chapter SEVEN
ILSE WOKE HOURS past the usual time.
She lurched upright in her bed, panicked. She had missed drill practice. Spenglar would not tolerate idleness. She’d heard him lecture the junior soldiers often enough.
Bellsong vibrated through the air, a loud ugly clanging. She clapped her hands over her ears. A sour taste coated her mouth, and her head felt stuffed with dust and cobwebs. Eight, nine bells. Not as late as she feared, but too late for weapons drill. She wondered why no one had awakened her before. Usually Alesso—
Alesso Valturri. He was a spy. And she had kissed him.
What have I done?
She groaned, sick at the unwanted memory. Oh, there were any number of excuses she might give—the sleepless nights, the anxiety of the moment, the wine and drugs. He had used magic, too. As if that mattered. She had kissed him willingly. That was the truth.
And from that single day, all has changed, Tanja Duhr had written. One word spoken, one suppressed. One hand clasped, let go. And so the future spins away from us, transformed. Though all we possess remains the same, we gaze upon each thing with different eyes.
Ilse rubbed her aching head until the throbbing stopped, and the bellsong faded. Her stomach felt queasy, but not from the wine or the late hours. Regret, she thought. Even that was too simplistic an answer.
She threw off her covers and stumbled into the next room. It looked so ordinary in the daylight. No mysterious notes tucked beneath her water jug. Her writing desk appeared just as she’d left it when Galena had come to her door. A thin film of dust covered her desk, blown in from the open shutters. Ordinary, yes. And yet, she had the sense of stepping into a false world, painted with shadows and not substance.
Ilse rang for a maid to bring her a fresh water jug and a breakfast tray. By the time she returned from the baths, the maids appeared with her water and breakfast. There was the freshly grilled sunfish, as well as the bread, olive oil, and soft white cheese. One of the girls sent her a sidelong glance as they set out the dishes and cups.
She knew that kind of look. They’ve heard rumors. Someone saw Alesso half-drag me to my room. Someone else knows I went out late last night.
The bread and coffee went down more easily than she thought, and soon the last traces of the drug and the long night vanished. She dressed in a clean gown. Her hair she bound back in a loose braid. Her eyes were like dark smudges, but her appearance would do well enough. They might suspect her of a dalliance, but nothing more.
After several false starts, she settled into her ordinary routine.
She sorted through her notes for the house’s expenses. Reports had arrived from the capital about new taxes and fees, which she incorporated in the file. Soon after that, the house agent came by with the receipts for the current month. Ilse spent the next two hours comparing them against the estimated income from the previous year. She usually found these tasks soothing and absorbing, but today she could not concentrate. All the breezes had died. Her rooms were entirely too still and hot. With nothing else to distract her, Ilse’s attention wavered between the rows of numbers and the previous day’s events.
If only she could pretend yesterday had never happened.
Oh, but it did.
Finally, she set aside her papers and set off for the kitchen. No sign of Alesso. If he had changed shifts with Daria, he might still be asleep. She made a circuit of the pleasure house, starting on the top floor where the servants had their dormitories, then down and around through the bedchambers and parlors, and to the common room.
Here, the kitchen boys and girls were laying out the first refreshments. Courtesans were just appearing for the day. Ysbel lounged on a couch, dressed in a filmy gown of transparent white, under which her nipples showed a rich ruddy brown. Stefan, too, was bathed and perfumed for an early appointment. Perhaps the grain merchant had requested a private audience.
Ilse paused, wondering where to search next, when she caught a glimpse of Alesso across the room. The next moment, he disappeared into the servants’ corridor. Ilse caught up the skirts of her gown and ran after him.
She overtook him outside the kitchen doors. Alesso spun around. For one moment, she had the impression of a leopard cornered by the hunt. The look vanished, and he smiled—a warm and friendly smile that would have convinced anyone of his delight in seeing her.
You would almost convince me, Ilse thought. Except for last night.
“We must talk,” she said.
His eyes widened. “What about? The sweet spring day? About Cook’s temper if I dally with you? I fear that I cannot risk—”
“Stop it,” Ilse said in a low voice. “You know exactly what I mean. We must talk. Unless you wish me to tell Mistress Andeliess how you drugged me last night. The choice is yours.”
The light in the corridor was dim. On the other side of the kitchen doors, Ilse heard the rising activity of kitchen workers as they prepared refreshments for Mistress Andeliess’s customers, but for the moment, she and Alesso had privacy. She could not read his expression, disguised by the shifting shadows, but when she laid a hand on his arm, she felt his muscles go tense. His chin jerked up. He glanced right and left.
“Come with me,” he said.
