Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Kosenmark vented a breath. “To be honest, I don’t know. Dzavek might use the jewels for defense alone, but as Mistress Ilse observed to me, the king is old. Who will inherit the throne when he dies? Who will inherit this book or the jewels? How will they use them?”

“Count Risov?” Ehrenalt said. “He’s the senior member in Council.”

“But not the most powerful,” Theysson said. “That would be Duke Markov.”

“Markov or Karasek,” Faulk said. “Karasek shares responsibility for the armies and he’s more popular. He’s also a mage in his own right.”

“But Markov has more years in Council. He also has an ally in Duke Cernosek, and if his reputation is genuine, Cernosek is second in magic only to Dzavek himself.”

Ilse listened as the others rambled on about Károví politics. She recognized all the names from reading Hax’s notes and her discussions with Lord Kosenmark, but she could not pluck out the facts as fast as the members of Kosenmark’s shadow court. So she listened and concentrated on memorizing more details about Károví’s Council and the mutable factions therein.

“So you see it’s not a simple choice,” Kosenmark was saying. “Even if I trusted Dzavek himself—and I’m not certain I do—I cannot trust Markov or Cernosek or Risov. Possibly Karasek, but what if his ambitions include taking the crown and using the jewels to extend Károví’s borders?”

“War,” Theysson said softly. “It would mean Armand gets his war. And we pay the cost.”

“Yes,” Raul said heavily. “We do. So do those in Károví.”

“Every choice is a risk,” Ehrenalt said. “We must act.”

“Yes, we must act. But how?”

He cradled the book in one hand and rubbed his forehead with the other. He was missing Berthold Hax, Ilse thought. Hax’s experience. Hax’s knowledge about history and politics and economics. Hax’s ability to take the tangled skein of facts and rumors and possibilities and lay them out in clear patterns.

“What do you want from us?” Theysson said after a moment.

“I want you to think about our choices,” Kosenmark said.

“And these are?” Ehrenalt said.

“Give the book to Dzavek and hope that he finds the jewels. That Armand will drop his war plans. Or …” He started to rub his forehead, realized he was doing that, and sighed. “Or we do something else, and I have no ideas for that.”

He began to wrap the book again into its layers of patterned silk and dull oilskin. So that was it, Ilse thought, surprised. It was so unlike his usual way of conducting a meeting that she half expected him to keep talking, to give out orders or recommendations, once he had finished with the book’s protective covering, but Kosenmark said nothing.

“What do you want from us?” she said, repeating Theysson’s words. “To think?”

“To think. To consider,” he said. “To search your hearts and minds and past lives for any reason we ought to give aid and comfort to our king’s enemy.”

“I see.” Theysson studied her hands a moment. “How long are we to consider this matter?”

“Until we know how to act.”

Theysson exchanged a glance with Iani, who shook his head. They both stood and murmured a farewell to Kosenmark, who was still studying the book. Faulk left by another route. Ehrenalt waited a few more moments, as though, like Ilse, she expected Kosenmark to say more, do more. When it was obvious that he would not, she stood, her disappointment clear, and left by yet another path.

Ilse busied herself with putting away the pens and paper she had not used. When she looked up again, Kosenmark still had that same troubled expression on his face. “So what should I do, Mistress Ilse?” he said. “Should I play the traitor for the sake of peace? Or should I try to preserve the outward honor of my name and my house? Either way, I break my oath to preserve the kingdom.”

“I’m … I’m not your conscience,” she said.

“It would be unfair to lay that burden upon you. However, I do value your opinion.”

Still she hesitated.

He saw it and smiled. “Then answer me this: What would you do?”

That question was equally difficult, she thought, but perhaps he only needed to listen for a change. That much she could give him.

“I’d write to the king,” she said. “Yes, I know you’ve done so before, but I would do it again. I would argue that we cannot buy glory with the blood of others, that glory seen from a distance might be an illusion, that war is neither evil nor good, except in how we conduct it and the reasons we choose for embarking on one.”

His smile grew pensive. “Excellent suggestions. But let us say you did send the king this letter and he answered with silence. Say further that you did send respected ambassadors and he turned them away. What if you persuaded others to speak your words and act out your deeds, in their names and not yours, so that the king would be influenced by the idea and not the person? What if you did that and his only response was coldness?”