Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

“Since today.”

They studied each other.

“You have changed since you came to us,” Kathe said softly. “In good ways, I think.”

“But not you,” Ilse said. “You’ve always been my friend. We should—” She stopped, embarrassed. “I mean, if you like, we could take a walk in the gardens, or into the parks, if you have time to spare.”

“Oh, I am not the one with the busy schedule. Let us say tomorrow. I daresay if I tried to claim you today, Lord Kosenmark would share a few words with me. Or my mother would. We have a new pastry cook, you see …”

She rolled her eyes.

“I see,” Ilse said, laughing. “One of these days, you shall have to speak with your mother about the pastry cooks.”

Kathe grinned. “Someday. But not today.”

She shifted her tray to one side and hurried down to the kitchens, while Ilse continued upward.

* * *

AS HE HAD promised, Raul courted Ilse throughout the following months. He took delight in presenting her with gifts of jewels and silks, perfumes and paintings, and rare books that he discovered in the back rooms of Tiralien’s finest antiquarians. He even commissioned an artisan to create for her a tiny sand glass, which they used to play word links. When she thought he had run to the end of his inventiveness with gifts, he hired a ship and crew. With two more ships as their escort, they sailed southward along the coast. He showed her Tiralien from afar, as it looked with the sun setting behind it, its towers like a ruddy crown amid golden fire, then ordered the ships to sail down the coastline to Fuldah, Lunendal, and Konstanzien, around the point where Osterling Keep stood, and toward the open southern seas. They spent a night with all the lamps on the boat lit, and Ilse could only think of diamonds sparkling on the black silk waves.

And when they returned to Tiralien, he brought her to Lord and Lady Vieth’s next banquet and danced with her alone.

“You are my gift,” he told her, when she protested his latest offering, a string of pearls she found upon her pillow.

“I am not a thing,” she murmured. She let the pearls slide through her fingers. They felt like silk beads, so fine they were. Fine droplets of white, catching all the colors of the world in the lamplight. He had matched them to her newest gown, another gift she should have refused.

Raul touched her cheek with his hand. “I’m sorry. I only meant that I cannot do enough.”

“Gratitude—”

“—is a bitter root, but sweetened with love, it pours strength and joy into the soul.”

She smiled, somewhat pensively. That morning she had found a bouquet of flowers in her parlor, with a note reading, I wish you joy.

The note had no signature, but the flowers, blooming far out of season, had a faint whiff of magic about them.

Nadine. She had not openly avoided Ilse, but they had not spoken alone since Raul’s break with Dedrick. Even when they did speak, Nadine’s voice took on a polished brittle quality. Her courtesan’s voice, Ilse thought. Used when she entertained a stranger.

I wish you joy. The words carried so many different meanings. I forgive you for wounding my heart. I’m sorry I tried to wound you back. I would like to be your friend.

She was still thinking of Nadine that same evening, when she and Raul sat in the upper gardens in the new pavilion, wrapped in fine woolen robes against the evening damp, counting the stars as they appeared. Spring had nearly arrived. Hard buds lined the branches, and the air tasted green, as though magic hovered just beyond their perception.

“You seem troubled,” Raul said.

“I was thinking about Nadine.”

“Ah.” He kissed her cheek. “Is she angry with you?”

“Not anymore.”

One of the guards coughed. Ilse drew back from Raul’s next kiss.

“What’s wrong?” Raul said.

“I never feel entirely alone with you,” she murmured. “Except in your rooms.”

“Our rooms. It never bothered you before.”