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,