Traitor's Masque (45 page)

“Your Highness, it’s about a girl.” She pressed on before he could collect his wits and silence her completely. “Her name is Trystan Embrie Colbourne.”

And suddenly Ramsey forgot whatever he had intended to say. “Did you say Embrie…
Colbourne
?” His wits deserted him in a rush as he made the connection.

Colbourne. As in Anya? Merciless blonde with the mercenary mother? A mother who had given no indication that she possessed more than two daughters? Memories swirled until Ramsey felt dizzy… Embrie, weeping… speaking of her tormentors… Her reluctance to return home… Her illegitimacy…

“Very well, Mistress Vianne. You have my attention.”

“As I said, Your Highness, her name is Trystan. And she is my granddaughter.”

A few minutes later, Ramsey had abandoned his chair and stood by the window, his hands clenched on the sill, his mind seething with fury… and shame, as he remembered his own thoughtless words on the balcony. He may have wished to disbelieve the tale he had just heard, but he had been left without that option. The cook had been wise enough to bring proof. Proof that Embrie’s choices had been a desperate fight for her own freedom, rather than a deliberate act of betrayal.

He could not pretend that her choices had been good ones, or that their consequences had not been terrible. But she had been placed in an unthinkable situation without friends or family to turn to and she had acted. Intended her actions for good. Ramsey was painfully aware of how greatly he relied on the wisdom of those he loved. Without that, would he have done any better? Could she have done better if she had known what he now did?

“Why did you never tell her?” His tone was fierce. Evidently, his protective feelings were experiencing a resurgence.

Vianne, to his surprise, squirmed ever so slightly under his scrutiny. “I made a promise, Your Highness. I had others to protect, and Lord Colbourne did not hesitate to make threats in order to safeguard his secrets.” She hesitated. “I do not pretend that I have not regretted it. And never more so than today.” She dropped her head, stared at her lap, and then continued.

“There is something else. I cannot guess at whether my Trystan has lost your regard to the point that you no longer care what becomes of her. But either way, you should know.”

Ramsey bent a piercing gaze on her bowed gray head, apprehension taking up residence in his stomach.

“Trystan left me last night to return to Westhaven, to retrieve something of value. She left a note, saying she would be back by dawn.” When the cook lifted her head to look at him, there were tears in her eyes, and a quaver in her voice. “She has not returned.”

Ramsey stepped firmly on his panic and tried to consider the information rationally. “Mistress Vianne,” he said carefully, “I feel I should inform you, in the strictest confidence of course, that one of my agents paid a visit to Westhaven this morning. I regret to report that Lady Westerby is dead. She appeared to have been injured in a struggle of some sort. We are unsure with whom. Could it be possible…” He did not finish the sentence.

“Your Highness,” Vianne asked sharply, “what precisely are you asking?”

“Whether you think it possible that Miss Colbourne might have, even accidentally, become involved in an altercation with Lady Westerby that resulted in the latter’s death.”

Vianne favored him with another of her measuring looks. “I believe, Your Highness, you are really asking whether my Trystan might have murdered Lady Westerby and fled rather than face the consequences.” She did not sound impressed.

“I do not believe I suggested anything of the kind, Madam, but should you feel inclined to answer that question I will not prevent you.”

Vianne actually seemed grimly pleased. “The answer, Your Highness, is no.” She inclined her head thoughtfully. “Could she have accidentally caused Lady Westerby’s death? I presume the answer must be yes. But murder?” She shook her head. “Trystan has survived for six years in the same house with my mistress, Lady Colbourne, and her daughters. Though you may think it impertinent in me to say so, if those three could not drive a girl to murder, the task must be deemed impossible.”

Ramsey gave a short, unamused laugh. Having met the women in question, he could not disagree with her rather grim logic.

“And in any case,” Vianne continued, “I am confident that she would never have run away without returning to tell me first. Even if she had somewhere to run to.” She looked at him rather pointedly. “Though I suspect, if she had, she would have run there any number of times in the past three years, rather than continue to suffer her stepmother’s sovereignty.”

Ramsey considered this with growing agitation. The cook could be mistaken, of course. But she had known Embrie all her life. Compared to his brief meetings, hampered as they had been by the need for secrecy, he must consider Vianne’s knowledge of her to be superior. Her conclusions were likely as close to accurate as they were going to get. Naturally, the woman had a vested interest in convincing him that her granddaughter was innocent. But if she believed otherwise, why inform him of her absence? Why risk so much in coming to tell him unless she truly believed Embrie to be in trouble?

Worse yet, what if Vianne was right? What if someone had taken her?

Thanks to Lady Westerby’s final letter, most of the members of the conspiracy had been identified and were either being watched or questioned. None but Lord Fellton had been willing to claim any knowledge of Elaine and the part she had played in the near-success of their schemes, let alone their failure. He had a strong suspicion that Lady Westerby had confined the knowledge of that part of her plan to as few people as possible, for obvious reasons. Herself, Lord Fellton, and Rowan.

Rowan had known.

With a growing sense of dread Ramsey contemplated what Embrie had told him that night on the balcony. That his brother had given her a paper. A blank one.

Lady Westerby would have told Rowan enough to help him identify their “agent.” And Rowan had been the first to push Ramsey towards marriage with Elaine, by eliminating Hester. The older prince would have known the purpose of Ramsey’s invitation to her that night. And Rowan’s near-immediate disappearance indicated that he had very likely learned of the plot’s failure.

