Traitor's Masque (46 page)

“What do you propose?” Caspar asked in his quiet voice.

Kyril’s answer was simple and fierce. “The truth.”

And so the truth was told. Like any proclamation of the crown, it went out by messenger to every town in the kingdom, to be posted for all to read. A single page, it briefly detailed the history and crimes of Prince Rowan Calloway Tremontaine and called for him to be found and submitted to justice. It included a writ of arrest. Lizbet had penned it herself, and Ramsey was grimly awed by the power in her appeal. Rowan had never had many friends outside of the merchant nobility, and would have even fewer when the extent of his indiscretions was known. If he was, as they believed, still within the borders of Andar, he would be seen, and hopefully reported.

In the meantime, a search began. Every available body that could be spared was sent out, by pairs and triads, to every place Rowan was known to frequent. His hunting lodge was searched, his belongings sorted through and his friends questioned. Even those who might still claim an acquaintance with the disgraced older prince proved very willing to speak candidly, no doubt a bit terrified by the growing call for Rowan’s head. None of them, however, were very helpful. They knew nothing, had seen nothing, heard nothing. Rowan, it seemed, had entrusted his plans to no one.

The days lengthened. News grew scarce as those sent out drew nearer the borders of the kingdom. The king still hovered between life and death, and talk grew of passing the crown to Ramsey simply in the interest of business.

It was not an insult to King Hollin. Despite the previous unrest, Ramsey’s father had been well-loved by most of his people and the outrage over his attempted murder was very real. But no kingdom could go on for long with no one to guide it. The uncertainty alone was beginning to renew the tension between the guilds and the palace. Ramsey had been aware of the danger when they chose to publicly acknowledge the truth of the king’s condition, or at least so he told himself. He had not, however, been ready to acknowledge the consequences. That he could be forced to accept the crown while his father yet lived felt like treason. Like disloyalty. And yet, he did not know how long he could hold out.

It was in the midst of this torturous waiting and indecision that a visitor came to Evenburg. A full five days had passed since Rowan and Embrie’s disappearance, three days since Lady Isaura Westerby had been proclaimed a traitor and given a traitor’s burial: an unmarked grave in an undisclosed location. About mid-afternoon, Ramsey had retired to his office after a painfully stilted meeting with the guild representatives and his father’s council to discuss the crown.

Those five days not been kind. He had difficulty sleeping, and rarely ate. When he could, he sat by his father’s bed, or played with his cousins, but his heart seemed gone. He had seen Lizbet watching him with love and concern, but he hadn’t even the strength to reassure her.

Ramsey was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands when the knock came. He groaned. “Yes?”

“You have a visitor, Your Highness.” Mortimer sounded as proper as ever, but Ramsey had known him long enough to hear a certain… tone, in his voice. “One of those you left instructions about.”

Ramsey felt a brief surge of interest. He had indeed left instructions should certain people come calling. Certain people who had yet to play their part in this drama. After a brief discussion with the steward, he settled himself behind his desk to await the interview.

The woman who entered was one he knew by sight alone. He had technically never met Lady Malisse Colbourne, and, frankly, had never wished to. He knew enough about her to doubt his ability to control his temper in her presence.

She was, he found, astonishingly small. And disconcertingly young. Lady Colbourne did not appear to be much past thirty. Her blonde hair was demurely coiffed and she was dressed quite affectingly in black. She seated herself at his invitation and gazed at him beseechingly with enormous blue eyes. It might have presented a better picture if she had not reminded him so forcefully of her terrifying daughter.

“Your Highness,” she began, drawing a handkerchief from her reticule and discreetly dabbing her soulful blue eyes, “I am so grateful you have agreed to see me. I come to you upon an errand of some delicacy.”

Ramsey schooled his face to stillness. Even a degree of polite interest. Under the desk, his hands itched to wring the woman’s neck. “Indeed, Madam?”

“Yes, you see… well, I’m sure you recall my daughters, Anya and Darya, whom you were so kind as to invite to your recent masque?”

Ramsey nodded, when he realized a reply was expected.

Malisse went on. “Though it may not have come to the attention of Your Highness, I have, in fact, a third daughter.”

Ramsey permitted one eyebrow to rise. “A younger daughter, I presume?”

“No, Your Highness, Trystan is in fact the eldest. And,” she hastened to add, “in truth, the girl is my stepdaughter, the child of my late husband, Lord Percival Colbourne.” Ramsey nodded as though in understanding. “I have always,” she continued, with a small, emotive sniffle, “hoped that she would see herself as one of my own daughters. Have always done my best to treat her as such. But…” She cast down those enormous blue eyes for a brief pause before glancing up at him through long, dark lashes. “The poor child did suffer so at her father’s death, you see. They were so very attached to one another.” Another dab at her eyes with the hankie. “She frequently suffers from such profound depression of the spirit that it quite overcomes her reason and”—Lady Colbourne favored him with an imploring look, filled with long-suffering and anguish—“I have had no choice but to protect her from the severe agitation of being much in company.”

Ramsey’s hands tightened into fists. He reminded himself that his mother would never have approved of him giving a woman a black eye. “I see, Lady Colbourne. But—” It seemed he was doomed to interruptions.

“It has been such a burden, Your Highness. I’m sure I need not tell you what a mother suffers when her child is unable to enter fully into the joys of life! And then, when the masque was announced and I knew she would be unable to bear up under the strain of attending…” An actual tear made its solitary way down that flawless porcelain cheek. “I could scarcely rise from my bed for wondering what to do. And then, well, it seemed such a great blessing, Your Highness, when a woman I had always considered a friend came to me with an invitation.” Lady Colbourne’s eyes pleaded with him to understand. “She wished Trystan to stay with her, so that my dear girl would not be subject to the crushing disappointment of realizing she would be unable to attend the most exclusive entertainment of the season. And I thought…” She lifted her hands and sighed. “I thought she meant well. I thought it would be such a wonderful opportunity for my poor, sad child.”

