Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Ilse stirred. “I cannot help thinking that we … that I made a very bad suggestion.”

“About the book?” Raul smiled ruefully. “A year or more will tell us the answer to that. For now … I believe we made the best decision from a very bad lot.”

* * *

BY LATE SUMMER the flow of correspondence, both public and private, slowed to a trickle, then died off into silence. Raul grew more anxious as the weeks passed, until Ilse thought everyone must perceive it, from Mistress Denk to the newest chambermaid.

This afternoon, as they faced each other at weapons drill, she could see his thoughts were absent—not upon her, or his weapon, not even on Benedickt Ault, who studied them with narrowed eyes. Perhaps it was best that they used wooden swords today.

They touched blades and waited for Ault’s command.

“Begin!”

Raul lunged forward in attack. Ilse met his first blow, then sidestepped to avoid the next, using the new sequence Ault had taught her the week before. A rapid give-and-take followed, and to her surprise, Ilse nearly got a touch on him. She circled around, trying to draw his attention with a series of quick thrusts at his knees and then head. Make him work, she thought. Make him think about now, here. About Tiralien and not Duenne.

She sighted an opening and lunged forward, sliding her blade past his. “Death,” she said, gasping.

Raul glanced down at the sword point against his chest. “Death for us both, my love.”

Something blunt pressed her side—Raul’s blade, angled upward, beneath hers. She had been so intent upon her attack, she had neglected her own defense.

Ault came striding up, his disgust plain. “You cannot rely upon one or two good techniques,” he told Ilse. “And your performance, my lord, was inexcusable. I need not say more.” He drew a deep breath, regarded them both coldly. “Tomorrow we try a new approach. Separate sessions. Different drill patterns. Give me a month, then I’ll set you against each other.”

He dismissed them, telling Ilse to report for the first session the next morning. Lord Kosenmark would drill later, in

the afternoon.

“I don’t like it,” Raul said later, as they bathed together. “You might do me an injury at our next drill together. Or worse.”

“You will survive,” Ilse said. She poured handfuls of water over his back to rinse away the suds. It was so good to see him smiling, relaxed, she didn’t care about the separate drills.

“What about you?”

“I will survive.”

“Cold unfeeling woman,” he said, his voice going husky.

It had been weeks and months since they last made love. Oh yes, they kissed each other and held each other. Ilse even knew that passion had not died. It ran in deep strong currents, even while Dedrick’s silence made the air thick with tension. But now and now and now … The old songs ran through her thoughts as she kissed Raul with a fierce desire.

“Now and now and now,” he whispered. “My love is now and forever. My love is yesterday and tomorrow.”

They held hands as they ran up the stairs to the fourth floor and their private rooms. A runner overtook them on the third landing. “My lord,” she called out, breathless. “Visitors. Lady Theysson and Lord Iani.”

Ilse gripped Raul’s hand. Lord Iani? Here?

Raul had gone stone-still. He blinked, then seemed to recover himself. “Where did Mistress Denk put them? The Rose Parlor. Good. Send refreshments, and tell them we come at once.”

The runner sped away. Raul paused a moment, his hand over his face. Ilse touched his shoulder, felt the slight tremble as his control wavered. “There can be nothing good,” he whispered. “Nothing.”

“No,” she said. “But we must not shrink away from it.”

He dropped his hand and managed a shaky smile. “Indeed. Let us go see what Benno has to say.”

In the Rose Parlor, Benno Iani sat on a brocade-covered divan, his head resting in both hands. Emma Theysson sat close beside him, one arm draped around his shoulder. A tray with wines, coffee, and strong spirits stood untouched on the table before them.

Without looking up, Emma said, “Benno came last night. He rode straight from Duenne to here in ten days. I made him sleep until he could not sleep any more. He—” Her voice shook. “He brought you a letter.”

At the word letter, Iani dropped his hands to his knees. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin blotchy and rough. For a moment, he stared at Raul, his gaze unfocused, then he smiled faintly. “Yes, I brought a letter for you, Raul. From our friend Markus.”