Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

“Better,” she whispered.

He gave a wheezing laugh. “You lie badly.”

“That is what Lord Dedrick said.”

“Ah, yes. Dedrick. You said he and Faulk found out a problem with our letters.”

“Courier. Murdered. Knew it because Benno wrote you. No reply.”

She heard him draw a sharp breath. “Benno wrote to me? Why?”

“Khandarr. Summons to court. Left yesterday.”

There was a brief silence, broken only by Raul’s quick breathing. Ilse opened her eyes. Raul’s mouth had a hard angry set. His face, still smeared with blood, made her stomach lurch with sudden fear. “So,” he said lightly. “Lord Khandarr has given us an answer to our petition, it appears.”

He glanced toward the hole that served as a window. Another building blocked any view of the sky, but it was obvious that full night had arrived. Then, from very far away, Ilse heard the bells striking ten. “You should rest,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

Against her protests, he covered her with the cleanest blanket and helped her to lie down. her head was spinning from the wine. Or was it because she’d lost so much blood? The fight seemed like a hundred years ago. She opened her mouth to tell Raul that he should rest himself, when she felt a light touch at her forehead, heard his voice whispering in magic, then nothing more.

* * *

HOURS LATER, HER sleep broke to the bells ringing. One. Two. Three. Much fainter, like a vibration in the air, came the quarter hour chimes. The echo persisted long past the bells, and then she realized she heard a voice, murmuring words in a strange language.

Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm. Komen mir …

“Stefan?”

“What is it, Anike?”

Raul’s voice sounded fuzzy. She shook her head to clear it and levered herself to a sitting position. One candle sputtered on the floor and by its light, she saw Raul Kosenmark sitting across the room, his back braced against the wall. Sweat coated his face. He’d taken off his shirt and was twisting around. With a muffled exclamation, he fell back against the wall. From the next room came an answering thump and a string of curses.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Ribs,” he panted. “Bruised. Cracked.”

The candle flickered and died. Cursing softly, Raul lit a new candle, which smoked badly but remained alight. Five more lumps of wax, the remains of other candles, littered the floor. He must have remained awake the entire time, she thought.

“Can you use your magic?” she asked. “You know healing.”

“Know some.” He was twisting again, and now she saw he was trying to reach underneath his right arm. “Can’t quite reach—ah, that hurts.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, breathing hard. “I need to … touch. Otherwise no good.”

He made another attempt to reach his ribs, his lips moving rapidly all the while. A rich green scent filled the air, and Ilse herself felt a wave of relief wash over her, but apparently the magic did Raul no good, because he broke off swearing loudly.

“I’ll fetch a surgeon,” she said.

“No!” Then more softly. “No, we’re safe enough, but only if we don’t attract attention. More attention, I should say. Right now the landlord thinks we are two drunks who got into a fight.”

“Wine, then.”

He shook his head. “I need my mind clear.”

His color looked worse than before, and his skin was slick with sweat. When he glanced in her direction, his eyes were glassy with fever. “What about sending a message home?” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

“No message,” he said. “Besides, I don’t trust anyone to deliver it.”

A loud thumping sounded at the wall behind Raul. He shook his head. “Last hour they were fighting. The hour before that, they were making love, or something close to it. Ah—”

He broke off with a hissing and closed his eyes. His lips moved again, but there was no change in the air. Was he going delirious?