Traitor's Masque (54 page)

“How did you finally decide not to trust him?” Kyril asked.

“When he told me he had murdered Embrie,” Ramsey answered honestly. “He claimed she had been manipulating me from the beginning. I might have believed him, if I hadn’t met her, before all this started. Rowan had no way of knowing that we were acquainted. That, in some ways, I knew her better than I knew him. It was his one miscalculation.” He grimaced. “I know it seems silly and weak of me, that it took such a thing to convince me he was a villain. I knew he was liar. I have more reason than anyone to know his weaknesses, his enjoyment in others’ suffering, his talent for manipulation. And I fell for it all over again.”

“You’re his brother!” Lizbet broke in heatedly. “You’d be more unnatural if you didn’t want to believe the best of him.”

Ramsey just looked sad. “And yet,” he said, as much to himself as to the others, “I still don’t know what to believe. What were his motives, truly? What were his goals? What did he really expect to gain from all this? In the end, people were hurt, but the conspiracy was exposed with remarkably little damage. And the thing of it is, the thing I will never be quite sure of is this—did he plan to leave me this way? Questioning him, questioning myself? Never quite able to be certain what was real and what wasn’t?”

“It’s exactly the kind of thing he would do,” Caspar put in levelly, “but I hope you won’t allow it to poison you.”

“Unfortunate choice of words,” Kyril added with unrepentant cheerfulness, “but I agree. Rowan obviously wanted you to doubt yourself. Spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering if you made the right decision.”

“And you did.” Lizbet, Kyril and Caspar spoke in unintentional unison, sparking surprised laughter from all four of them.

“Personally,” Lizbet said dryly, “I’d like to think I would have eviscerated the bastard, but that’s speaking as a mother, not as his brother and the future king. What you did showed both judgment and restraint and”—she folded her hands and glared as though daring anyone to disagree with her—“I’m proud of you.”

Ramsey acknowledged her compliment with a smile and a slight bow. “So what now?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. Back to work. Back to life. Pick up where he had left off and try to move on. The other three looked at each other in confusion.

“What do you mean, ‘what now?’” Kyril said, pretending to look surprised by Ramsey’s question.

“Yes, what do you mean?” Lizbet echoed slyly.

Ramsey looked from one to the other. “Am I missing something?” he asked, wondering what they all knew that he didn’t.

“Obviously,” Kyril responded promptly. “Ramsey, it’s clear to all of us that you have a very important meeting to arrange. We are not going to arrange it for you. But there is too much unfinished business between you and a certain young lady and we’re all tired of living in suspense.”

Ramsey frowned. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Do it anyway,” Lizbet interrupted with a stern look.

“Before you lose your nerve,” Caspar put in, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.

“And before you stop eating, lose your figure and die of despondency,” Kyril added, nodding sagely.

Ramsey found he was growing nervous just thinking about it. What would it be like, seeing her again? Would she even want to see him? Once she found out that he knew everything? Even if she did, they could never again be simply Embrie and Donevan. There were too many barriers between them, and the innocent honesty of their fledgling friendship had been crushed.

And yet, Ramsey knew his friends were right. He needed to see her. And he would do it soon. If only everyone would stop looking at him with those identical expressions of smug anticipation.

When Trystan finally opened her eyes, the sun was high and bright, and for one shining moment she was suffused with a sensation of warmth and well-being. That moment fled like a rat before a lantern when she reflected on yesterday.

Hoskins was back. Vianne was gone. Malisse was being inscrutable. There were dresses in her closet that were not hers and a horse in the stable that wasn’t hers either. It was enough to make her consider rolling over and going back to sleep. Until a sharp ache from her arms reminded her that she probably ought to get up and change her bandages, at the very least.

It took some time to acquire ointment and clean linen and rewrap her wounds, which appeared to be healing nicely. Afterwards she chose one of the unfamiliar dresses to wear, reasoning that it could always be washed and returned to whomever had left it.

She went downstairs and tried to locate her family, but was informed by Hoskins that they had all gone out. It was early for a morning call, and Trystan reasoned grimly that they had been purposefully avoiding her. Not that she intended to complain, but it was hardly a behavior that could continue for long.

