Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

“That is no trouble. You are my responsibility.”

“But my lord—”

“Raul. Call me Raul. Would you like water now? Tea?”

She shook her head. “No, my lord.”

His eyes narrowed with the briefest hint of humor. “You are a stubborn young woman.”

Ilse tried to summon up a smile, but it was too soon. She rubbed her head with one hand. When Lord Kosenmark handed her a cup of water, she accepted it gratefully. Weeping had left her with a dry mouth and sore throat, and she felt shaky, as though she had run fast and far.

I have. I still am.

Kosenmark touched her arm. “You look worried. Is it about Brandt still?”

She nodded reluctantly.

“I have an idea about that,” he said. “It won’t make the precautions unnecessary, but it might make them easier to bear. Or rather, it might help you with being less afraid.”

Less afraid. That was something she wanted to hear. “I’d like that, but how?”

“Lessons. Ones without paper or pens or dusty old books. We could start now, if you like.”

There was nothing but kindness in his expression. So strange, so different from how he had looked just a few hours before when Lord Dedrick had arrived. Lord Dedrick. She gave a jump. “My lord, what about—”

“Lord Dedrick?” Kosenmark’s expression went opaque, making Ilse wish she had not asked. But the look vanished, to be replaced by a wry smile. “Lord Dedrick went home to plead his case with his father. Do not worry about him. Come, we have at least a few hours before dark—long enough for you to decide if you like this new venture. But you best change into clothes you don’t mind getting dirty—trousers and a jersey. Oh, and boots. Meet me back here when you’re ready.”

He urged her out the door. Still wondering what kind of lessons he meant, she hurried to her rooms and changed into a set of old clothes from her kitchen days. Her momentary energy deserted her suddenly. She sank onto her bed, thinking, What have I said to my own father?

Nothing more than what she’d thought these past six months.

A trembling overtook her. One, two quarter bells rang while she rocked to and fro. Stupid, weak, silly creature. No, not that. A stubborn creature, just like her father. But that was just as terrible a thought. Panic bubbled up into a high-pitched laugh. Ilse clamped her lips shut. Went rigid. Then forced out a breath, then another and another, until she thought she had recovered her self-control.

Never that. I shall never do that.

But it was enough to stand, to drink a long draught of water from the pitcher in her rooms. To think of what Lord Kosenmark had offered her. Lessons to defend herself. It was … not enough to erase what had happened before. But it was enough to give her strength for tomorrow.

Still unsteady, she finished dressing. When she returned to her office she found Raul wearing the clothes he used for his weapons practice. “I’ve notified your new tutor,” he said. “He’s waiting for us below.”

He led her down by the back stairs and out a side passage into the courtyard where Benedikt Ault waited, arms folded and smiling. He was a lean spare man, his dark hair brushed with gray, clipped so severely she could see his scalp. Though he stood a head shorter than Kosenmark, he had an air of strength and speed. He smiled faintly at them both. “Another session, my lord? Or was I too easy on you this morning?”

“Both and neither, Benedikt. Here is your newest student.”

Ault nodded, but he was studying Ilse with narrowed eyes—assessing her, she thought. She glanced from one man to the other. “Swords?”

“Knives, then swords,” Kosenmark said. “But first, the hand-to-hand techniques—if you agree. And if Maester Ault agrees. Benedikt, can you teach her enough to do battle with me?”

“Certainly, my lord. Stand to one side and watch,” he told Ilse. “I want to demonstrate first on Lord Kosenmark. Then you shall try the technique on me. Lord Kosenmark, if you please …”

Kosenmark took a stand op

posite his teacher, feet planted apart. “See,” Ault said to Ilse. “Square, like his. Now watch. My lord?”

Ault held out his right hand and made a fist. Kosenmark gripped Ault’s wrist. “Open the hand like so,” Ault said, demonstrating as he spoke. “Now step left, outside the attacker’s foot. Roll the wrist toward you, lifting your elbow. So.”

Ault broke free of Kosenmark’s grip, whipping his elbow past Kosenmark’s throat. One, two strikes toward Kosenmark’s face and his groin, stopping short each time. Then he swiveled around, swinging his other hand in an arc toward Kosenmark’s temple.

“Again.”