Traitor's Masque Read Free Page A

scrubbed industriously at already clean fixtures, while the kitchen maids bustled about looking both flushed and flustered. The bread was rising, a compote was stewing, and the tea things were set out in anticipation of the morning’s demands, despite the fact that no one was likely to use them.
    Vianne was in her usual chair by the fire, reviewing her notes while keeping a sharp eye on her domain.
    A solid, unflappable woman with iron-gray hair and a firm sense of discipline, Vianne had been employed at Colbourne Manor since before Trystan was born. Her stern expression and long wooden spoon were the terror of the household, and a constant source of irritation to Malisse, who resented the fact that she found her own cook intimidating. Even when very young, Trystan had refused to be frightened, but she had always afforded Vianne a sort of awed respect. Though the cook was not what Trystan would call genial, her presence had been an unwavering fixture of Trystan’s childhood. And most important of all on this occasion, no one who worked for Vianne would dream of betraying Trystan to her stepmother.
    “Child.” Vianne’s greeting was noncommittal, as always. Her face betrayed no sign that she found anything odd in Trystan’s appearance.
    “Good morning, Vianne.” Trystan returned the greeting with her blandest expression. “Breakfast?”
    One of the harassed-looking kitchen maids scurried up with a plate and a steaming mug, obviously prepared in advance.
    Pleased to find herself expected, but in far too much haste to sit down and enjoy it, Trystan drank her tea. Perhaps a little too quickly. It burned her tongue, but at least it was hot and sweet. The mornings were not yet comfortably warm, and the tea would fortify her until sun and exercise banished the early spring chill. After returning the mug, Trystan turned her attention to the plate and wolfed down a piece of yesterday’s bread. She might have even grinned a little to herself as she imagined her stepmother’s horror at each enormous bite. As the last morsel disappeared, Trystan wiped the crumbs from her mouth and nodded her thanks, her mouth too full to actually say the words.
    Before she went out by the scullery door, Trystan lingered in the warmth long enough to pull on her boots and braid her hair. The thick braid went under her coat and was covered by her shapeless, short-billed cap. Her disguise would never defeat a determined inspection, but she had never allowed anyone to get close enough to suspect her identity. They would, she thought with a secretive smile, have to catch her first.
    As Trystan stepped into the scullery doorway, Vianne stopped her with a word.
    “Wait,” she said. Trystan turned back, eyebrows lifted in curiosity. The cook’s expression remained unreadable. “Blessings of the day, child. You need not be back until dinner.” Trystan blinked and stared uncertainly. “I’ve arranged everything,” Vianne continued, not bothering to explain the details, “but be sure you return in time to change.”
    It really didn’t seem possible. “Vianne, I…” Trystan stopped. Considered. Surely she couldn’t be gone an entire day. Someone would notice. There would be outrage. Indignation. A brief trial followed by a beheading. But somehow, none of that seemed quite as important as what the cook had not said.
    Vianne remembered. She knew what this day meant to Trystan. And not only had she remembered, but she had ensured that it would not be as terrible as Trystan feared. But how? And even more importantly, why? It could not have been a simple undertaking. Excuses would have to be made, stories rehearsed and alibis invented. If anyone in on the deception proved untrustworthy, Vianne’s job could be at stake. Why would she risk so much for someone who had never been anything but a charge on her responsibility?
    “Vianne, I…” Trystan tried again. “Did you…” How did one ask such a thing without sounding ungrateful?
    “Child.”