Traitor's Masque (30 page)

“Donnie,” she said carefully, “you need to come with me. Your father…” Ramsey crossed the room in a few quick strides and grasped her arm.

“He’s not…” he couldn’t even say the words. “Aunt Lizzie, tell me!”

She looked him in the eye and he could see her fear. She did not even call him out for using the name that had so annoyed her when he was a boy. “No, Ramsey, he’s alive. For now. But he is not well. We’ve called for more healers. Emersen can make nothing of it. It’s like…” She trailed off hopelessly.

“Like what?”

“I don’t even want to say it,” she admitted, “but I feel as though something terrible is happening and I cannot stop it.”

He could see tears in her eyes. His indomitable Aunt Lizbet was crying.

“I hate feeling helpless, Donnie. It was so sudden. So strange. He was fine last night!”

Without another word, Ramsey wrapped his arms around her, offering comfort to one who had comforted him more times than he could remember. “Don’t worry, Aunt Lizzie.” This time, she glared at him through her tears. “We’ll find someone who can help. Da is not a weak man, nor is he so old that he’ll go without a fight.” He tried out a small smile. “Besides, he’s gone to so much trouble to see me married, he’s no doubt stubborn enough to live until it happens.”

His aunt nodded, clearly unconvinced, but desperately needing the hope in his light-hearted dismissal.

Foster arrived a few moments later. When he was finally dressed respectably, Ramsey joined his aunt, who had been waiting in his sitting room. She stopped him before they left.

“You should know that I found your brother in my office this morning.”

Ramsey grimaced, instantly suspicious even if he had no idea of what. “What could he have been doing? Do you keep anything important there?”

Lizbet bit her lip and looked a bit ashamed. “Ramsey, I fear I may have. I think he may have been trying to uncover information about the guest list. For today.”

Ramsey considered. It was certainly possible. Though to what end he could not imagine. “Do you think he found it?”

Lizbet sighed. “I’m almost certain he did. Last night was so late, Prisca was having trouble sleeping, and at the time I was thinking of it as a marriage, not an affair of state. I dropped my notes on top of my desk and left them.”

Ramsey hastened to reassure his aunt. “Aunt Lizbet, you’re not to blame for anything. Rowan could find a way to make trouble out of nothing, and you had no reason to suppose he would be looking.” He paused. “What did he say when you caught him?”

Lizbet snorted indelicately, sounding much more her usual self. “He had the audacity to claim he had come to apologize. About Parry.”

“What did you tell him?” Ramsey asked.

His aunt glanced sideways at him. “Something intemperate I’m afraid. I believe I was rather loud. Threatened him with bodily harm if he ever approaches Parry again. The usual.”

Ramsey reached out and ruffled her hair. She slapped his hand away, but with a tiny smile. Her first that morning.

“Auntie Lizbet, I can always count on you to make my day better. The thought of Rowan suffering bodily harm is almost enough to make me glad I got up.” She rolled her eyes, but with obvious relief.

There was one responsibility dealt with, thought Ramsey wearily. His aunt did not need to carry the burden of so many things all at once. She had her family to think of. He, on the other hand, had nothing but his own wedding to consider. A seriously ill father and a conniving brother would be just the thing to take his mind off of marriage.

A few painful and interminable hours later, Ramsey, Lizbet, Count Norelle, Brawley and Kyril sat together in Ramsey’s apartments, where they could be certain they would not be overheard.

Ramsey had spent the remainder of the morning questioning Emersen, seeking answers, and lingering by his father’s bed. The king had grown delirious, suffering from fevers and chills and even spasms that shook his body. A few healers had suggested malaria, complications from gout, even old age. None of them had managed to convince Ramsey.

“What now?” he asked wearily of the assembled company. “We can’t go through with this party, while my father is ill. It will seem… disrespectful. Heartless.” Frustration leaked into his voice. “Anyway, there’s no way I can focus on women I don’t even like while my father might be dying!”

Surprisingly, it was Count Norelle who answered him. “Your Highness, you must,” he said gently. “This only makes it more imperative that you marry, and quickly. If, heavens forfend, anything should happen to His Majesty, you must have an heir as quickly as possible.”

Ramsey scowled.

“Besides, we are allowing no word to get out of the severity of your father’s condition. Our official word is that he is suffering from a mild spring fever, nothing to cause alarm.”

“How long will that last?” Kyril asked skeptically. “The moment one of those healers gets loose it will be all over the kingdom. ‘King Hollin’s mysterious illness!’”

“Your Highness,” Brawley offered hesitantly, “have you considered the possibility that His Majesty’s condition may not be illness?”

The room went dead. Everyone looked uncertainly at everyone else until Ramsey gave voice to their skepticism.

“Why should we? Brawley, I’ve never even heard
rumors
of anyone being poisoned in Evenleigh. Are you sure it’s even possible to buy poison in Andar?” He meant it as a weak joke, but Brawley looked at him as though he’d taken leave of his senses.

“Your Highness, any apothecary or simple seller of herbs can make a poison. I could make a poison.”

Ramsey raised an astonished eyebrow.

“Don’t pretend to be shocked, Your Highness. A man in my position has to know things he might wish he didn’t.”

“But,” Ramsey insisted, “that doesn’t address the question of why. Who would kill my father? They may disagree with him, but why kill him? All they get is, well, me!”

“I’m sure you can think of a few reasons,” Brawley answered impatiently. “There’s no shortage of folks who wish the king ill. Most of them would stop short of murder, but I can’t swear to you they all would. Make enough people unhappy and eventually you make some bad enemies. Enemies who won’t stop at complaining to the court. Enemies who know how to make a death look natural.”

