Traitor's Masque (17 page)

This much Trystan could acknowledge to be true. One could not possibly be less connected than she was. But what could that possibly have to do with anything? “Again, I apologize, Lady Westerby. What is it you are suggesting I could aid you with?”

“Not aid
me
, Trystan,” the older woman admonished gently, “aid our kingdom. In this present crisis, nearly all of the noble families have already firmly entrenched themselves on one side or another. Our positions are well known, and any common ground that may exist between us is swiftly disappearing. Even at court, these days, the atmosphere can be… quite tense. What is needed now”—she gestured at Trystan—“is someone without prejudice or established associations. Someone who has both the means and the courage to bridge the gap between the estranged parties.” Lady Isaura contrived to look sadly hopeful. “And, if that person can be found, perhaps they may somehow bring about the reconciliation, the unity, that our kingdom so desperately needs.”

Oh, Trystan thought. Oh! The thought was capitalized, ornate, and covered in curlicues. A very interesting world of speculation had blossomed. This was about the succession! Anya and Darya’s friends had let fall enough gossip for her to know there was some disagreement amongst both the nobility and the merchant class as to the wisdom of the king’s choice. Lady Isaura obviously belonged to the group who disapproved of Prince Ramsey. Why they should disapprove did not really concern or interest Trystan. Nor did the issue of who should or should not be king. Whichever backside warmed the throne, her own life was unlikely to change one whit. What did interest her was the dissenters’ unlikely choice of agent.

“I find that I am curious, Lady Westerby,” Trystan asked carefully. “What exactly is the nature of the aid my kingdom requires and why is it that I am best suited to offer it?”

Lady Isaura leaned back in her seat and regarded her guest. “A reasonable question, Trystan. I do not wish to be unpleasant, but the running of a kingdom sometimes requires unpleasant realities to be faced. Occasionally, information comes to light which is of vital importance to those in a position to make wise judgments, to aid them in determining how best to proceed. This type of information,” she pointed out, “often cannot be communicated in the usual ways. There would be far too many opportunities for misunderstanding. Those of us who are concerned about the kingdom’s future would like to request your aid in ensuring that this communication takes place. By doing so, you would ensure that those with the greatest regard and care for the future of our kingdom are best equipped to make the necessary decisions for the good of Andar.”

Trystan was now more confused than ever. “I am not sure how you expect me to communicate with any of these ‘concerned citizens,’” she responded, with a rather pointed edge. “You have most likely noticed that I rarely move amongst exalted company.”

“No need to be snide,” Lady Isaura said drily. “We are of course aware of your restrictions. Which is why we have a more formal proposal to lay before you, a way that perhaps we may all benefit from the situation in which we find ourselves.” She eyed Trystan deliberately before continuing.

“We would like you to attend the masque.”

Trystan opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. She leaned back in her seat. Then sat up again, entirely unequal to the task of concealing her surprise. The masque? Where the much-maligned Prince Ramsey intended to hold auditions for his future wife?

“Lady Westerby,” she said, and stopped, unsure how to express her misgivings, both with the idea and the motivation behind it. And with her own ability to fulfill the request. While she technically possessed the training to move in the highest circles of society, she had next to no practice in doing so. Nor was she certain she cared to change that.

“Lady Westerby, I find myself unsure of your intentions. I should assert”—Trystan met Lady Isaura’s eye with firm conviction—“that I have no desire to attend a masque. None. At all. If you assumed I would be overwhelmed by the offer of an opportunity to wear a lovely gown and dance with a prince I should inform you that the assumption is in error. The prospect, I assure you, sounds very much like torture.”

Lady Isaura did not appear in the least surprised. “I have known you for some time, my dear, and did not for a moment assume otherwise.”

“Then I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” Trystan repeated. “Why would you single me out for a task I have no desire to perform?”

A thoughtful look appeared on Lady Isaura’s face. “In other words,” she translated, narrowing her dark eyes sharply, “what’s in this for you?”

Trystan inclined her head modestly, willing to play along with the supposition. “My father did teach me to protect my interests, Lady Westerby,” she said apologetically, “even if I have not always proven successful in the past.”

Lady Isaura nodded slowly, then appeared relieved. “I must say, Trystan, I did not expect you to grasp the situation quite so clearly. I have been pleasantly surprised in you.” Was that a compliment? “I am, as I have said, a woman of business, and not a charitable institution.”

Trystan was somewhat relieved that the older woman had abandoned her pretense of solicitude. Mercenary motivations were far easier to understand.

“Under the circumstances, I am prepared to offer you value for value.” Lady Isaura had clearly thought through this possibility beforehand. “As you may have grasped, our desire is for Prince Rowan to succeed his father. We feel that the stability and safety of our kingdom, both now and for future generations, depend upon it. If you agree to do as we ask and are successful in your task, we are prepared to offer you your independence.”

Her independence… Was that even possible? Trystan had been expecting something more on the level of a pony. Momentarily shocked into silent immobility, she mentally reviewed what she thought she had heard. Her freedom. From Malisse. Forever.

Lady Isaura went on. “As you know, I am childless, and both my dear Osric and I were without siblings. There is, at present, no suitable heir to the Westerby properties. I propose that in the event you succeed in your assigned task, I will immediately sign one of my larger properties over to you.” She watched Trystan closely. “It would be sufficient to secure your financial independence and provide for a lifestyle in keeping with your status. The only condition is that you attend the masque, where you will be expected to retrieve an important message without being detected.”

Lady Westerby fell silent for a few moments as Trystan’s thoughts churned violently. The sordid truth was finally made clear: Lady Isaura had just asked her to become a spy. Was she expecting an answer?

