Traitor's Masque (14 page)

Trystan felt, rather than saw, when he seated himself beside her on the moss, oblivious to the dampness that had already soaked through both her petticoats. Still he said nothing, only picked up a fallen twig and hurled it into the pool with surprising viciousness.

Astonished into looking at him at last, her eyes met his, and she saw a flash of anger in their gray depths. It was not, she was relieved to realize, directed at her.

“Damn secrecy,” he said finally. “Is there nothing I can do?”

A brief vision arose of Donevan challenging Malisse to a duel, and a feeling of humor bubbled up in spite of everything. “I’m afraid that even your most villainous scowl would be insufficient in this case,” she answered lightly, trying to brush aside his concern.

As much as Trystan longed to tell him everything, practicality still held her back. Malisse would not dare to kick her out, not even after today. With the king’s masque looming so near, she would never tempt disaster with a scandal that might destroy her hopes. A disgraced sister, even one not related by blood, would taint Anya and Darya’s own reputations. And if by some miracle one of them should manage to snare themselves a prince, Malisse would likewise be forced to keep her. Though she was loathe to admit it, Trystan knew that however desperate her circumstances under Malisse’s thumb, they would be far worse elsewhere.

There was hope, at least for a time, until the prince married.

She glanced over at Donevan, trying to assess the effect of her words and was dismayed to see that his intensity had not wavered.

“Even if there was anything to be done, I could not ask it of you,” she continued with a weary wave of her hand. “You have your own burdens, and no need of mine.”

Donevan caught the waving hand, which she had forgotten was still clutched tightly around her tiny horse. “It’s mine, I swear,” she said, feeling an irrational stab of worry when he did not let go, fearing that he might think she had stolen such a precious thing. “It was a gift.” She unclenched her hand, and his strong, warm fingers wrapped gently around hers as they unfolded to reveal her treasure. The horse lay in her palm, warmed now by her skin, still proud and inscrutable, given depth by the shadows.

Donevan’s eyes widened a fraction as he gazed at the horse, turned it over, and rubbed a careful thumb across its smooth surface. “It’s a chatoyant. A cat’s eye,” he told her. Curious now, Trystan laid it in Donevan’s palm for closer inspection. “This one appears to be a talisman, carved as a symbol of a child’s dedication to a particular task, or path.”

Trystan had been well educated, but this was new to her. “Where did it come from?” she asked, if only to distract him from his anger. Much as it warmed her, she feared the scrutiny that accompanied it.

“There is a country north and east of Andar,” he continued, still running his fingers over the smooth arched neck of the horse. “Erath. They are small, like us, and isolated, like us, and do not readily accept outsiders. The Erathi believe that everyone is called to some particular gift. They also believe that these gifts are, well, magic.”

Fascinated in spite of herself, Trystan hoped he would tell her more, wondering anew how her friends had come to possess the horse, and what might have motivated them to give it to her. “Is it true? About the magic? And have you seen it?”

“I don’t know,” Donevan admitted. “I have never seen evidence of magic, only know that they believe in it. In truth I’d never seen one of these myself, only the drawings of travelers who claimed to have visited Erath, before…” He trailed off, sadness mingling with curiosity in his expression.

“Before?”

He handed the horse back to her, obviously unwilling to answer.

“They’re gone,” he said finally. “At least most of them. We aren’t sure exactly when, but near twenty-five years ago, Erath was overrun by Caelan, and they have enslaved most of the Erathi people. According to the information we have, the Caelani take their talismans and destroy them.” He gestured at the horse in her hand. “This one gives me hope that perhaps a few Erathi escaped with their lives and remain free. The talismans are considered symbols of a person’s magic, of their heritage, and they rarely give them up, especially to outsiders.”

Trystan was momentarily without words. Where had Andrei and Alexei come by such a thing? Unless they were Erathi themselves. They had always been uncannily good with horses, though Trystan had never seen anything she would have cared to call magic.

“I have read,” Donevan added, “that they might be surrendered as a token of pledge, either of fealty or betrothal, but that is little more than rumor.” He hesitated. “You said it was a gift?”

Shocked and strangely uncomfortable, Trystan was unsure how to answer. If what Donevan said was true, why would her friends do such a thing? Offer such a gesture to her, who might never understand the significance of their sacrifice?“Yes,” she said finally. “From a friend.” She wanted to explain, and yet she didn’t. Probably couldn’t.

“Whoever gave you that gift cares for you.” Donevan’s tone seemed strangely reluctant. “Believes in you. Probably,” he continued gently, “would be grieved to see you in so much pain.”

Tears sprang into Trystan’s eyes without warning. “I cannot think why.” Her voice betrayed her with a quaver. “I have brought them nothing but ruin and grief. It seems everyone I care about must suffer for my mistakes and I am powerless to change it.”

Prince Ramsey was experiencing quite a number of unexpected emotions. He had ridden out, daring to hope that Embrie had understood his hint and would meet him this Firstday morning. When she had not appeared at the wall, he had ridden to the pool, admitting the foolishness of his optimism, but unwilling to relinquish it.