Might he have returned to Westhaven in search of the one who had ruined his bid for power? Even if he had laid their failure at Lady Westerby’s door, for her choice of the girl who had eventually betrayed them, he might have risked an appearance there. And if he had found what he sought? What if Elaine had walked in on him as he took his revenge on his former ally?

Rowan would not have bothered to kidnap Elaine without cause. If Ramsey’s deductions to this point were correct, the girl would not have gone with him willingly. And there could really be only two reasons for Rowan to force her.

He might have intended to repay her for her betrayal. To take her life more slowly and painfully than Lady Westerby’s. Or he might have hoped to trade her life for his, believing that someone would care enough to ransom her. He might even be counting on Ramsey to do so.

Rowan had always seemed to know what Ramsey was thinking or feeling, sometimes before Ramsey knew it himself. Could the older prince have guessed that even after the plot had been revealed, Ramsey might yet care what became of the woman who had betrayed them both?

Ramsey had little choice but to place his hope on the very thing that had frequently made his life miserable: his brother’s uncanny ability to twist Ramsey’s thoughts and emotions to meet his own ends. Embrie’s life could depend on Rowan’s belief that Ramsey still harbored feelings for her.

That he had feelings was certain, but Ramsey himself wasn’t sure if he knew what those feelings were. His only certainty was a sudden, desperate fear that left him staring wordlessly across his desk. At perhaps the only person in the kingdom who loved Embrie enough to share that fear.

Once again, Ramsey called his personal council together. Lizbet, Caspar, Brawley and Kyril. This time, he told them everything, from his first meeting with Embrie to his conversation with Vianne. When he finished, there were tears in Lizbet’s eyes.

“Donnie, you idiot boy, how could you not tell us?” She almost sounded angry with him beneath her tears. “We could have found her… done
something
!”

Ramsey just looked weary. “Aunt Lizbet, I think you know why I couldn’t. Why I didn’t. And right now we don’t have time for explanation or blame. We have to find Rowan!” Helpless anger rose in his throat. “If he has indeed taken Embrie, I believe he hopes we will try to rescue her. That we will be willing to trade her life for his. But I doubt he will wait forever. And in the meantime…”

Speculation choked him. If only he could believe that his brother would not harm her. Perhaps the heaviest knowledge he had gained these past days was the realization that he had no idea what horrors Rowan was capable of. He could no longer claim to know what depravities Rowan would sink to. It galled him. Burned him. Sickened him. But the boy Ramsey had grown up idolizing was gone. Perhaps he had never been. All that was left was a beautiful, conscienceless monster.

A monster who intended to use the girl Ramsey… what? Loved? That wasn’t the right word. Cared about? It seemed he still did. Perhaps even admired and respected in many ways. He had feared for her safety. Hated those who tormented her. Envied her courage and determination. She had moved him to anger, to laughter, and to tears. He felt as though he had truly lived during those short times he had spent with her, and part of him had died when she betrayed him. And if he was to get up in the morning with hope instead of despair, he had to find her. To tear down the secrets that had grown up between them and begin again. But squarely in his way, as he always did, stood Rowan.

“I’m sorry, brother.” Kyril did not bother with his title, ignoring the fact that others were listening. “I should have tried harder to find him. Done something…” His hands were clenched and his face was pale. “I’ve failed you.” He sounded miserable.

“Shut up, Kyril,” Ramsey rubbed weary hands through already disordered hair. “You may be my brother in all but name but if you say something so patently ridiculous again I will be forced to commit violence against your person.”

The object of his wrath gave a strangled sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh.

“We’ll find him, Your Highness.” Brawley’s calm assurance was, Ramsey believed, entirely unjustified. “He can’t survive without servants, and where there are servants, there’s gossip. Wherever he’s gone, it’ll get out eventually.”

“And what if he’s gone for the border?” Ramsey knew better than to believe his brother would do what anyone expected. “That Caelani ship off the coast… what if he had more contacts than that? He could be halfway across the kingdom by now!”

“With an unwilling passenger?” Kyril’s brow was furrowed in thought. “Ramsey, I cannot believe this Embrie would be submitting tamely to Rowan’s threats. She’s intelligent, and not easily intimidated. He won’t find it easy to drag her anywhere.”

“And if she’s drugged?” Brawley pointed out. “There are a number of ways to subdue a person that have nothing to do with threats of force.”

“And still others that don’t involve subduing at all,” Lizbet chimed in. “Rowan is a charismatic and overwhelming person. It’s entirely possible he could have convinced her to go with him with no need for threats.”

Ramsey shook his head. They were wasting time. “None of this matters, and you all know that,” he stated flatly. “No one has ever been able to outguess Rowan. He’s got a head start and we have no chance of predicting his intentions. If he wants us to find him, we will. If he doesn’t, the best we can do is start looking.”

Kyril chuckled suddenly, an incongruous and not particularly humorous sound in the tension-filled room. “You know,” he mused, “I think we’re all guilty of permitting Rowan to convince us of his own invincibility.” Ramsey’s brows lowered but Kyril didn’t give him a chance to respond. “On the night of the ball, I was joking with Ela…” he broke off with an apologetic expression and corrected himself, “… with Embrie, and she said she felt like Rowan wasn’t a person at all, but a ‘malevolent spirit,’ I believe she called him.” Brief, rueful expressions appeared on everyone’s faces. The characterization seemed only too apt. “She also made the observation that we talk around him, rather than about him. I believe she was more right than she knew. Our efforts to protect the crown by covering up his scandals have allowed him to become larger than life.” Kyril’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “I think it’s time we stopped.”