Queen's Hunt Part 23

I want your eyes there. I want you looking over the portraits and statues, the stables and fields. Capek is shrewd and Sergej Ba.s.sar is capable, but I need a friend and brother to oversee my home, once our home together.

Stilted. Awkward. Not at all how they spoke in private, but this letter was a public one, so he continued in the same formal style: "If your own duties and obligations permit, I have a very great favor to ask of you. Vasche Capek himself can run Taboresk with little direction-and I have already sent him instructions for the next month-but my heart would rest easier if you could arrange a visit..."

His brush moved easily through the glib phrases. In his thoughts, however, he wrote a different letter, worded as though he were alone with Ryba in Taboresk. I am afraid, he wrote in that invisible letter. For myself, and for the king. I fear the threat to our honor-his and mine. I am a soldier, as he reminded me. I deal in spilled blood and battle cries, in the broken bodies of our enemies, those who face death bravely, and those who weep in panic, even with a new life awaiting them across the rift.

He paused and looked out the window. The sky had turned a luminous blue, vivid against the pale stonework of the castle. It reminded him strongly of his dream. Not a life dream, he told himself. Nevertheless, the image of those empty silent forests troubled him. It was like a sending from the G.o.ds, reminding him that he faced death on this mission.

He stared down at the half-written letter, seeing instead Dzavek's face etched with lines. He remembered the king's soft voice, explaining that he could not leave the kingdom unprotected against Veraene's growing desire for war and a return to the empire. He would sacrifice his honor to protect it. He would willingly sacrifice his brother's kingdom. This was no new turn in his character, Miro thought. The clues had been obvious for centuries, if one examined the records. His father had done so, but no one else, it seemed. Why?

It is because we died and thus forgot. Our king, however, lives on.

He had lived on, gaining strength and youth from Lir's jewels. Later, the jewels gone, Leos Dzavek had continued to extend his life, using the magical knowledge acquired during that first century. He drew the years with a sure hand, like a smith would draw a thread of forge-heated gold, long past all expectation.

But no man can live forever. Not even Toc could deny death. And he knows it, Ryba. I see the terror in his face, when he holds Lir's ruby in his hands. He knows that even with the jewels, he will die someday.

A thought he could not share, even with his cousin, even in a letter never written.

A shadow fell across Miro's desk. The sun had risen higher in the sky. He would need to go soon before the next bell rang. Taking up his brush, Miro continued his dual letter. As he wrote of Taboresk's ordinary concerns, his second letter continued his thoughts about Dzavek's intentions.

We forget, you and I, that Leos Dzavek, for all his achievements, is a man with faults and flaws like any other. He nurtures a bitter hatred toward Morenniou's queen-the woman who was once a man, once his brother. They trusted each other. They betrayed each other-several times over, if the histories are true. And because they did, Leos Dzavek would fas.h.i.+on me into a blunt tool, just as he did with Anastazia Vaek. He would b.l.o.o.d.y me, wipe me clean with a rag, and cast me to one side. I fear I will never be able to eradicate the stain.

Miro pressed both hands against his eyes. I swore an oath to Leos Dzavek and Karovi. I swore another to my father as his heir.

He thought of his father, whose conversations remained guarded, even in private interviews with his own son. Alexej Karasek had served Dzavek for a lifetime. He'd spoken of the king's insight in council, of his farsighted plans for Karovi, both within the kingdom and in the greater world. Honor and glory and strength, his father had said. He wants a gift for the future. And yet his father had also spoken of doubts.

Miro sighed and read through the half-finished letter. There was little to add, except a postscript inviting his cousin for the hunting season next autumn. He folded the paper, sealed it with wax, and wrote the address on the cover. That he used no magic would signal to Ryba that the contents were public. And since Ryba knew Miro as well as any brother, he would know to read between the written lines, to the invisible letter Miro had composed in thoughts alone.

It would be safer if he could not.

He summoned a runner and handed her all three letters. "Letters to Taboresk and Vysokna," he said. "Deliver the first two into my steward's hands, the third to my cousin, Baron Ryba Karasek. Use the fastest courier you have."

