Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Ilse breathed a sigh. How to explain that she understood why the several perimeters of guards

, even within the pleasure house grounds, while saying that she disagreed.

“I had hoped this secret war between you and Markus Khandarr was finished,” she said in an undertone.

“I hoped the same thing. Secret wars inside a kingdom often turn into wars with its neighbors. And do not think that Károví is the only one of our neighbors who watches us anxiously. Immatra would gladly take over the province of Ournes, if their king thought us preoccupied. Ysterien, too, might decide to expand its borders. If only Benno could write to me, then I would know what Markus is doing.”

Benno Iani had disappeared from view, and Emma Theysson reported that she had heard nothing since he left for court. In place of their regular spies, they now depended on news from merchants or clients who visited the pleasure house. Even that required delicate planning, for Lord Kosenmark would not openly involve the courtesans in this business.

“We had no guards on the ships,” she said.

A moment’s silence. “We did. All the sailors had weapons. And …” Another brief pause. “And I hired three more ships to keep watch from a distance. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Cold prickled her skin. “I wish you had told me.”

“I did not wish to argue with you.”

Instead he had lied. Or rather, he had not lied outright, but he had concealed things from her. A sick feeling washed over her. “Raul, all the reports say you’ve won your battle with Markus Khandarr. Let things be now. Or are you just playing more games?”

“I am not playing games, Ilse. I know this man and I know—”

“It’s the same old excuses, Raul. If you only—”

They both broke off at the sound of nearby voices. One of the guards was hailing someone. Ilse heard the exchange, then the sound of weapons going back in their sheaths. The next moment, a house runner came toward the pavilion. Another followed, carrying a lantern.

“Mistress Ilse.”

The runner bowed and presented a thick packet to Ilse.

Ilse glanced at Raul. He gave a tiny shake of the head. No gift then.

She took the packet, which was heavy and wrapped in oilcloth and tied with leather cords, as though prepared for a long journey. Inside the oilcloth, she found an inner packet wrapped in heavy paper and a card with writing. She motioned for the boy with the lantern to come closer so she could read it.

Mistress Therez Zhalina, Lord Kosenmark’s household, Tiralien.

“Who brought this?” she asked in a faint voice.

“A private courier,” the first runner said. “He arrived from Melnek, he said, and asked to wait in the house for any answer.”

Raul leaned close. “Read it,” he said softly. “It’s nothing but words.”

“Words.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Words are sharp and dangerous.”

“Indeed. But don’t let his words be stronger than you.”

He was right, as always. Taking a deep breath, she opened the inner envelope, which contained a thick sheaf of papers, tied with a ribbon. A smaller sheet lay on top. It, too, carried her name, and this time she recognized her brother’s handwriting.

The letter was dated from Melnek, three weeks ago.

Dearest Therez, I wish I had written earlier, when Alarik Brandt’s letter came to us. I wish I had written after our father came back from seeing you. I wish any number of things to make writing this letter easier. But I did not. So now I must write to say that I have very bad news. Our father has died …

She must have made a sound, because Raul leaned close, his arm around her shoulders.

“What is it?”

“He’s dead. My father is dead.” Her throat closed on the word.

“Oh my love, I’m sorry.”