Ramsey knew Brawley’s job was to see a threat behind every curtain and every bush. The man had made a profession out of paranoia. But poison the king? It seemed so excessive. So dramatic. So pointless!

“Whether it was poison or not,” Lizbet broke in, “Caspar is correct. The party must go forward. As we are only allowing it to be known that the king has a mild illness, it would seem very odd if you cancelled such an important event.”

“The invitations have gone out?” Ramsey queried.

Lizbet nodded, then looked chagrined. “I’m sorry, Donnie. In all the excitement I forgot to tell you that we have received a note of regret. From Elaine Westover.”

Everyone looked startled.

“Why?” Kyril was clearly frustrated. “We only have two candidates left and one of them is begging off? Who throws away a chance to marry a prince?”

Ramsey eyed him sideways.

“Well, perhaps I should say,” Kyril amended, “who wouldn’t want to marry your dazzling intellect and dashing good looks?”

Ramsey aimed a kick at his shin.

“Boys!” Lizbet glared at both of them. “Apparently the young lady in question was injured last night. Her ankle is now too painful to permit her attendance.”

Ramsey rubbed his head and swore. “It’s true,” he admitted ruefully. “She twisted her ankle while we were dancing and then refused to have it seen to. I left her sitting on a bench, a few hours after midnight.”

Kyril’s jaw dropped. “You left an injured lady to her own devices? Might I say, Your Highness, how very unchivalrous of you?”

“In my defense, there was rather a lot going on in my life at the time.” The biting tone of his reply was only partially in jest. Ramsey had probably had worse days, but he couldn’t remember any.

“Speaking of which,” Kyril said curiously, “I’d give my left arm… well, a couple of fingers… to find out who tipped off Rowan about the ball. If he was stuck at Ash Hollow, how did he know when to show up?”

Lizbet sighed and rested both elbows on her desk. “Lord Seagrave, you need to pay more attention to the people around you. Even Ash Hollow is full of servants. Servants have to leave the house to do their jobs. They go to market, they meet other servants. Servants talk. It’s not malicious, just common gossip. Rowan probably knew about the masque as soon as the invitations were sent.”

Ramsey had to agree. “However he got here, now we have to deal with him. He’s finally chosen to disobey a direct order from Father, and I certainly can’t control him. Any ideas how to proceed?”

Blank looks all around.

“As planned,” Lizbet answered with a sigh. “The garden party this afternoon will go forward. Ramsey, you will need to be at your best, and make certain you reassure everyone about the state of your father’s health. Rowan will probably be underfoot, but you will have to ignore him. We can try to sort it all out afterward, but right now we simply don’t have enough time for a new plan of action.”

There were nods from everyone in the room. Except for Brawley.

“Your Highness…” He hesitated.

“What now?” Ramsey tried not to sound impatient. He knew Brawley’s only concern was his safety, but he didn’t have the luxury of indulging groundless suspicions.

“I still think you should consider poison. And if it was, we have to consider that whoever did it has nothing to gain unless they kill you too.” The words came out in a rush, as if Brawley knew how they would be received.

Lizbet sat back and folded her arms, brow wrinkled in thought.

Ramsey just looked at him. “Brawley, you always think someone wants to kill me. How is this any different?”

Brawley scowled, clearly frustrated with his stubborn charge. “Maybe not kill you, but get you out of the way. So there will be no choice but to put Rowan on the throne. I’ve been telling you and His Majesty, there are a lot of powerful folks who say he would be the better king. What if they decided to do something about it?”

“Look,” Lizbet interrupted, before Ramsey could offer a response he might regret, “Brawley could be right. We can look into it. I will question some of the healers, discreetly, and find out what I can. In the meantime, we must remain calm. Stop barking at each other!” It was her mother-voice, which permitted no questions and promised grave consequences for disobedience. Even Brawley looked chastised. “Caspar and I will be meeting with the king’s council shortly to discuss urgent matters of business. The garden party will be starting in a few hours, and there are still preparations to be made.” She glared individually at each man in the room. “This will no doubt be a hellish day but we have to get through it.”

Ramsey spotted Caspar Norelle gazing at his wife in obvious admiration. Twelve years of marriage and the man was still utterly besotted. Many noblemen Ramsey knew would have been embarrassed by such a commanding performance, but Count Norelle had never been one of them. He had married Ramsey’s aunt as much for her fiery, opinionated nature as her quieter, domestic side, and supported her fully as she accepted growing amounts of responsibility for the inner workings of the court.

It was, Ramsey thought wistfully, the sort of marriage he wished for so desperately. The sort he was becoming increasingly certain he would never have.

The meeting broke up quietly. Before Ramsey could leave, his aunt stopped him and handed him a small, neatly folded paper that smelled of perfume.

“The note,” she explained briefly. “From Miss Westover. It was addressed to you, so I thought you’d want to read it yourself.”

Lizbet’s expression was odd, but he could not place it, so he thanked her and left to check on his father and ensure the preparations for his guests were complete. As he walked, his thoughts grew increasingly gloomy. Miss Westover wasn’t coming. Eight of his guests were either impossibly unsuitable or firmly in Rowan’s pocket. Was Miss Ulworth really his last option? When had his search for a woman to spend the rest of his life with become such a farce? Probably the day he was born. The day Rowan was born. Why couldn’t he just give up and accept the inevitable?

 
Chapter 11