Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

He studied her several long moments, and she had the impression of a dormant fire behind those golden eyes—as though he had buried his passion. Barely. She could sense the heat flickering against her skin. If he chose, he might awaken the embers and burn through all her defenses in a moment. But then his lids sank to half-slits, the warmth receded, and she found she could breathe more easily.

“Tell me what might be important,” she said.

“Ah, that. Well, I thought I might build a new shadow court. Not here, but in Károví.”

Startled, she opened her mouth to ask a dozen questions. She stopped herself.

“No curiosity?” he asked, half-smiling. “Or rather, you don’t want to know.”

“I do,” she confessed. “But I don’t know—I won’t—”

“Neither do I,” Raul said softly. “Call it instinct, or inclination. I think it’s time we paid attention to those who serve the kings, instead of the kings themselves. One rock cannot halt the running tide. Just so, a single man cannot contain the flood of history. We must build our bulwark against war using many grains of sand.”

Starting with Duke Feliks Markov or Duke Miro Karasek, Ilse thought. Both were long-standing members of the Imperial Council who shared responsibility for the armies. Karasek was more popular, but Markov was older, he’d advised the king decades longer. Rumor said that if Dzavek were to die, Markov had the larger faction and could take the throne. She wanted to ask how Raul intended to approach them. What assurances he would give them. (Because they would surely demand them.) What he meant to do with Simkov’s book, if anything.

But no, if she asked him those questions, he would expect answers to his.

Raul watched her intently, as though he could guess the link and chain of her thoughts. “Your turn,” he said.

Uncertain, she said, “What do you wish to know?”

“Very little.”

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“Liar,” she breathed.

That provoked a tentative smile. “True. But let us confine ourselves to where you plan to spend the next months or years away from me. Will you grant me that much interference?”

Her heart gave a ping of grief. She contained it. “Yes. It’s only fair.”

They had been sitting on opposite sides of the desk, just as they had during her first interview. Raul stood and spread a detailed map of the continent over his desk. Ilse came around the desk and stood by his side. She knew this map well. Raul had commissioned it before leaving Duenne, and the mapmaker, an artist as well as craftsman, had created a work of exquisite precision. Different-color inks marked the political borders and differences in terrain—light brown lettering for the Ysterien kingdom in the far southwest, dark blue for Duenne and its environs in the central plains, and vivid green to represent cities along the east coast. Károví, too, was rendered in perfect detail from the green breadth of Duszranjo Valley set within the Železny Mountains to the silvery-gray that marked the snow-dusted plains stretching north of Rastov. Ilse ran her fingers over the point east and north where, if the legends were true, Lir and Toc created the world in their season of love.

Raul, too, studied the map. Once or twice, he touched a city’s name, shook his head, and let his fingers glide past.

“You have an idea?” Ilse asked him.

“Yes. No. My instincts suggest a city on the eastern coast.” He glanced at her. “However, I suspect those are not instincts, but selfish desire.”

Ilse touched his hand, which hovered close to hers. “Your instincts are not entirely wrong. But I cannot choose a home too close to Tiralien. That might provoke suspicion.”

“Markus will be suspicious no matter what.”

All their discussions came back to that concern. After some debate, Ilse had proposed that she find work as a secretary or clerk. Her newly acquired fortune made it unnecessary, but she wanted to keep her mind and hands busy, and both agreed that would create a more convincing impression of her building a separate life.

Raul made another circuit of the map with his fingers. North. South. The western provinces. “What about Melnek? It might look more natural if—”

“No.”

He breathed a sigh. “It was just a suggestion. You have friends as well as family in Melnek. More important, Baron Eckard resides there. He can provide some measure of protection.”

“I cannot,” she murmured. “Find another way.”

City by city, they examined the map. Matsurian and Tegel, on the southern coast, both had high transient populations, which worked in her favor. But Raul disliked the distance—a month by ship, two months by fast horses. Klee, another port city, was closer, but its sweltering climate often bred contagion, and Raul had no agents or friends or associates there whom he trusted.

Ilse ran her fingers along the coast, past Matsurian and Tegel and Luzzien, until she came to the province marked Valentain.

“That remains a choice,” Raul whispered in her ear.