Roses & Thorns (18 page)

When
questioned about her mother's health, they merely seemed confused and admitted
to a slight fever and a cough a few weeks back, but both assured Angelique that
it had been nothing serious. Perhaps, they suggested, she'd been confusing news
of her mother's health with Aloysius' failing condition.

Of
Aloysius himself, she saw nothing at first. Ivan said he had taken to his bed
with a cough last winter and had chosen never to arise again. Ivan admitted the
man was not doing well, but he also suggested that Aloysius had merely grown
more cantankerous. He would see his daughter when he felt like seeing her.
Until then she would simply have to be patient.

When
pressed for the reasons behind the alarming letter, Ivan shrugged and seemed to
grow increasingly uncomfortable, until Marguerite stepped forward to accept the
blame for summoning Angelique. After all, Marguerite said, she understood how
fond of one another mother and daughter were. Marguerite also pointed out that
the nurse and chambermaid had not been completely honest regarding the
seriousness of the fever and she freely admitted that she'd told Ivan to ask
Angelique to come for a visit.

The
conflicting stories formed an uneasy knot in Angelique's stomach. Although the
tale could easily be true, she did not feel that Marguerite was being
completely honest with her. Angelique did not like this new household of
Aloysius' any better than the old. It was merely a different household, but not
any safer, especially with Aloysius ensconced in his bedchambers and Ivan's
ruling by proxy.

"Come
now, my dear Angelique," Marguerite smiled sweetly, pausing in her
needlework to offer an almost compassionate glance, "surely you had
guessed. And since you have seen him, could you not tell by mere sight?"

"Come
now yourself, Madam." Phillip bowed with a leering, mocking grin as he
rose from the parlor's window seat. "Surely you can't expect my dear sister
to see so clearly. After all, the girl's been away for nearly a year. People
change. How was she to know Father had not merely become a man of
leisure?"

"For
pity's sake, leave off." Ivan snarled. He turned from the fire's hearth
and added, "Angelique has no more love for the man than we. Have you
forgotten the poor girl's beatings?"

Angelique
managed not to flinch as Ivan's hand patted her shoulder. She mustn't
underestimate him, she reminded herself as she wondered about this new
brotherly concern and awkward affection. She also wondered if Marguerite knew
of his terrible temper. Marguerite did not seem like a fool; most likely, she
simply looked the other way when it reared its ugly head.

"And
what — precisely — is he dying from?" Angelique persisted yet again in an
attempt to get a direct answer.

"I
don't know, dear," Marguerite said. "He was suffering from the cough
before I joined the household. That was at Midwinter."

"It
was just his winter cough," Ivan shrugged with a politely forced smile.
"You remember, the same one that takes to him every year?"

Phillip
snorted as he tried to laugh and drink at the same time. Wine sputtered down
his vest.

"Yes,
well," Ivan waved his hand dismissively, "obviously it wasn't just a
winter's cough this time."

"And
the old miser brought it on himself." Phillip dropped down on the bench
beside his sister. With a smirk, he sprawled back against the mammoth oak
table. "He wouldn't spend the money on the doctor."

"But
why?" Angelique pressed, deliberately turning back to Ivan. "Didn't
you say the doctor came weekly this winter to see Mama? Would it have been so
much trouble to —"

"Ah,
you speak so rationally." Ivan chuckled almost sadly. "He had
something of a fever, Angelique. He wasn't quite himself. He started raging about
nothing. But at first that didn’t seem unusual. By the time we realized how ill
he was, it was too late."

"Yet
no one thought to tell me?"

"What?!"
Phillip scoffed into his cup. "And have your precious Lord and Master cut
us off without another word?"

"We
have had quite enough of you, Phillip," Marguerite warned softly. With an
insolent shrug the man rose and departed. Marguerite sighed, wearily setting
her embroidery down. "You must forgive the oversight, Angelique. Ivan had
not thought you cared much about Aloysius one way or the other, and
Phillip," she smiled dryly, "he was preoccupied with your Betrothed's
wealth."

