Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

“Of course.”

“Then trust me. Don’t just sit there in angry submissive silence.”

Ilse flinched. “Raul …”

He rubbed his face and sighed again. “I’m sorry, that was not fair of me.”

She reached out and caressed his bare shoulder. “No. Neither was I being fair to you.”

I love you. I’m sorry. I forgive you. Please forgive me.

Each anticipating the other, they pulled off their clothes and lay down. He was a skillful lover, she was desperate for physical release, and they both reached passion quickly. When she rolled from atop him, Raul kissed her softly upon her lips and cheeks and neck. But afterward, lying in his arms, Ilse felt the tension underneath his apparent calm, like a reflection of her own.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

LORD DEDRICK SOON departed for the capital in state, attended by an entourage of servants, retainers, and younger relatives. His journey lasted a leisurely month. When he arrived, he sent letters to all his acquaintances in Tiralien, filled with descriptions of the road and half-humorous complaints about dreary inns, bad food, and the tedious business of establishing his own household in the palace.

That was but a prelude, as Raul explained to Ilse.

Next came a series of what Raul called the public letters, which contained the expected accounts of court life. These came infrequently, because Lord Dedrick, at Baron Maszuryn’s direction, spent most of his hours cultivating the more influential nobles at court.

Once, Dedrick alluded to earlier times with Lord Kosenmark.

“He’s hopeful,” Ilse said, reading Raul’s brusque reply.

“He’s a foolish idiot,” Raul said drily. “But it works in our favor by distracting Markus.”

Four months passed before the first of Dedrick’s private letters arrived. He wrote them in code on durable parchment, rolled them into narrow waxed tubes, and left the packages at various drop points in Duenne. Faulk collected them and forwarded the letters via his personal couriers to other agents throughout Veraene. Each of them added their own codes to the envelopes—security marks, Raul called them—and by these marks, Ilse could trace their routes through the kingdom.

… It is just as Alia told me, in one of her more confiding moments. Armand claims to work toward peace when he speaks in the public assemblies, but in private, he is seeking allies for war. My personal informants have mentioned the old palace wing as their meeting place. Yes, my informants. I have managed to build a small network of agents within the palace. Some are disaffected councillors. Some, you will be surprised to hear, are associates of the queen herself. Yseulte is loyal to her husband, but sometimes, in private, to her innermost circle of ladies, she has expressed fear that Armand’s endeavors will leave behind a tangled legacy for his heir.…

… We were right to suspect the old wing, but Armand proves himself too clever. (Unless it is Markus Khandarr who provides the cleverness.) Armand meets with one faction in the old wing, another during small intimate hunting parties, while a third or fourth visits his private suite in the evening. No one suspects yet, because each believes they are the only supporters.…

… a difficult week and the most frustrating yet. The purpose, as you say, is war. But there must be more. For all Armand’s schemes and maneuvers, the majority of the Council do not support war without a just cause.…

A period of silence followed. They had agreed upon an irregular schedule, Raul said, but Ilse could tell he worried. When at last, at summer’s end, a seventh letter appeared, brought by an itinerant knife sharpener, Raul appeared as worn and frayed as the letter itself.

A well-traveled letter, as evidenced by its battered tube, stained by the red mud of the southern deltas, and steeped in the pine tang of northern forests. Once they were alone, Raul uncapped the tube and let the paper slide into his waiting hands. Even from a few feet away, Ilse felt the air tighten, and caught the faintest whiff of green. Dedrick’s signature. And keyed to Raul’s hand as the recipient.

“He’s taking a great risk,” she said cautiously.

Raul scanned the letter in silence, his frown deepening.

“What news does Lord Dedrick have?”

Raul handed her the letter without answering. By this time, Ilse could decode Dedrick’s letters without referring to the key, and she swiftly read through the pages.

Benno makes very few appearance in court. He looks well enough on the surface, but his face lacks animation, and when we chance to encounter one another on the palace grounds, he excuses himself immediately. My informants can tell me little, except that Benno keeps to his rooms, or Lord Khandarr’s. It seems impossible to extract him from Khandarr’s hold, but Faulk promises he is working on that situation as well. In happier news, I can report a growing restlessness among the nobility.…

“But does restless mean dissatisfied?” she murmured.

“We can hope,” Raul said. “Read what he says about the troops.”

Armand had recalled a third of the troops from the borders, she read, but he continued to demand higher than usual levies, and he refused to drop the many trade restrictions between Veraene and Károví.

He says these measures keep us secure. He claims that troubling reports have reached him about Leos Dzavek’s intentions concerning relations between the kingdoms, ones we cannot ignore given past incursions by the northern prince.

Raul smoothed out Dedrick’s letter and studied it, as though searching for clues in its stains and creases. “I don’t trust Armand. I especially do not trust Markus Khandarr.”