At the sight of Theron, his heart had given a strange leap, and then fallen almost as abruptly when he noticed that the gray gelding was lathered and without saddle. The worst of his misgivings had been realized when he found a miserable, shivering Embrie by the pool.

Absurdly disappointed by her surprise at his appearance, he had offered what comfort he could, despite his own growing anger at her situation. Though she was clearly still unwilling to reveal the truth, her fear and distress were obvious. And then, he had been surprised by jealousy when she showed him the talisman. A gift that spoke of deep affection and loyalty. The sort of gift a man might give to a woman he intended to marry.

There was, of course, no indication it had come from a man. And, Ramsey did his best to rationalize, if there was a man in her life who cared so much for her, why was she out here crying and shaking with cold in the middle of the wood?

A rush of shame followed as Ramsey realized he was desperately hoping there was no such person.

There seemed no words that he could offer in the face of her despair. Without knowing of her past, anything he might say could be little other than trite and patronizing. He knew what it was to feel powerless, to realize that others were suffering for his mistakes, but dared not tell her so.

What he needed was to clear his head, to find that sense of calm patience that served him so well at court, but that seemed to be impossible with Embrie sitting so close. All he wanted at that moment was to pull her into his arms and hold her until she stopped shaking, but, whether it made him a coward or a saint, he dared not. He had no right to offer hope where there could be none. Which brought into question his motives for riding out today at all.

Desperate to say something, anything, to break the bleak mood, Ramsey settled for an attempt at distraction. “Your, ah, riding attire is a bit unconventional today.” It was underhanded, of course, but probably the best that either of them could hope for.

Embrie glanced down at herself, wiped her cheeks with an already sodden sleeve, and smiled. It was a bit rueful and rather damp, but a smile. “I was not really doing very much thinking when I left,” she said, brushing ineffectually at her skirts. “I was more concerned with just leaving.” She shrugged. “Not terribly intelligent, I admit… especially since my lack of foresight seems to have deprived you of your coat.” She made as if to remove it, but he stopped her, and settled the garment firmly back around her shoulders.

“I assure you, I don’t need it.” He would have given the same answer if it were snowing. “Was feeling rather foolish for having brought the silly thing. I should thank you,” he added absurdly, “for renewing my faith in my own foresight.” She laughed at him weakly, as of course he had meant for her to do. It was truly ridiculous how happy it made him to hear her laugh.

“I wish I didn’t have to go home.” Her sudden admission threatened to tear his heart into teeny tiny shreds.

“Then don’t.” His answer burst out before he could stop it. “For a while,” he amended hastily. “Stay this afternoon, and I will tell you as many horrifying tales of my childhood as I can think of to distract you.”

Trystan knew she was unlikely to ever see him again. That when her occasional rides ended, so would this improbable friendship. And if that were true, she wanted to take as much of him with her as she could.

“Thank you,” she said, “I would like that.”

And so, as the sky gradually cleared, Donevan leaned back against the mossy boulder, folded his hands behind his head, and began to spin fantastic tales of a curious little boy who lived in an enormous house with an adventurous older brother. He meant, perhaps, to hide as much as he told, but Trystan could begin to glimpse some of what he dared not tell. His firm sense of duty. His love for his family. And his enormously self-deprecating sense of humor.

It was far past tea-time when she finally gathered her courage and pushed to her feet, interrupting a companionable silence. “I should get back before dark.” Which was ridiculous, when she thought about it. What difference did dark or not dark make?

Donevan wrinkled his forehead as if trying to decide something. “I could escort you. Just part way,” he added, “enough to know you’re safe.”

Trystan shook her head adamantly. “I cannot risk being seen with you, nor, I suspect, can you risk being seen with me.”

He stood up next to her with a mulish expression.

“Don’t argue!” she begged. “You know that I’m right.” She took off his coat and tried to hand it back.

Donevan folded his arms and glared.

“You must,” she insisted, badly as she wanted to keep something to remind her of this friendship. “I am warm enough now, and I cannot be found with this. There would be too many questions.”

He took it back, obviously unhappy, and followed her to where the horses waited, half-asleep under the trees. Trystan untied Theron and looked around for her makeshift mounting block, but he was too fast for her. As he had that first afternoon, Donevan knelt and offered her his cupped hands. She could barely see for the sudden tears, but managed the process somehow, once again tossed onto Theron’s back as if she weighed nothing at all. She opened her mouth to say goodbye, but nothing came out.

How did you say goodbye to someone who was most likely leaving your life forever? Was that why she had run away? So she would not have to say goodbye to people she would never see again? Confused and miserable, she would have just turned and left, but Donevan caught her rein and then her hand.

“Embrie,” he said, then stopped, obviously struggling to know what to say. “Promise me you won’t despair.” He sounded somehow both fierce and desperate. “Whatever you may feel, there is always hope. Do not let them win.”

She nodded blindly. He pressed her hand tightly, then stepped back. She turned to go, looked back to where he stood, a watery blur. Still, no words came. Trystan wheeled and rode away before her courage failed her entirely.