Traitor's Masque (8 page)

Ramsey glanced over at Brawley, trying to guess from his captain’s expression just how much chaos was waiting for him at home. “Is Father howling for my head?” Ramsey ventured to ask.

“Only since just after sunrise.”

“What joy is mine,” the prince groaned. “I suppose I’d better go face my doom.”

“Your just desserts, more like,” Brawley responded acerbically. His prince didn’t answer, only exhaled wearily and pushed his horse just a little faster up the rising road towards home.

Evenburg Castle and its grounds sprawled self-consciously at the top of a gradual rise in the terrain, backed up against the gentle green hills of crown lands. The rise on which it was built had, over the centuries, been covered by the haphazard sprawl of Evenleigh Township.

The gray stone walls and towers of Evenburg had been Ramsey’s place of residence for much of his life. He had also spent several years in the country, at Tremontaine House, a rambling brick manor which he considered far more truly his home. The castle was pleasant enough to look at, but it was often cold, somewhat drafty, and the near-perpetual presence of the court made it difficult for Ramsey to feel quite comfortable there.

Especially now, when the two most visible members of his family were so much at odds with each other.

As Parsifal trotted leisurely through the always open gates, Ramsey was greeted by waves, salutes, and more than a few mocking cheers by both guardsmen and acquaintances, indicating he was probably in even more trouble than he had anticipated. Dismounting reluctantly, he handed off the reins to a hastily arrived groom, just as a short, stocky blond man in training leathers fell in beside him.

“All I can say is, I hope she was worth it.”

Ramsey stopped walking across the bailey to stare, bemusedly, at his smirking friend. “Kyril, what the devil are you talking about?”

“Whoever it was kept you out all day.” The younger man’s grin threatened to split his ears. “Had to have been a woman. And here’s your father having one of his gouty days.” He cocked his head to one side as if considering. “Though if she’s promised to marry you he may forgive you for everything.”

“My friend, one of these days your imagination is going to get you into trouble of a sharp and metallic nature,” Ramsey muttered, feeling a bit shaken by his friend’s lucky guess and not at all willing to admit that it had hit the mark.

“And you, Your Liegeness, are going to have such a headache when your father and advisors are finished with you that you’re unlikely to remember promising to do me bodily harm.”

Ramsey took a swing at the insouciant young nobleman, and missed. Mostly on purpose. Kyril had hung about him for years when they were children, a clumsy, undersized boy who wanted badly to be included. The prince had taken pity on him and quickly grew to appreciate the younger child’s cheerful nature and unquestioning loyalty. Since they had both come of age, Kyril had grown into a fun-loving friend, a highly competent swordsman, and an even more competent flirt. And possibly the only person at court that Ramsey trusted with his secrets, as well as his life.

But not this time. For some reason, Ramsey could not bring himself to talk, even to Kyril, about what had happened to him that day.

“Someday,” he growled, “I’m going to have you locked up for insubordination. And disrespect. And anything else I can think of. Which is a lot.”

Kyril just laughed, which he did often and easily. As the two of them reached the far side of the bailey and entered the castle, Kyril peeled off with a wave of his hand. “Think I’ll leave you to this, Your Exaltedness.” He grinned as he backed away. “Come see me later if you need a cold compress.”

Ramsey almost made a rude gesture in his direction, but stopped when he spotted the cohort of his father’s councilors headed in his direction down the hall. Sighing deeply, he braced himself and went back to work.

Not very much later, Ramsey was regretting not getting permanently lost in the Kingswood and refusing to come home. He sat in his father’s private solar, listening to King Hollin and his first minister continue to argue over the guild situation. His father, though Ramsey loved him a great deal, was a traditionalist. And a deeply irritable one when his gout was acting up.

The king knew why the guilds were making their demands, but he disapproved wholeheartedly of their reasoning, not to mention their underhanded and disrespectful methods. Hollin was not a despot, but he believed in the benevolent authority of the monarchy. He would never sit back tamely while his authority and judgment were questioned.

While Ramsey agreed with many of his father’s policies, especially in the matter of slavery, in this case he found himself more in sympathy with the first minister, who insisted that without change, they would be facing grave consequences.

“You simply can’t continue to ignore the trade issue,” Minister Lavan pressed on. “I’ve been watching reports from the larger towns, and it isn’t only the guilds who are involved. Agents of some of your nobles are seeding doubts about our economic stability, even talking of shortages, and most recently spreading rumors about the incompetence of Prince Ramsey. We have to address this. I realize their methods are underhanded, but we may need to consider discussing some of their demands until we can put these ridiculous ideas to rest. Just until things settle down. You must understand, Your Majesty, there is very real danger.”

“I will not pander to these ignorant fools,” the king snapped, his foot propped up on a stool while his hand clenched tightly around the head of a cane he used more as a cudgel than a prop. “They would destroy this kingdom with their greed and their blundering and I refuse to be manipulated into helping them do it!”

“Father…” Ramsey tried to break in as a mollifying presence, but his parent turned on him with a vengeance.

“And I will most definitely not listen to the advice of foolish children who insist on trying to break their necks before the succession is secure.” The king’s neck began to turn red behind his beard as his tirade grew louder. “Is it possible that you’ve forgotten who will be king if anything happens to you?” He gestured furiously at the window. “You put this entire kingdom at risk with your reckless refusal to give up your reclusive habits.”