Whereas
are you not?
Angelique mused, as she
began to understand just how interested they really were.

"It
is true though that once Papa is gone, Angelique's bride price will be gone as
well." Ivan sat down on the corner of the table. His body language
suggested he was addressing his wife, but he was uncomfortably close to
Angelique and seemed suddenly to loom above her. "Perhaps we should begin
to redistribute some of our holdings to compensate?"

"Our
Venetian friends, perhaps?"

Uncomfortably
Angelique rose and drifted nearer the hearth, half-listening. She was no
merchant herself, but she knew the value of Drew's magicked goods. She was not
fooled by this casual ploy and was not surprised when Ivan finally turned to
her with the question she'd been awaiting.

"Of
course, we may be doing the man an injustice. What would you say,
Angelique?"

"I'm
sorry, Ivan." She blinked, hoping to appear just a little lost. "I
wasn't listening properly."

"Are
we doing your gentlemen a disservice? Assuming he's not interested in further
business with us?"

"My
Liege?" Angelique shrugged faintly. "I don't know. I've never much
been part of— trading contracts and such."

"Come,
come," Ivan teased her none too lightly. "Since when has docile
meekness ever suited you, sister?"

She
put an icy chill into her voice, her chin lifting as she chose a reason he
would value. "Can you imagine, brother, the difference between a riding
crop and a sorcerer's hand?"

Ivan's
eyes darkened. But he said no more.

"Angelique,
my dear," Marguerite interjected smoothly. "Are you saying you're
unhappy with this magickian?"

"No."
Angelique stared into the fire's leaping flames again, remembering Drew's arms
encircling her that night in the faery's mist. She wished her guardian was
nearer.

"Because
if you are, there are ways around —"

"I'm
fine, Marguerite." Angelique forced a smile through her tiredness.
"Honestly. I'm merely saying that life with my Liege is different than it
was for me here." She glanced at her brother. "Is it any wonder I'd
change a bit, Ivan?"

He
didn't appear to wholly trust her argument. But with a wary smile he agreed to
let the matter go.

"That
is a lovely brooch you're wearing." Marguerite had resumed her needlework
again and barely seemed to glance at the pin. "Is it a favorite? You seem
to wear it often."

"Yes."
Angelique felt her throat close. She felt suddenly like a mouse caught between
two very hungry cats.

"It's
an unusual design. I keep thinking I've seen it some place before?"

"I
wouldn't know," Angelique replied. "If you'll both excuse me, it's
been a long day."

She
left them, her stomach a knot of tension. She had four days left to her visit,
although they were unaware of her plans to leave them so soon. Four days in
which they would persistently seek a way to bind Drew to their schemes while
Angelique would desperately search for a way to protect her mother. She had not
a doubt that the extra servants and care would vanish with Aloysius' death. For
although he had always cared what the townsfolk thought of his family image,
Ivan held little respect for others' opinions, and even less for his mother.
With Marguerite's help, Angelique was sure that Ivan would soon come to see
that Mama was a costly expenditure that should be disposed of quickly and
quietly.

One
solution seemed obvious: she could offer to extend Drew's trade agreement in
exchange for a continuation of care. But she was loath to bind her beloved to
such awful creatures and wondered if there might be another solution. Angelique
fell asleep wondering if the temperament of Drew's stepmother had been
something akin to Marguerite's.

"There
is something wrong, Culdun. I tell you I
feel
it!" Drew's hands
closed into fists. "If only I could see her. But that damnable man even
has his sons warded against me now!"

Culdun
said nothing as he watched Drew pace before the hearth. There was nothing to
say. They could only wait.

The
four days passed far too quickly. Chaos descended like a violent storm that
very night, leaving a terrible destruction in its wake. Aloysius' intermittent
bellowing ceased quite abruptly. His fever rose. In two days, he was dead.

