Khandarr said. “That will make our interview easier. Lord Kosenmark tells me you’ve broken off all connection with him.”
A lie. Raul would tell this man nothing. With an ease that she did not feel, Ilse turned toward the sideboard and indicated the waiting carafes. “Would my lord care for wine? Or I might send for coffee.”
Khandarr smiled faintly. “No, thank you. A few answers are all that I require. Tell me what you remember about the Károvín ships—the ones that foundered offshore last month. What did you see that day?”
“Nothing,” she said. Too quickly, because Khandarr’s smile deepened.
“Nothing at all?” he said.
She made a show of considering her answer this time. “Nothing, my lord. You might know that Captain Spenglar allows me to drill with his wing. That day I came late, so I was outside the yard when the alarm bells rang. The wings and files marched out. I waited until they passed, then returned here to my work.”
“You were not curious?”
“Very curious. And frightened. There were rumors of pirates, you see.”
“But they were not pirates.”
“No, my lord. They were not. I learned that later.”
Khandarr regarded her for several moments. It was hard to read his expression—he’d placed himself between her and the window, and shadows covered his face—but she had the distinct impression of strong emotions running just beneath the surface. Disappointment. Fury. A mixture of the two. She wished she knew more about current doings in the royal court.
“Tell me what magic you know,” Khandarr said.
Ilse suppressed a flinch. “I know very little magic, my lord.”
“False,” Khandarr whispered. “Your first mistake.”
“But my lord—”
“Shut up, you miserable girl. You know magic. Kosenmark taught you. Your own books betray you.” He dropped the papers onto her desk and curled his fingers into a fist. The magic current stirred, drawing her skin tight. “I’m glad to see you have not forgotten me,” he said. “Consider what you know. What Kosenmark told you. How Lord Dedrick died. Because tomorrow we shall talk again.”
He brushed past her on his way out the door. Ilse held still. She counted to ten after the door closed, then moved swiftly to the sideboard and poured herself a generous cup of wine.
He came to interrogate the Károvín prisoners, of course. That was the meat of Nicol Joannis’s warning. She had misunderstood him. She had expected the king to send a military officer. The incident was a military matter, after all. But it was the short interval since that warning that frightened her the most. Only a month had passed since the governor sent word to Duenne. How many horses had Lord Khandarr and the courier killed between them?
Her thoughts veered back to her other encounters with Markus Khandarr, the reports from trusted agents, even Lord Iani’s own account of Dedrick’s death.
Khandarr raised a hand. Ilse’s skin pulled tight across her forehead. Her throat clamped shut, and her vision went dark …
… he shouted and the air turned bright and heavy. Then came a wind. Then a burst of fire. Then I saw the soldiers along the perimeter wall burning, burning, and yet they did not die …
… Khandarr was furious, Iani told them. He called up magic so thick that I could hardly breathe. Dedrick fought hard against it. Gods, I thought his throat would burst. And then … And then it did.…
Her stomach heaved at the memories.
I should have sent word to Raul myself, she thought. Alesso might have helped, if she offered him enough money.
What if. Might have. Ought to.
All those second guesses were worthless.
She heard a soft scratching at her door. Ghita the cook? One of the runners? Her pulse gave a start when she heard Alesso’s voice instead. Interesting that he would be awake at this hour. Except that true spies never slept.
She drank off the wine and went into her bedroom.
The signs of Lord Khandarr’s search were few but telling—the bed quilt rumpled, her bookcase with several volumes pulled out, one trunk with its lid propped open, the scent and texture of his magical signature heavy in the air. He had not rifled through all her books, however. The books of poetry and history remained as she had left them. She removed one thick volume of Tanja Duhr’s poetry and let her breath trickle out in relief.
He had not discovered her most secret weapon, then.
Ilse took out the scroll from its hiding place. It had come from Lord Iani, from her last few months in Tiralien. He had not liked her