin rod in her hand.

“Enough,” Kosenmark said abruptly.

With one last phrase, Iani scattered the magic into nothing. Ilse drew a long breath, aware now of an ache in her chest. Rosel was sobbing and pleading to everyone and no one. She had not meant any harm. She had only wanted to help her friend. It was for Lys. Lys who was treated so unfairly after that bitch—

Kosenmark slapped her across the face. “Shut up. You spied on me. You knew the consequences. You cannot tell me you did not.”

Rosel gasped once and went silent. Her cheek flamed red where he’d struck her. Without any apology, Kosenmark fished out the cord from beneath her collar. The metal rod dangled and spun from its clasp. “A thief’s finger,” he commented, handing his findings to Iani.

Iani examined the device a moment. “Treated with magic to draw the tumblers into position. An expensive tool. Whoever suborned the girl has money.”

“That much we already guessed. Take her upstairs,” Kosenmark said to the guards. “And keep her under control until Lord Iani and I arr

ive.”

Rosel wailed once, then went limp. Undeterred, the guards hooked their hands under her arms and dragged her away. It was all too much like her own ordeal, Ilse thought. She leaned against the wall, faint with disgust at herself and everyone else.

Garbled voices sounded on all sides. Kosenmark speaking with Iani. Kosenmark giving more orders to the remaining guards. Runners who arrived, only to be sent speeding away on errands. Ilse kept her eyes closed, wishing them all away. She sensed a presence close behind her. A hand gently touched her arm, and Kosenmark’s voice spoke into her ear. “You may go if you wish.”

She turned her face away. She knew what came next. Iani and Kosenmark would question Rosel. They might lock her away, or hand her directly to the watch. Or perhaps they would mete out their own punishment. After all, Lord Kosenmark’s was a shadow court. It might have its own shadow judges.

Kosenmark had gone. So had the others, thankfully.

Curiosity pricked at her. She hesitated. Curiosity was a dangerous thing in this household.

Ilse swung the door open. It was just an ordinary linen closet, lined with shelves that extended from floor to ceiling, all stacked with pillowcases, handkerchiefs, and baskets of clean rags. Ordinary, except for the magic permeating the air. Old faint magic from Rosel’s several visits with her lock pick. Fresh strong magic from Lord Iani.

Someone had pushed the baskets to either side on one shelf. Ilse saw a square panel measuring about a foot in either direction—a listening portal. A small lock, made of dark metal, was set into the panel’s left side.

She placed her palm over the lock. Even with all the magic buzzing around her, or perhaps because of it, she could tell the lock was metal and nothing more.

Careless, she thought. Or perhaps he had assumed he would never hold sensitive discussions in Maester Hax’s bedroom. A dozen other explanations and counterexplanations presented themselves, spilling through her mind like glittering beads.

I don’t care. I don’t care anymore what he does. What or why or when.

Another wave of faintness came over her. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to sleep. She wandered through the wing, going from sitting room to parlor and once into a room obviously used by the courtesans. None were right. She needed to be private, secure from any chance visitor.

At last, she returned, unwillingly, to her rooms.

Someone (Kathe? Lord Kosenmark?) had thoughtfully left a tray of food for her on the table. Ilse ate mechanically. She rejected the coffee, and drank down mugfuls of water instead, trying to clear the sour residue from her mouth. She tried to think about her situation, but she was too tired and too distracted. Her thoughts flitted from Rosel’s pleas, to the crack of Kosenmark’s palm against the girl’s face, to the strong scent of magic inside the linen closet.

A quarter bell sounded. Another one. Finally a cascade of bells marked noon, and with it a soft knock sounded. A moment later the door opened and Kosenmark came inside. He surveyed the room briefly, then took the chair opposite her. “My apologies for intruding, but we have some unfinished business to discuss.”

Ilse shrugged, too tired to show any anger. “What else do we need to discuss? You caught your spy.”

Kosenmark folded his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees. “I came to apologize for lying. And to say I would lie again, if that meant I could prove you innocent.”

“My word wasn’t enough.”

He hesitated. “For me, yes. Berthold is harder to convince. He said I ought to watch your face when we caught Khandarr’s spy.”

Ah. Yes. And she thought it was for her benefit that Hax ordered her to observe the capture. She might have been angry, if she had not been so worn out by her own ordeal. As it was, she only felt a great weariness.

“Do you believe me now?”

“We do. Both of us.”

She shook her head. “What about Rosel? What are you doing to her?”