Allegiance (River of Souls 3)

As they neared a huge set of double doors, their guide slowed. Now Ilse could take in the height of the passage—twice that of a man’s—and the airy semicircle before the door itself, which was carved from rich darkwood, and set with polished iron hinges into the walls.

She drew a breath in wonderment. A king’s reception. No, the Kosenmark family had never claimed kingship. But they had once ruled a princedom.

It was as though she finally understood Raul Kosenmark’s arrogance, and why Armand of Angersee feared him. Here was old royalty, dating from before the empire, from before Erythandra’s tribes invaded the central plains.

The guard signaled to two attendants Ilse had not observed before. The attendants bowed and opened the doors. Ilse proceeded through them into a wide, open hall. She had no idea if Iani or Mann followed.

A bleak bare room stretched out before her. Unlike the halls outside, the tiled floor were bare of rugs and the walls bereft of any decoration. Off to one side stood a strange contraption, built of polished brass, that held a series of smaller sand glasses, each one seemingly gauged to measure a different quantity of time. In spite of the warm night, a great fire blazed in the hearth.

All that took only a moment to absorb. Her attention veered to the opposite end of the hall, where an old man sat in a well-cushioned chair, surrounded by three women. Even without being told, Ilse knew who they were: Duke Kosenmark and his three dangerous daughters. She wished she could request a more private interview, knew she could not. She advanced toward the chair where Raul Kosenmark’s father sat.

A few feet away, she paused. The old man studied her closely, a strange searching expression on his face. The sisters stared even more keenly. They were of various heights, but she could see the similarity between them and Raul. The fair golden coloring, made fairer by their black hair, so thick and straight. The sweep of flattened cheeks, the bright eyes in all shades of brown, and an air of wildness, barely contained. One smiled and nodded, as if to encourage her. Another studied her, frowning, her full lips set into a straight line. The third swept her gaze over Ilse, then immediately glanced back over one shoulder. Only then did Ilse notice the fourth woman concealed in the shadows—someone sleek and lithe and brown. Someone she had believed indifferent to politics, or the machinations of Duenne’s politics.

Nadine?

Later she might ask how the courtesan had arrived in the duke’s household. For now she had other concerns. She closed the last few steps and knelt before Raul’s father. The old man leaned forward and held out his hands. On impulse, Ilse gathered his within hers. Unlike her grandmother’s, these were strong hands, roughened with calluses from sword work. She lifted her gaze to his and saw he was smiling.

“I have long wished to meet you,” he said.

“So have we all,” said one of the daughters. “At last, our foolish brother chose someone with sense. And,” she added, “a very nice sword. My name is Heloïse.”

The rest gave their names rapidly. Marte, tall and slim and with eyebrows arcing over a strong face drawn in uncompromising angles; Olivia, a smaller, rounder version of the same. According to her older sisters, Olivia resembled their brother Johan, who had remained in Valentain to oversee the estate, along with their mother.

Terrible creatures, all of them, Ilse thought, with their laughter and smiles edged with sharp wit. She no longer wondered why Raul had absented himself from his home in Valentain. He and they were much alike, shielding their hearts beneath masks. It would be too painful, living with reflections of himself.

The essence of her thoughts must have appeared on her face, because Marte’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “We are not always so horrible.”

“Oh, no,” Olivia added with an innocent air. “Most times we are much worse.”

Only Heloïse said nothing more, but her silent laughter was eloquent enough. Behind her, Nadine rolled her eyes.

Ilse shook her head, unable to join in their amusement. She withdrew her hands from the duke’s and stood. “Your Grace, I have a letter for the king. Its contents might prove your son’s innocence.”

“But you are not certain,” the duke said.

“No.” Her gaze flicked toward the daughters, then back to Raul’s father. “Your Grace, the matter concerns peace between the kingdoms. If winning that peace means your son dies…” She closed her eyes a moment, recovered the tattered remnants of her determination, and forged ahead. “If he dies for peace, if I do, it is a price well paid. We might fail, but we must make the attempt—for Veraene’s sake.”

A long silence followed. It was as though her pulse had stilled and the air were banished to another plane.

“I begin to see why he loves you,” the duke breathed. “May I see the letter?”

Wordlessly, she took the letter from her shirt and handed it to Duke Kosenmark. For months, she had kept the letter itself hidden, but now, in Duenne, she knew she needed witnesses as well as allies.

The duke unfolded the paper and read through its contents. She measured his progress by the flicker of his eyes. He read it through a second time before he handed the letter back to Ilse. “A true victory for all our kingdoms. I can see that. Well, then. You must speak with the king. I can arrange a private interview…”

“Excuse me,” Ilse said. “You misunderstand me. There can be no more secrets. I must speak at your son’s trial. Can you arrange that?”

Silence followed that pronouncement. All four Kosenmarks stared at her. Then it was Marte who laughed out loud, Olivia who covered her face, as though to contain her own hilarity, and Heloïse who held out both hands to Ilse. “I am glad my brother loves you. I am glad you love Veraene. Father,” she said sharply, “stop with the examination. She knows better than all of us, including Raul.”

“Thank you for the recommendation,” Ilse said drily.

Her words brought a flush to Heloïse’s face. Olivia’s dark eyes narrowed, all amusement gone. Marte, however, continued to smile warmly. “We are impossible. We know it. Which is no excuse, only an explanation. Please. Do not give up on us so

quickly.”

“No, do not,” Nadine said softly.

It was the first time she had spoken.