The letters dispatched, Miro turned to the one remaining trunk of clothing. He removed his fine woolen trousers, the silk s.h.i.+rt, and the loose tunic with its satin trim and embroidered sash. In their place, he donned the knitted unders.h.i.+rt, the tunic of fine-linked mail, the gloves fas.h.i.+oned of the same material. It was appropriate. If he was the king's chosen weapon, he would look and dress the part.

I will make Valara Baussay my prisoner. By sword or magic.

Anything less would be treason.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE HOURGLa.s.s SPUN over. As its sands flowed through to the empty gla.s.s, Gerek heard the bells from the nearby tower counting the hour. Three, four, five. Late afternoon.

He stretched his arms and shoulders, then addressed himself to the papers on his desk once more. Water casks. Those were like barrels, he guessed. He had not expected barrels to cost so much. Three had sprung leaks during the last voyage, and the captain spoke in strong language about the necessity for replacing them before the new owner undertook any extended voyage.

But how long a voyage? And where?

Not that Gerek knew. He cursed softly. How pleasant to solve an equation with so many unknown factors, especially if you did not have to solve it yourself. Oh yes, he appreciated the elegance of mathematical theory-he had known a number of mathematicians at the Little University during his previous stay in Tiralien-but his appreciation was like an appreciation for cashews, or modern sculpture, or weapons drill at sunrise. Others might adore such things. He did not.

He wrote a note, authorizing the purchase of three new water casks, then moved on to the next item in the captain's list. Provisions. Specifically, barrels of salt pork. A dull pain settled below his ribs. He had not eaten properly in several days, and the thought of salt pork gave him indigestion.

Many times in the past three weeks, he had wondered why he remained in Lord Kosenmark's service. It wasn't the money. He might be the younger son of an unimportant lord, but he had an independent sum, enough to live on simply without his father, or his brother, or this irritating son of a duke, who gave him orders with such airy a.s.surance.

No, he knew the answer. He remained here for Dedrick's sake. Because Kosenmark had offered him trust, as no one else had.

Then why do I want to bash him with an ax?

A question others undoubtedly had asked before.

Hiring a s.h.i.+p should not have proved so difficult in Tiralien. Hundreds of merchants s.h.i.+pped their goods through this port. The royal fleet had their own dock for refitting and repairs. Then there were the privateers, the pirates and smugglers (operating under the guise of ordinary business), the smaller packets that plied the coastal trade, the courier s.h.i.+ps taking messages to Osterling, Klee, Pommersien, and beyond. With all this wealth of seagoing traffic, Gerek expected to find at least one s.h.i.+p fit for deep-water sailing.

No, finding a s.h.i.+p to hire was not difficult. What made the matter complicated was Kosenmark's need for secrecy. Do not link my name to this s.h.i.+p, the man had said, more than once, in the hours before he rode off to find Ilse Zhalina. Markus Khandarr will have set a watch on this city and this house.

So Gerek worked through a chain of several agents. Within a week, he had located a vessel that matched Kosenmark's needs-a s.h.i.+p built for deep-water sailing, with only minor repairs needed. His heart thumped, remembering the terrifying moment when he signed the paperwork, authorizing payment of six thousand denier to the old owner, also the captain. At least the s.h.i.+p came with its own crew.

Back to provisions. The captain recommended salted fish, which he could obtain for a good price from certain suppliers. Gerek signed the request, glanced at a second stack of papers. He had spent the past three days buried in paperwork for licenses, bills for provisions, more bills to finish the s.h.i.+p's repairs, the hire of new men to replace those who had left when the s.h.i.+p changed owners, and a mountain of other minutiae.

A rapping at his door interrupted him. "Maester Hessler? You have visitors."

It was one of the house runners, with news that two of Kosenmark's guards had arrived from distant parts. Immediately all Gerek's weariness dropped away. "Send them to me at once."

He gathered his papers into an untidy stack and brushed away the crumbs from his last hasty snack. Just in time, because the runner returned within moments with a woman and man. Katje and Theo, he recalled. Both of them trusted guards of several years' service. He waved for them to be seated, but Katje laid two envelopes on his desk with some ceremony before she took a chair.