“We understand, of course, that you will require time to make a decision.” Trystan’s hostess spoke graciously, as though conferring a favor. “I would caution you, however, to be prompt. This offer is not a perpetual one.” She fixed Trystan with her gaze. “Should you fail to respond in a timely manner, we will be forced to proceed to the next most appropriate candidate.”

Trystan nodded in what she hoped looked like grateful understanding, without much inclination to answer aloud. There was far too much speculation raging through her mind to leave room for further pleasantries. Fortunately, Lady Westerby knew very well what she had wrought, and rang the bell for her footman.

“I believe I may have overwhelmed you, dear. Of course you would like to go home and consider in peace. Barnaby will show you out.” She rose, once again all elegant poise and politeness.

Trystan curtsied, not bothering to murmur any polite words of thanks or farewell. As she was about to exit the room, Lady Isaura’s voice rose once more behind her.

“I suppose I need not remind you that the subject of our discussion ought not be aired at Colbourne.” A warning. And an unnecessary one.

“Of course, Lady Westerby. I quite understand.”

The remainder of Trystan’s exit was swift and without ceremony. The coach awaited her as if by magic and delivered her to the front door of Colbourne Manor long before Trystan was ready to face anyone, let alone Malisse.

Her stepmother was, of course, waiting in the front hall, and dragged her into the sitting room without permission or preamble. “Well,” Malisse asked sharply, “what did she want?”

For the second time that day, Trystan’s mouth opened and no sound came out. She shut it and tried again. “As you suspected, Stepmother,” she said, laying aside the fact that it was Trystan, and not Malisse, who had suggested the possible reason for the invitation. “She wished to reminisce over past associations. Share her memories.” Trystan improvised the possibility that Lady Isaura had a heart. “After all, she has no children. She seems more sad than I recall. Perhaps she regrets that she leaves no one behind to remember her.”

The invention seemed to satisfy Malisse. It even made her look thoughtful. “I suppose so,” she allowed. “If that is the case, perhaps we should encourage her visits. One never knows where such attachments might lead.”

Trystan was too tired to bother rolling her eyes. Her stepmother’s mercenary turn of thoughts might not surprise her, but it did disgust her.

“I am terribly weary after my outing, Stepmother.” She blinked owlishly to demonstrate. “Perhaps I should go lie down before fatigue brings on a headache.”

Malisse looked at her sharply, but relented. “And see that you stay there,” she reminded Trystan. “Your penance is not ended simply because Lady Westerby has conceived an affection for you.” She sniffed irritably, but allowed Trystan to leave.

As soon as she closed her door safely behind her, Trystan removed her made-over dress and fell gratefully onto the bed, with very little intention of getting up again. Even the idea of dinner held little appeal. She had far too much to think about.

The life of a gently-born lady was, as Anya and Darya gave ample proof, not much given to deep thinking. They were expected to be accomplished, ornamental, and amiable, but certainly not introspective. Trystan was beginning to perceive the vast discrepancy between her ability to see the world clearly and her present need for clarity.

Up until a relatively short time ago, she had confined her interest and understanding to very little except herself. This private universe had once included her father, but only as an orbital object, and after his death, it had contracted down to a seething stew of her own anger and misery. It was only lately that Trystan had begun to learn that it was necessary to look beyond her own grief. To see others and consider them for their own sake, rather than for the ways that they affected her. But Trystan’s world, despite its growth, was still a small one. The world Lady Westerby inhabited was much larger and had bigger teeth.

It was not a world Trystan knew how to navigate. This was about Politics and Business and other words with capital letters. She had little hope of understanding exactly what Lady Isaura hoped to gain from this undertaking. Most likely it was about Money. Lord Percival and his associates had been perpetually concerned with making more of it. But Lady Isaura’s concern for the kingdom had sounded genuine, her actual goal a simple and easily comprehended one. Exchange one prince for another. Why should that matter so much? Why should Lady Isaura care so deeply that she would offer a great deal of money to a fatherless girl in exchange for one simple message? And why choose Trystan? She understood why Lady Isaura could not do it herself, but was there no one else?

Trystan had no desire to be used. Especially not in the service of some plan she had no part in, for purposes she could not understand. But she also had no desire to remain under Malisse’s thumb forever. Trystan faced the very real prospect of spending the rest of her life subject to her stepmother’s whims.

And once Anya and Darya were well married, what then? Would there be anything to prevent her stepmother from carrying out her threats to throw Trystan into the street to fend for herself? Surely one evening of suffering and suspense could not be so terrible in comparison to either of those fates.

And there were other considerations. As she had told Lady Westerby, her father had indeed taught her to protect what was hers. Trystan had come to the conclusion that her father had failed miserably to follow through on his own precepts. He had, perhaps, developed too narrow an understanding of what was his.

A surprising number of people had been looking out for Trystan’s welfare for years, and had been punished for it. No matter what Vianne said, Trystan needed to do something to set that right. Farley, Beatrice, Hoskins, and the others had been turned out into the streets without warning, and in some cases without much hope. With the exception of Andrei and Alexei, they would not have an easy time finding new positions. If Trystan had her own household, she could offer them a home. Stability. Hope for the future.

In the end, it was this that convinced Trystan to ignore her concerns about Lady Isaura’s motives. The political end of the affair was unlikely to materially affect the lives of those Trystan was closest to, and therefore could not figure in her calculations. The only way to protect herself and those she cared about was to put herself beyond Malisse’s control, and this was the only chance she’d been offered to do so. Likely the only chance she would ever have.