Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

Abruptly her weariness left her. She hurried to her desk and dashed off a note to Lord Joannis, asking for a private interview. She sealed the message with wax and magic, gathered up her report for Mistress Andeliess, and took them both downstairs.

Mistress Andeliess kept her office on the ground floor, in a quiet wing opposite the various public rooms. Ilse delivered her monthly report and spoke a few moments with her employer. On her way back, she stopped one of the house runners and gave him the letter for Lord Joannis. Watching the man disappear through a side door, she felt a flutter beneath her ribs.

There. I have done it.

She had no idea what his response might be. Of all the members of Raul’s former shadow court, she knew him the least. Raul had always said that Nicol Joannis disliked the court’s secrecy, however much he agreed with its motives. Still, he might consent to send a message to Raul, if only as a favor to an old and trusted friend.

Restless, she turned into the common room, which was bright and noisy at this hour. Gilda and Ysbel had started a drinking game with some wealthy farmers. Several younger men lay entwined on a couch—she could not tell client from courtesan there—and off in a corner, Luisa attempted to strum her guitar, in spite of two soldiers who took turns trying to unbutton her gown. Kitchen girls and boys appeared like swift small birds to take away the dirty dishes and to replenish the wine and ale jugs. Ilse could name a dozen ways this room differed from Lord Kosenmark’s elegant pleasure house, but in the essentials, the two were alike. Laughter. Games. Music. And always the presence or potential of pleasure for those with money to pay.

“What tempts you here?” said a voice at her elbow.

Alesso Valturri knelt at her side. He had a tray stacked with dirty dishes balanced on one knee. There was nothing unusual in his appearance—just an ordinary servant engaged in ordinary work—except that Ilse knew Alesso worked the early-morning shift. All her suspicions buzzed into life. “I might say the same to you,” she said lightly.

“Ah, me.” He stood up and handed the tray off to another kitchen worker. “I am here for the company and to observe our courtesans at work. Would you like refreshment from the kitchen? A cup of wine?”

He plucked a cup from a passing servant’s tray and, with an unnecessary flourish, offered it to Ilse. The cup was a deep iridescent blue, which echoed the painted murals of the walls. Both were purchases Ilse had recommended. The wine was a sweet golden vintage, imported from the southwest.

Ilse accepted the cup and settled into an empty couch in the corner. Alesso lingered next to her. “You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured.

“Neither did you.”

He smiled, a slow easy smile that probably charmed all the kitchen girls and boys, and half the courtesans. “Your suspicions wound me, Mistress Ilse. I am working tonight because Daria took ill, and Mistress Andeliess asked me to take her shift. For extra pay, of course.”

“Of course.” She could check his claim later, easily enough.

“And you?” he said.

Ilse sipped the wine, letting the flavor linger on her tongue before she swallowed. The wine had an oddly tart edge. She took another swallow, trying to decide if she liked the taste or not. “No reason in particular. There were reports to deliver…”

“… and messages to send off.”

She pretended not to hear that comment, and kept her attention on the courtesans while she drank more wine. Stefan was mock-wrestling with Ysbel over the favors of a grain merchant from up the coast. The grain merchant was a full-faced, round-shouldered man of middle years, his muscles loosening into fat from too many hours in counting houses. He’d come to Osterling to petition the governor for lower highway taxes. Earlier that afternoon, he’d sat grim and silent, having been refused entry to the governor’s presence. Tonight, however, his eyes were nearly lost in folds of flesh as he laughed at the two courtesans.

“You do not trust me,” Alesso said.

“Should I?” Ilse replied.

“Friends should trust each other.”

“Is that what we are, friends?”

He shrugged. “Acquaintances, then. Colleagues in business.”

She glanced up sharply then, but his gaze was on Stefan, who had won the wrestling bout. He and the farmer were now locked in an embrace, indifferent to their audience. Ysbel had disrobed entirely. She lay on her back and beckoned to Luisa and the soldiers. It was the hour of abandon in the pleasure house. The air smelled of wine and musk and sexual spendings. Deep within, Ilse felt the tug of unfocused desire, the tremble of panic.

No one will force me here. None. I am free of Alarik Brandt, of Galt.

A hand brushed her shoulder. She jerked around to find Alesso’s face close to hers.

“You are tired,” he murmured. “And distressed. Anyone can see it.”

“I am not—”

“You are,” he repeated. “It’s not necessary to wait here. Go and sleep. I’ll keep watch for the runner and bring you any reply at once.”

She was tired. Her eyelids were drooping, her limbs felt like warm water. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and lose herself in dreamless sleep. It was true that she hadn’t rested well or long in weeks. Alesso himself had noticed this morning when he brought her breakfast tray …

She reeled to one side, nearly fell over. “You. You poisoned my wine.”