Gerek regarded the envelopes with caution. Two messages. Both sealed with magic. He took up the one addressed to The Captain and hissed with surprise. Layers upon layers of complicated spells protected it. He recalled his earlier studies of the man, how Dedrick spoke of Kosenmark's skill with locks and other spells used by couriers to ensure that spies could not intercept their messages.

The second one was wrapped in the usual, ordinary spell set to Gerek Hessler's touch. He brushed his fingers over the edge of the paper, and the letter folded. His personal instructions, then.

"Wait," he told the two guards. "Let me know what our lord wishes."

The first part contained a summary of what they had discussed before. s.h.i.+p. Six-month voyage. Possibly longer. But then Kosenmark went on to say that its first destination was ... Here came a particular longitude and lat.i.tude that meant nothing to Gerek, followed by two names that were distinctly Karovin.

Gerek stopped and reread the location. Tu on Osek. Osek was an island settled by Karovi and much disputed during the civil wars, if he recalled his history. Tu must be a village on the coast. Very odd, he thought, but then, trust was not an absolute. Kosenmark trusted Gerek enough to handle the s.h.i.+p and the money. If he wanted to keep certain details a secret, it was his privilege.

The rest of the instructions were clear enough. Send two senior guards from the household to join the crew. They would need some experience with s.h.i.+ps. Equally important, they must have at least two years in Kosenmark's service. Besides observing any suspicious activities, their most important task was to deliver the second letter to the captain with a message.

Tell him to read the instructions only after he has left port. And he must read them alone, in his cabin, from beginning to end, without omitting anything.

There were more instructions about their guest from Fortezzien and for providing money and horses to the two guards. The letter ended abruptly, without a signature or even an initial. Gerek stared at the page, though his mind was on the writer and not the contents. For all the painstaking detail, there were deliberate gaps in the information. He does not trust me, Gerek thought. And then, No, that is not true. He trusts me, but not the situation.

"So," he said softly. "Do you require mounts this afternoon?"

He had expected them to say no, but Katje immediately smiled. "That would be best."

Which means the matter is urgent. And he told them, but not me.

Gerek suppressed his frustration and smiled. Not very convincingly, because Theo flinched. "Let me arrange everything," Gerek said. "Go to the common room and tell the maids to serve you an early supper. I should have money and horses for you within a few hours."

Alone once more, in the quiet of his office, Gerek rested his head in his hands. He had accomplished much in the past three weeks. He had danced the great dance of secrets. And yet ... he wanted nothing more than to hide in a quiet room, well away from this pleasure house and Lord Kosenmark's intrigues. To forget all about s.h.i.+ps and provisions and which men and women he could trust.

I want- I need a day of peace.

If he were to admit the truth, he wanted to sit with Kathe on that bench overlooking the harbor and listen to her so-called babbling. She was clever and kind and true. In her presence, he had a sense of competence, of completeness.

Kathe had not spoken to him in the ten days since Kosenmark departed. He knew she received the book-Hanne had told him about the episode in the kitchen. How the kitchen girls watched, whispering, as the runner handed over the gift. Kathe had thanked the runner, of course, and she smiled at Janna's teasing, but she had said nothing. Not to Hanne or the other girls. Nor to Gerek himself.

He scribbled out the orders for money for Katje, Theo, and the Fortezzien man. Then he sent a runner to the stables for two fresh mounts, with tack, gear, and fresh provisions. Another runner went off to the agent, alerting him that two new crew members would join the s.h.i.+p's company, and here was a letter written and sealed to confirm the order. It was a risk, this direct contact between Gerek and the captain, but he could not risk the delay with the usual channels.

Mistress Denk sent back three notes of hand to the bearer, each for the requested amount, each drawn from a different anonymous account. Gerek recorded the transactions and forwarded the notes to their proper recipients. Thereafter he deposited the true records in his magically sealed letter box and, as part of the usual fiction, wrote a new set of receipts for rare books in the official ledger. If anyone examined the records for this household, he thought, they would spend a hundred years untangling the truth.