“It was not, I take it?” Ramsey felt the need to play his part in this little charade.

“Oh, Your Highness, how could I have known? I swear to you, I had never a suspicion, and I was so distracted with preparing my Anya and dearest Darya for the ball, that I could not have been expected to realize what she was-”

“Lady Colbourne,” Ramsey interrupted with very real impatience, “I presume there is a point to all this?”

His visitor gave a little sob and buried her face in the handkerchief. “Your Highness, my poor Trystan was staying with Lady Westerby! Our closest neighbor! And I have not seen her since I heard… oh, the horrible news.”

At this point, the woman gave herself over entirely to weeping. Ramsey sat back and watched her for a moment, impressed despite himself. A pity, he thought nastily, that she was too old for Rowan. They would have made quite a splendid pair.

“Lady Colbourne, I fear you find me somewhat confused.” She looked up at him through tear-drenched lashes. If he hadn’t known better, he might have found it affecting. “Am I to understand that you have misplaced a daughter?” She nodded pathetically. “And am I further to understand that this daughter was staying with a woman who died
five days ago
—a woman known to have planned and committed acts of violence and who died by a hand not her own—and you are only now expressing your concern?”

Lady Colbourne met his eyes with a bit of a start, the beginnings of worry in her expression as she heard the censure in his question. “Your Highness, I beg you will not think less of me as a parent.” She nearly stammered in her haste to explain herself. “I assumed she was hiding, afraid to come home, and that she would eventually return to the bosom of her family. I never dreamed…” A flutter, of handkerchief and eyelashes. “Never! That anything might have happened to her.” Her eyes fell. “I confess I may also have been a trifle concerned, that someone might assume, though we have always been staunch supporters of His Majesty, that we had, in some way, been complicit… but never! Please, Your Highness, I implore your assistance in finding my dear girl! I cannot but think she may have met with some sort of accident, or desperate persons, and be in dire need of rescuing! She is so delicate, so easily upset! I shudder to think of what she might be suffering.”

With an effort, Ramsey restrained his fury. He remembered the girl he had chased across the downs. Who had firmly refused his help because she feared for her secrets. Who had faced him on his own balcony and stood her ground in the face of his rage. Who had dared to tell him the truth he had not wished to hear.

Trystan Embrie Colbourne was neither delicate nor easily upset. Nor, he finally realized, was she likely to be in dire need of rescuing. With the part of his mind that was not seething with anger, Ramsey silently thanked the creature across the desk for reminding him that the woman they were searching for was both tenacious and intelligent. She had, after all, survived her stepmother. Embrie might be the only person he knew who was prepared to survive his brother as well.

“Lady Colbourne, perhaps I should assure you that we are both aware of your daughter’s existence and doing everything possible to recover her.” He received a sharp look of inquiry, which he chose to ignore. “I also feel it necessary to inform you that I claim some acquaintance with Trystan and will therefore be giving the matter of her whereabouts and her history my full attention.” Even Lady Colbourne was reduced to uncertainty by his cold stare. “You are, of course, sincere in your wish to have your stepdaughter returned to you?”

Malisse gathered herself enough to look shocked at his tone. “Your Highness, of course, we will be most relieved to know she has been found and will return to us!”

Ramsey eyed her for a moment, then nodded, reached into his desk and produced some papers.

Lady Colbourne eyed them, unable to completely disguise her trepidation. “I… don’t understand.”

“No,” Ramsey answered softly, “I’m sure you don’t.”

“Wh…wh… what are those?”

“Perhaps you would care to glance over them?” Ramsey knew he sounded sinister and didn’t really care.

His guest picked up the paper on top of the stack, ran a hurried gaze over its contents, and turned into a different person. There was murder in the blue eyes that looked at him now, murder and a tiny hint of fear.

“Where,” she spat furiously, “did you get these? I keep them locked up. My private papers! And they’re lies! Forgeries! I can call my barrister. He’ll testify to the fact that all of it was left to me!” Ramsey leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Yes, Lady Colbourne, I’m sure he will,” he answered her coolly. “But I find myself wondering why you guard forgeries so closely. Especially when they appear to be genuine originals with the signatures and seals of witnesses. Dated the day before your late husband’s death! Do you care to dispute these facts?”

The blonde woman seemed to consider for a moment, her hand tightening on the incriminating papers briefly before she seemed to relax. “It doesn’t really matter, you know.” Her voice was once again calm, her smile white and even.

“Oh, doesn’t it?” Ramsey’s question was soft and dangerous.

“Of course not!” she snapped contemptuously. “The girl is nothing but a by-blow! The child of some woman who caught my husband’s eye while he was traveling. Some whore who had the nerve to arrange for the baby to come to him when she died, and he, being a sentimental fool, took her in and pretended she was his!” She laughed then, a cruel, mocking sound. “We all knew, of course, but he never let anyone speak of it. And he had the nerve to tell me I must raise the creature with my own daughters!” She assumed a look of long-suffering martyrdom. “Of course, I acceded to his wishes, and did my best with her, but blood, you know, will tell. She’s been nothing but a burden to me, and then, when he died? What should I find but that he’s made half his estate over to her!” A snort of disbelief. “As if he thought anyone would permit an illegitimate child to inherit! You can be sure I went to my barrister and he assured me that I was the legal heir. Without proof of her legitimacy, not a penny of the estate could go to that wretched brat!”