That was a clue. He would understand it later—if there was a later.
Meanwhile, Kosenmark was speaking in a soft, quick voice. “I did not guess right away. Your résumé and letters of recommendation proved well constructed, and the further inquiries I sent for confirmation were answered just as one might expect. You must have associates, yes?”
Gerek glanced up and away from that bright, intent gaze. He pressed his lips together.
Kosenmark leaned over the desk until his face was only a few inches away. This close, Gerek could see fine lines radiating from the man’s eyes. Caught the aroma of horse and sweat and leather. The scent of the man himself. He felt a tightening in his groin, in spite of the terror yammering inside his skull. Perhaps he had more in common with Dedrick than he’d thought.
“Do you work for Lord Markus Khandarr?” Kosenmark said.
“No,” Gerek said shortly.
“The king?”
“No.” And then, before he thought better, he added, “Do you?”
He regretted the words at once. Kosenmark made a sound, a growl deep in his throat. “You think I’m a traitor?”
What else should I believe? But he could not say that. Not when this man could summon a dozen guards. How easily could they dispose of his body? Far too easily, he decided. Dedrick had talked about the fortified household, the men and women chosen for their loyalty. Gerek had assumed the measures were a defense against robbers, not a private army, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“You are thinking too hard,” Kosenmark said. “Truth requires but a moment…”
“Except in the face of deception,” Gerek replied.
And to his surprise, he caught a smile of recognition on Kosenmark’s face. The book of poetry, of course. But then he remembered the slip of paper inside. Any quote from Tanja Duhr would surely call Ilse Zhalina to mind.
Do not mention her name, Mistress Denk had warned him.
He loves her beyond reason, Dedrick had said.
Meanwhile, Kosenmark’s smile had faded, and he studied Gerek with a new intensity, as though looking beyond the mask of flesh and into Gerek’s hidden thoughts. There was no sign of amusement, nor mockery, in that handsome face.
“You think I am a traitor?” he repeated. “Is that what Dedrick told you?”
At the mention of Dedrick’s name, Gerek started. “Who told—”
“No one told me. Not outright. Your papers were very good. But you have a slight resemblance to Dedrick, and though Dedrick was no scholar, you both shared certain turns of phrase. Baron Maszuryn was another member of the riding party today, and a few questions told me who you were. So I ask a third time, do you believe I am a traitor to the kingdom? No, a better one. Why did you come here?”
No more lies. No more subterfuge. I cannot stand it.
“I came for the truth,” he said.
“Ah. That.” Kosenmark exhaled and closed his eyes. “Truth is a chancy thing, soft and dangerous, armed with sudden sharp edges.”
He straightened up and turned around. Clasped his hands behind his back in a knot. Bookcases and tapestries lined the opposite wall, but Gerek could tell Kosenmark saw nothing of these, only some vision within.
“I killed him,” Kosenmark said quietly.
Gerek stilled the quiver in his throat.
“Oh, I did not draw the knife myself,” Kosenmark went on. “He came to me several months after we broke off. Offered to observe matters at Duenne’s Court and send those observations to me, by whatever means I thought wise. Though he didn’t admit it, I knew he wanted to revive our friendship. For that reason alone, I nearly refused. But Dedrick was right. I did need a friend at court—a secret one. I told myself that Markus Khandarr would not suspect Dedrick after our very public break. Deception,” he murmured, half to himself. “It was easier to deceive myself than admit I sent Dedrick into danger I dared not face.”
There was a pause. Then, “Do you know how he died?” Kosenmark said. “Did they tell you that much?”
If Gerek had not believed the room empty of air before, he did now. “Only what the king’s letter said, my lord.”
“Do you believe it?”
The official letter from court stated that Lord Dedrick Maszuryn died from a fall while riding in the hills north of Duenne. His companions had reported that he’d been unable to control his mount—a stallion that Dedrick had insisted on buying in spite of its wild character. The horse had been destroyed the same day. Dedrick’s ashes had been