He trudged down to the guards' quarters and the office Ivva.n.u.s Bek held during Detlef Stadler's absence. Bek was buried in his own paperwork, but he at once cleared off his desk and made himself available to Maester Hessler. Two guards with s.h.i.+p experience? He would suggest Ralf and Udo. Both had served Lord Kosenmark seven years, both had the requisite skills. Gerek gave directions to reach the s.h.i.+p and handed over the letter for the captain.

One more transaction, and then he would be free for the night. He took a roundabout path from the guards' quarters, to the far side of the house, and up the stairs to the second floor. His own sense of time said it had to be late at night, but the golden sunlight of late afternoon pouring through the windows gave him the lie. He rounded the first landing and paused to catch his breath. From far off, he heard voices raised in cheerful conversation. Closer by, in one of the private rooms, he heard the sudden cry of pleasure, followed by the whispered words "slower, softer, yes."

Gerek drew a painful breath and continued up the stairs. Usually he was spared such scenes until much later, but sometimes clients requested early visits. s.e.x and more s.e.x until we are sated, he thought miserably. Until we hardly notice its delights.

His path took him along a gallery that overlooked the common room. He paused and looked down below. Half a dozen chambermaids were at work, brus.h.i.+ng and dusting and sweeping. Several courtesans occupied the couches, while Eduard played at the hammerstrings-his fingers running over the keys in a soft and melancholy tune.

They were all beautiful. All of them trained to pleasure. For a moment, he wondered what it might be like, to be a client of this house, to have a man or woman exert themselves to give him delight. His stomach pinched tight at the thought. No and no. He wanted love, not just pa.s.sion of the body, he wanted it freely given.

A door below swung open and a woman entered, carrying a tray of wine cups. She bent over to set the tray before the women playing cards. Gerek didn't need to see her face to recognize Kathe. He knew how she walked, how she swept a hand over a surface, as if to banish dirt and ugliness. As if, he thought, she could order the world into beauty with a gesture.

I love her.

THE NEXT DAY dawned early and dull, and imminent with rain. Gerek crouched over his desk, wished Lord Kosenmark and all his minions to the darkest corner of the void. He ought to be pleased, he told himself. Katje and Theo had departed with their horses, money, and provisions. Ralf and Udo had set off directly for the s.h.i.+p with the captain's instructions. He had even remembered to arrange a special signal with the captain, apart from the agent, in case of any emergency.

I should dance with joy, and yet I cannot.

He knew why and did not like to think about it.

Scowling, he buried himself in paperwork. At some point, Hanne came with his noon meal tray. He nibbled at the bread and drank down his coffee. The grilled fish he set aside for one of the house cats, a recent innovation by Nadine. Report came back from Ralf at noon, saying they were signed on with the crew. Another report, from the captain this time, confirmed that the s.h.i.+p's victualing was nearly complete. If all went well, the s.h.i.+p could sail in another day.

A loud knock at the door startled him. Gerek hastily covered the s.h.i.+p's paperwork with some blank sheets of paper. "Come in."

He had hoped it would be Kathe. He expected a runner, or one of the kitchen girls to fetch away his tray. Instead the door opened on Nadine.

She wore her finest courtesan's costume-a silk gown of dark apricot that flowed like a waterfall over her slim body. Her dark hair swept back from her narrow face and made a second shadow waterfall, which hung over her bare shoulder.

Nadine remained at the door. Her expression was one of curiosity and faint impatience.

"Yes," he said at last.

She arched one delicate eyebrow. "I came," she said softly, "because I am a friend. Also, one day I would like to turn messenger for idiots and fools. I have so much practice in this household. Do not stare so blankly," she went on, "or I shall be moved to violence. The message is not from another. It comes from you, Maester Gerek Hessler. Or rather, it should."

Gerek swallowed to calm his throat muscles. "Who-"

"That would spoil the surprise," Nadine said. "Go to the spider room this instant. Never mind about those papers on your desk. Go. Give your message. You will understand once you have."

