Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Mistress Andeliess, too, was not what Ilse expected. Her voice was higher and sweeter; her gorgeously dressed hair fell in braids around her plump face. She herself showed Ilse to her new rooms, which were on the third floor. There were but two—a large outer room that served as both parlor and study, and a small but comfortable bedroom. They smelled of beeswax and soap and the faint traces of incense.

“I saw your many, many trunks,” Mistress Andeliess commented. “You had a much larger set of rooms in Tiralien?”

Ilse felt a brief pang of memory. “Larger, yes. I should have left more behind.”

Mistress Andeliess gave her a kindly smile. “No worry. We’ve plenty of storage behind the house.”

She did not chatter the way Kathe did, but her smooth flow of conversation helped Ilse through that first hour. Two girls arrived with hot coffee, cold soup, and fresh bread. Her appetite awakened, Ilse ate, then washed her face and changed into a new linen gown and robe.

See the house and town, Mistress Andeliess had suggested.

Not yet. Too soon.

She wandered from her parlor into her bedroom and inspected its furnishings. The narrow bed looked soft and inviting. A larger wardrobe covered half of one wall—ample room for the clothes she brought. A series of shelves lined a second wall. Her books on magic and history would easily fill the lower ones. She could alternate poetry books with a few of her ivory figurines on the upper shelves. Her new dagger in its elegant sheath could hang over her bed. Perhaps she could buy a new sword to match, and make a display of weaponry. Thinking of weapons, she wondered if she might find a weapons instructor to continue her lessons, or if the garrison permitted outsiders to drill with the soldiers.

Ilse sank onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. It’s true. I left him.

Dimly she heard the next hour bells striking. Late afternoon. Ebb tide’s pungent aroma filled the air. Ilse wiped the tears from her eyes. She was here. She would manage. Day by day.

She walked to the open window, which overlooked the courtyard she had seen from the square. A large prosperous inn stood on the opposite side. To her right, she could just see the governor’s mansion where Nicol Joannis lived. Beyond it, she saw the remnants of an old castle keep, which must have existed during the empire days or before, when Fortezzien was an independent kingdom. In the other direction lay the water-filled horizon. The air was warm and the sun as bright as a summer’s day in Melnek. Only a faint cast of gray in the sky hinted at winter.

A sudden noise below caught her attention—a group of soldiers were passing through the courtyard on their way to the square. Ilse counted six or seven, men and women both. All were armed with swords and armor; most were dusky or dark-complexioned—southerners—except for one plain-faced girl whose light brown coloring

and hair stood out from the rest.

The soldiers were laughing and chatting. One young woman happened to glance up. She saw Ilse and waved. Another companion pulled the young woman to her side, and they were whispering in breathless tones. Gossip, Ilse thought. The same here as everywhere.

Soon the soldiers were gone, leaving only the echo of their presence. By now the sun slanted down between the buildings, casting longer shadows. Ilse turned back into the room and lit a lamp. Automatically she took Raul’s letter from her pocket and read it again, trying to memorize every line.

… I will love you forever, beloved. No matter what passes during our time apart, my love will not fail. Someday, by grace of Lir and Toc, in this life or the next, we shall find each other again …

Someday.

She lit a candle and held the paper to the flame until it caught. Words flared and turned black as she watched. When the flames had consumed everything but one corner, she dropped the paper onto the tiles. Even that corner shriveled into ashes, which she swept up and deposited in her fireplace.

I have burned my past, she thought.

Then she had to laugh. She would burn her past day after day, she could tell. Every time she thought of Raul Kosenmark and her life in Tiralien, she would have to set a match to those thoughts, until the action became rote with her.

Oh, never entirely rote. Someday—

She broke off the thought before she could complete it. Yes, someday, she told herself. Someday she would recover Lir’s jewels, Raul would forge an alliance with Károví, and they could rejoin their lives. But not today. It was best if she gave herself a task instead of sitting and brooding. Something ordinary. Something tied to her new life in Osterling Keep.

Ilse retrieved her writing supplies from one trunk. There was a desk in her sitting room, another piece of furniture she would probably replace, but for now it would do. She sat down and picked up the pen. Hesitated. What to write? Her thoughts drifted back to her first day as Berthold Hax’s new assistant.

A schedule for my first month, she decided. After that, a catalog of supplies.

More voices drifted up from the courtyard. Through the plaster walls, Ilse heard soft laughter and a mandolin being played. My new life, she thought. A future whose words I choose.

She dipped her pen in the ink and began to write.