He led her through the kitchen, already hot and noisy. Scullions were hauling in vast buckets of water from the wells, while kitchen girls and boys stood around several worktables, washing greens, chopping leeks and onions, or stirring sauces. Ghita Fiori, the chief cook, stood in one corner, shouting directions. Alesso waved in her direction, but never paused when she called to him.
Alesso led Ilse through the outer doors and into the maze of narrow lanes behind the pleasure house. They passed a series of miscellaneous shops, whose upper stories were let as single rooms. Three steps led down to a small courtyard. Several rain barrels stood against one wall. Wind-blown trash had lodged in the corners, and the walls were water-stained, giving the place a desolate air. “Here,” he said.
Ilse scanned for open windows or doors. None were visible. A second gate marked a narrow passageway between two houses, but a quick examination showed that it ended in an even smaller courtyard, entirely surrounded by houses. It was private here, more than she would have expected so close to the pleasure house and the very public squares nearby. And their meeting here would only confirm the gossip about last night’s supposed dalliance. Perhaps that was a good thing.
Meanwhile, Alesso had leaned against a wall, his arms folded. Despite his seemingly warm smile, she could tell he had slept no better than she had. Still, his expression was guarded, and seemingly alert enough that she would not find it easy to trap or trick him.
“You have questions,” he said. “Ask them.”
She started with the obvious one. “Tell me who you work for.”
“I work for Ghita the Cook.”
Ilse rolled her eyes. “Oh really. I would never have guessed. You gave me drugged wine. Why?”
“Curiosity at what you might say or do. An unrelenting desire for mischief. What do you think?”
It was a challenge. She took it.
She threw out a string of suppositions, each one more outrageous than the last. Alesso shrugged, indifferent. Ilse paced back and forth in front of him. Clearly he would not succumb to threats. She had to surprise him. She threw out a number of names, some of them true, some entirely invention, but he merely yawned. She nearly admitted her connection to Raul, but that was a trick she would have to save for a last and desperate throw.
“You have an extraordinary imagination,” Alesso said, when she paused.
“Angry,” she replied back. “I dislike being spied upon. You are someone’s minion, however sweetly you smile at me. Perhaps not Lord Khandarr’s, but what about the garrison commanders’? They might keep a watch on strangers to Osterling, especially after the past few days.”
“I would hardly work for the king’s commanders.”
Ilse swung around. “Why do you say that?”
“No reason.”
“You always have a reason,” she said softly. “You pretended friendship, kindness. I almost believed you. How foolish of me.”
His lips curled into a mocking smile. “Oh dear. How terrible of me. My heart bleeds like Brother Toc for Sister Lir. For surely you would never lie to me. That would be unforgivable between colleagues.”
Again that word colleagues. Was he one of Raul’s spies, then?
Impossible. She and Raul had agreed never to risk any contact. This had to be a ruse. Very carefully she said, “I have never lied to you.”
“Nor have you spoken the truth.” He pushed off the wall and came toward her, with the slow easy grace of a stalking leopard. “You are too much of a coward to admit the truth—that you are as much as spy as I am.”
“I am not a coward.”
He laughed, deep in his throat, and pressed onward until she retreated to the opposite wall of the courtyard. There he pinned her, a hand on either side of her throat, his face inches from hers. Heat shimmered between them. The scent of bergamot and ginger, of the possibility of more than a single kiss, hung in the air. Ilse’s pulse leaped to a faster pace. She considered a dozen tactics to disable Alesso. No doubt he would counter those tactics with his own.
“Do you work for Markus Khandarr?” she said.
“No.”
She grasped his wrist and pressed her thumb between the fine bones. His pulse beat as quick and light as hers. Even as she counted the beats, she heard his breath catch as he tried to control himself. So he was not as calm and self-possessed as he wished to appear. That pleased her. She loosened her grip and tilted her chin up. No invitation today. Her mouth was tight and angry. “Then you work for nothing and no one. A child playing games.”
“Is that what you think?”
He bent down to kiss her. Ilse swung both hands up and snapped them to either side. Before he could react, she punched her knuckles into his chest.
He gasped and stumbled backward. Good. She’d meant to hurt him. Swiftly, she sidestepped him and made for the gate. Alesso grabbed her by the wrist and swung her around. He checked her before she could twist under his arm to free herself. “Listen to me.”
“Let go.”
“I will. After you listen.” He glared down at her, his expression so grim, she hardly recognized him. “What I do and who I work for is no business of yours. But for your own sake, you should understand that not everyone is like your Lord Kosenmark. Not all games concern the Veraenen king and his court.”
With that he released her and stalked through the open gate.
Ilse stared after him, absently rubbing her wrist. No, he was no spy for Markus Khandarr—of that she felt certain. But definitely a spy. She would have to act even more carefully in front of him, in front of everyone else, from now on. She could only hope her caution did not come too late.