Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Unwilling to approach him, she set the cup on her desk. Her father picked it up with a nod and drank. “Thank you. This is very good tea, Therez.”

The name was like a tiny lash, flicking against her sensibilities. Willing her voice to remain calm, she said, “My name is Ilse, not Therez.”

Another blink. Now she could see that his hands trembled, causing the tea to spill over the cup’s rim. She ought to offer him a chair, but she could not bring herself to continue these pretend civilities. In a fit of contrariness, she poured wine for herself and drank, still watching him. He was drinking in fast deep gulps, as though desperate for it. When he set his cup down, she refilled it. His color had improved within the last few moments. He no longer looked so ill, though he did look weary. How long and fast had he ridden that day?

He refused a third cup. She gestured to the fruit, but he shook his head. “Therez … I don’t know what to say. We thought you died. Your mother hasn’t slept a whole night since you ran away, and your brother—”

“Who told you?” she said abruptly. “You never said.”

“A man,” her father said slowly. “His name was Alarik Brandt. He wrote me last month.”

Cold washed over her skin at the sound of Brandt’s name. “But how did he know?”

Her father stared at her with an odd expression on his face. “How? He heard about you in one of the taverns here. A serving girl told him stories about a rich girl she knew. A runaway from Melnek. When Brandt asked for particulars, she described you exactly. Even the name matched—Ilse. The same one you told Brandt.”

Lys. It must have been Lys. Or maybe Rosel. They left her memories enough to recall Ilse and how she arrived at Lord Kosenmark’s house. But it didn’t matter which one. What mattered was that Brandt knew where she lived. Now she remembered Volker and Brenn telling her they came every spring to Tiralien. Brandt might have seen her when she went to market with Kathe—

“You do know this man, don’t you, Therez?”

A bitter taste filled her mouth. “Oh yes,” she said thickly. “I know Alarik Brandt. I took passage with him from Melnek. Didn’t he tell you that part?”

Her father frowned. “Not exactly. He told me you took passage in Mundlau.”

Something was wrong, more wrong than Alarik Brandt finding out where she lived and writing the news to her father. Her father’s voice sounded oddly strained, and his mouth puckered as though he tasted something disagreeable.

“I took passage with him in Melnek,” she repeated. “I was there, hiding in Brandt’s caravan, when Váná Gersi came to our camp. Brandt knew that. He charged me double—”

Petr Zhalina gestured sharply. “Therez, I checked the man’s reputation. All the agents say he’s strict and reliable. And I didn’t want to mention it. Not yet. But the man said he had trouble with you. Some money went missing just about the time you ran away from him …”

She wanted to scream that her name wasn’t Therez and that Brandt was a liar, but she could see that her father wouldn’t believe her accoun

t. Hands shaking, she finished off her wine and poured a second cup. Her father was staring at her now, as though he could not recognize her.

“Therez, did you hear me? Did you steal from him?”

“I heard you,” she said in a low voice. “No, I stole nothing. And I’m alive. Are you satisfied? Will you leave now?”

“Not without you.”

Ilse took a quick step backward. “No.”

“What do you mean no? You are my daughter—”

“Am I? I thought I was an entry in your ledger books. Something you could trade to Theodr Galt. He won’t make that trade now, I imagine.”

Petr Zhalina’s face darkened. “How dare you say that?” he whispered. “You who came to this kind of house.” He jerked out the words one by one. “Know this, Therez Zhalina. You may come willingly with me, or I can notify the watch that you belong to me.”

He circled the desk and grabbed for her. Ilse darted around the other side, but her father moved faster than she thought possible. He intercepted her before she reached the door and seized her by the wrist. Ilse tried to twist free, but her father caught her other arm and pushed her against the wall.

“Bind my arms, why don’t you?” she cried out. “Alarik Brandt did that, too.”

“He should have whipped you.” Her father was breathing hard from the effort of holding her still.

“Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to sell me. Just like you, selling me to Theodr Galt.”

“You—” Her father’s voice broke with anger. “You ruined that contract. You and your thoughtless—”

“I was not thoughtless. I asked for a say in choosing my husband. You denied me that. You wanted to sell me to the highest bidder. It’s too late now. I sold myself instead.”