Ramsey winced internally. He knew very well what his father thought of his preference for solitude.

“You’re to be king, boy,” the king growled fiercely. “Freedom is no part of your lot. Especially when you use it to run wild in the woods like some silly boy with no respect for the gravity of his position.” Ramsey opened his mouth to protest, but his father had no intention of permitting it.

“And what’s more,”—Hollin’s expression narrowed even further—“my council tells me you persist in refusing to look twice at any of the ladies they’ve suggested as suitable brides!” His free hand slapped the table with such force that Ramsey started, trying not to trade glares with his father. “Boy, I’m considering trotting out every eligible girl in the kingdom until you stop stalling and choose one.”

“I need a wife, Father, not a horse,” Ramsey replied sharply, trying not to sound peevish. “So I would appreciate it if you did not speak of her as if she were a brood mare.” His father’s glower diminished only the tiniest bit as Ramsey continued. “And what good could it possibly do for me to choose a bride who is only using me to get to Rowan?”

King Hollin grunted, unwilling to respond to what they both knew was the truth. Oh, there were plenty of women willing to put up with Ramsey’s plain and boring self in exchange for a crown. But his few, youthful forays into romance had all ended similarly: with women who feigned interest in him only until their proximity to the royal family assured them the interest of Rowan. The undeniably handsome and captivating older prince had always proven more than willing to undercut his brother when it came to romance. Whether Rowan did so out of spite, Ramsey had chosen not to speculate, but the younger prince had yet to meet a woman who could resist Rowan when he chose to exert the charming side of his personality.

Under the circumstances, the last thing the kingdom needed was credible doubt about the paternity of its heir.

“Where is Rowan anyway?” Ramsey asked, too weary to care much for continuing a very old argument.

“Banished to the country,” his father answered shortly.

Ramsey’s eyebrows went up. “He's at Tremontaine House?"

"His hunting lodge," the king answered, his words oddly clipped.

"With no supervision?" Ramsey almost shuddered at the idea. "There's nothing at Ash Hollow to force him to keep up even the smallest illusion of virtue. The neighborhood won't thank you if he runs amok.” His father didn’t answer. Only stared towards the window. Ramsey realized something was terribly wrong. “Father?”

“I almost struck your brother today, Ramsey,” the king admitted. He did not look at his younger son, but continued to gaze blindly out the window. “Your cousins…” He shook his head slowly. “They don’t understand why Rowan is not a larger part of their lives.” Ramsey knew only too well. And cared too much for the children to tell them the truth. “Or why they should not trust him.”

A cold knot tightened in Ramsey’s chest. “Father…” He couldn’t even say it.

“Rowan was partying with some friends last night, late. Parry found them on the terrace, smoking their little pipes and behaving like fools.”

Ramsey began to feel sick. "What was it this time?" he asked reluctantly. He had little desire to know the details of his brother's disgusting habits.

"Your brother wouldn't say." The king's expression grew fierce. "One of those treacherous weeds they use to muddle their heads. All we know is that Parry was found clutching a pipe and vomiting over the edge of the terrace while the whole miserable crew laughed their addled heads off."

Ramsey's fists clenched instinctively. Parry was only eleven. “Is he… will he…”

The king shook his head. “Boy didn’t get much. Just enough to make him see monsters and put him off his food for a day or so. Healer says he’s unlikely to develop a dependence after just a few puffs.” Ramsey was able to breathe again.

“You don’t think… Rowan didn’t mean to hurt him?”

Hollin shook his head firmly. “Your brother is a manipulative, self-centered fool, but not a murderer. He claims it was nothing more than a joke."

Ramsey did not bother to hide his skepticism. "But?"

The king's answering expression was flat and empty. "Lizbet says the two of them had words yesterday morning. Less than diplomatic words. She gave him a well-earned scolding for his latest indiscretion… but she did it in a public hallway. Half the court probably heard." The king shrugged, not able or willing to continue, but Ramsey had heard enough.

Lizbet was Ramsey's aunt. His dead mother's sister. Parry was her son. As little as Ramsey wanted to believe it, Rowan may have used a child—his own cousin—to gain his revenge.

“Father, what are we going to do?” The king looked even older as he slumped in his chair and leaned his head against its back.

“I thought I made the best decision, Ramsey.” The statement might not have made sense to anyone else, but Ramsey knew exactly what his father was thinking. What decision had haunted the king for the past ten years. “I saw him using his power to gain his own ends and decided he would never be a good king. I thought it best to tell him then, so that he could grow used to it before the day came. I even thought he had accepted that the crown would never be his. That he was glad of it. But…” King Hollin looked at his younger son, his eyes red, his lips taut with emotion. “What if I was wrong? What if all he needed was my trust to develop into a decent man? What if I… created…
this
?”

“No, Father,” Ramsey spoke firmly, taking care to keep his voice from betraying his own pain. Rising from his seat, he made his way swiftly around the table and knelt down to look his father in the eye. “We all loved Rowan, tried to help him, even when we saw him choosing himself over everything. You had to be a father
and
a king and you made the right decision.” Ramsey’s mouth quirked sadly. “And you know very well I’m not saying that because
I
wanted to be king. I cried the day you told me I was going to have to spend my life sitting in your very uncomfortable chair.”