Then
Angelique’s mother became terribly and suddenly ill. With the household staff
in turmoil over the death duties and Ivan's gracious hosting of
the-not-so-mournful town merchants, Angelique discarded her satin skirts and
petticoats to don simpler garb to help nurse her mother through the strange
seizures. She did not think her mother was as grief-stricken as Marguerite
surmised; Aloysius was no real loss to her. But what worried Angelique more was
the danger of the woman’s fragile bones being shattered by these violent
shakes.

As
unexpectedly as it had begun, the illness ended. Marguerite seemed smugly
satisfied. The doctor shrugged, shook his head and left. Phillip sneered and
praised his sister on so adroitly avoiding the late afternoon funeral. With
that comment the last of Angelique’s patience fled. Pushing past her brother,
she retreated into her room, sank down on the bed and took her head in her
hands.

Tonight,
finally, was the new moon. Tonight she would go home. She would ask Drew to
continue working with these folk for Mama's sake. She trusted that Drew would
find some way to deal with these despicable people she found herself related
to. She no longer had the patience for them.

Tonight,
beneath a starlit sky, her betrothed would open the gates for her again. It
would not matter how many warded pieces Ivan hung about the walls; it would not
matter what pretty stories he told about those odd, little relics. He need
never be the wiser.

Angelique
turned to search for the blue velvet and gold-threaded dress she knew Drew
loved, the gown that reminded Angelique of moonless nights and star-bright
skies. Every time she wore it, upon seeing her for the first time, Drew would
stop and stare, wide-eyed as if she could not believe such a beautiful woman
might ever grace her presence. She would wear it tonight. In celebration.

The
parlor was dark. The embers in the hearth barely glowed. Drew sat alone and
unmoving, engulfed by the shadowy depths of the chair. In her hand, she held
the silver rose. Her thoughts were in turmoil and, without thinking, she closed
her fist about the delicate flower, not feeling the thorns slice into her skin.

Blood
dripped in lacy patterns down her hand like dark and dangerous tears.

"Phillip,
have you seen my brooch?"

He
snickered and walked past her on up the stairs. And now Angelique knew to fear
the worst. Angelique cursed herself. She should have been paying more attention
and remembered to re-pin the brooch to her other garments.

"My
goodness, Angelique. You're quite pale!" Marguerite remarked. Her tapestry
frame had been pushed aside, but she did not rise from the small couch.

"What's
wrong, Angelique?" Ivan stepped forward with a frown. "You haven't
caught Mother's stomach ailment, have you?"

Phillip's
laughter called their little bluff as he bounded down the steps. He tossed a
heavy key across to his brother and rebuked them both. "She's finally
noticed, you fools. Did you think she had no brains at all?"

"Phillip,
please." Marguerite sounded faintly bored. She waved her hand toward the
cupboard where the spirits were kept. "Amuse yourself and let us tend to
the poor woman."

"My
brooch," Angelique pressed, "the one with the two snakes. Where is
it?"

"Oh
that, my dear." Marguerite settled back, seemingly less disturbed as she
returned to her tapestry work. "Ivan has it. A servant found it lying
about somewhere. Seems the clasp was broken."

"I
thought I'd have it mended for you." Her older brother smiled sweetly as
he pulled the piece from his vest pocket.

He
made no move to return it, however, and Angelique barely stopped herself from
bounding forward to grab it. Something about his stance reminded her all too
well of those taunting 'get-it-if-you-can' games of their childhood.

"I
did, however, tell Ivan to speak to you about it first." Angelique glanced
back at Marguerite. The woman appeared oblivious to the growing tension between
them. "I reminded Ivan of your gentleman's penchant for magick and of the
fact that this piece might not be mended by a mere jeweler's skill."
Something in the blandness of the matron's voice made Angelique's stomach
clench. "It was then that I remembered where I'd seen the piece
before."