A feeling of restlessness settled over her as she wandered aimlessly about the house. It was ridiculous to suppose that she could settle back into her old life, with its numbing lack of purpose, after the past weeks. There was nothing for her to do, no one for her to avoid, and the sudden absence of any source of terror left Trystan feeling rather bereft.

More than anything else, she wanted to see Vianne, but she could hardly trip blithely up to the castle gate and ask for her. Nor was there anyone else she could talk to. Without quite realizing it, she was pacing from room to room, muttering to herself when Hoskins finally pulled her aside.

“Miss Trystan,” he suggested with a significant glance, “perhaps you should consider that a certain gray hunter may be sadly in need of exercise.”

Trystan did consider it. She had only just returned from two straight days of riding. She hardly needed more time in the saddle to remind her of her aches and bruises. On the other hand, it wasn’t as though she was helping anything by wearing holes in the carpet. Perhaps a ride would get her mind off her strange circumstances. It was, at any rate, worth making the attempt.

She returned to her room to change into her trousers and boots and was soon trotting off toward the stables with a brighter outlook.

An inquiry directed at the disgruntled stableman confirmed that someone had indeed come for the borrowed horse quite early that morning. He had made no inquiries, only collected the animal and left. Trystan wasn’t sure why the news should disappoint her, but it did.

Brushing off the man’s attempts to assist her, she soon had Theron saddled. He was a bit flighty from having gone unridden for so long, so she was forced to accept help while mounting. In the end, it was just barely after noon when she trotted off into the warm sunshine, determined to forget the memories and decisions that plagued her and simply enjoy the day.

It was not long after lunch that Ramsey’s inexplicable sense of dissatisfaction finally drove him out of his rooms. He couldn’t focus on work and he couldn’t sit still. Unwelcome memories kept intruding on his attempts to concentrate, crowding out every rational thought until he was forced to abandon all pretense of productivity. Kyril stopped in just as he was about to resort to throwing things.

“You’ve had a rough week,” Kyril noted, which to Ramsey seemed an inexcusable understatement. “Why not get out of here, go for a ride?”

Ramsey gave him a disbelieving look. “I believe that’s what I spent most of the past week doing,” he responded blightingly, “and I really have very little inclination to climb back into a saddle until sometime next year.”

Kyril folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Then, by all means, throw yourself out a window instead. Anyone with half their wits can see you’re dangerously close to doing yourself an injury. Do us all a favor, get out, clear your head. Besides,” he went on, with a bit more sympathy, “you need the break. This hasn’t been easy for anyone and least of all you.”

Ramsey groaned, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought Kyril might be right. He really had no desire to haul his aching body back into a saddle, but at least this time he needn’t ride at a breakneck pace across half his kingdom. A gentle ride, perhaps to the Kingswood and back. It might permit him to sort out the mangled mess of his thoughts. Whether it was a flash of intuition or the spark of memory, before he left his rooms Ramsey paused a moment to slip something into his pocket. For some reason, carrying the horse with him seemed like the right thing to do.

 
Chapter 20
 

Trystan could not tell whether it was guilt or longing that guided her, but it seemed no accident that she found herself riding across rolling fields in search of a certain stone wall. She felt infinitely older than the girl who had last sat there, kicking her heels and twirling her reins, enjoying the sunshine and the company. That girl had had a future. Not a very pleasant one, to be sure, but there had been a sort of comfort in its lurking presence.

Now, she felt as though she was waiting. Trystan wasn’t even sure for what, only that something about her adventures, if that was even the right word, seemed incomplete.

She found the wall, or perhaps Theron did. Sliding off, she stretched aching muscles and groaned, tied Theron’s reins to his saddle and allowed him to graze. The wall was warm and solid… a little too solid for an abused backside, so she leaned against it and slid down to sit on the tall grass of the pasture. It too was warm, and soft, and smelled like summer. Trystan smiled and closed her eyes. She laid her hat on the grass beside her and pulled out her hairpins. An afternoon this perfect should not have hairpins in it. When her hair was loose and decidedly less itchy, she leaned her head back against the wall and thought about nothing. The droning of insects, the stirring of a slight breeze and the warm sun on her face conspired to lull her to sleep as Theron grazed peacefully nearby.