She gave a magnificent flourish with one hand-the gesture clearly meant as mockery-and dropped into deep bow. Before Gerek could react, Nadine withdrew from his office with a dancer's grace.

Gerek stared at the closed door. It had to be a prank. What else? Nadine and Eduard were famous for them. But until today, they had ignored Gerek. He had supposed, at first, that his position safeguarded him, but conversations with Kathe soon corrected that belief. Nadine teased and tormented everyone, from Mistress Denk and Mistress Raendl to the newest stable boys, without regard for rank. She had teased Ilse Zhalina and Maester Hax in their days, too. So then he had a.s.sumed she found him too ordinary to bother with. Was this sudden change a part of the strange mood infesting the house?

Or was it something else?

Cursing himself for a fool, he put aside his papers. He checked all the locked boxes and set the bolts and spells on his office. If they wanted to make him into a fool, he was used to that, but he would not neglect Lord Kosenmark's orders about discretion, even inside the pleasure house.

The spider room was on the second floor in the east wing. He had pa.s.sed by its door several times, but had never ventured inside. It was a luxurious room-almost too luxurious. Kosenmark once called it his finest extravagance. Courtesans used the room for special clients. Gerek hurried down the stairs. He noted no one waiting about as if watching for him. He crossed over to the east wing, which was equally empty in the early afternoon.

Pulsing thrumming in his ears, he entered the spider room.

A web of lace fluttered at his entrance. He started, thinking at first someone else had disturbed those hangings. But the lace floated downward into stillness, and the scent of rose petals whirled around him in the empty room.

Gerek released a long breath. I should be used to this. My sisters. My cousins.

Behind him sounded a flight of quick light footsteps on the tile floor. He spun around to see the door flung open and Kathe hurrying into the room. At the sight of him, she checked herself. "Nadine said a messenger came for me."

Gerek opened his mouth, but his tongue refused to work. Kathe turned to go. With an effort, he pressed down the trembling in his throat. "Kathe. Please."

She paused, her face turned away from his, only the outline of her cheek, and the clear tense line of her jaw visible in the lamplight. Nadine was right, he thought. He had only one chance to deliver this message. And quickly.

"I- It's about the book," he managed to say.

Her mouth curved into a pensive smile. "Yes, thank you. It was a thoughtful gift."

It was more than a gift, he wanted to say. It was a curiosity, a moment of pleasure, a thank-you for the kindness she had shown him. It was all the words he could not, dared not utter out loud. Ah, but he had to speak-now. If he did not, she would vanish into the kitchen. And he would never have such a chance again.

"I-I lied to you," he said.

Kathe spun around. "You lied?"

Those were not the words he meant to say, but having said them, he realized they were the truth. He gulped down a breath and prayed to Lir to keep his tongue under control. "Yes. My name. My n-name is Gerek Haszler. Dedrick Maszuryn was my cousin."

The dark flush along her cheeks faded. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Lord Dedrick. He was your cousin?"

He could not tell if that were a good or a bad thing. He stumbled on, keeping to the truth. It was all he had to offer now. "Yes. He was. I-I came because. Because he ... died."

Murdered. Executed by the king's order, or at least with his consent. From the twitch of Kathe's lips, she knew the truth behind Dedrick's death, too. "Does Lord Kosenmark know this?" she said. "He does," she went on, before he could answer. "That is what happened that day. When he told us all he meant to stay at Lord Demeyer's country estates. Then he came back for no reason at all. The day you and he talked until almost morning." Then her gaze veered up to his. "You are Lord Gerek, aren't you?"

He did not trust that anxious tone in her voice. "Yes. But it-it doesn't matter. I-" Hurry. Before my tongue fails me. Before she turns away. "I wish you would consider me, Kathe. I-I am n-not rich. I am a plain man. Very plain. But I- I would be true."

A long silence followed. Kathe stood motionless, her gaze carefully averted from his. Gerek could not breathe. He wished he could see her face, her eyes. He wanted to say more, but the wisest part of him knew he'd said everything that was important. His heart paused, it seemed, waiting for her answer.

"I must go," she said softly.