Chapter Twenty-Four - Traitor Once More
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Traitor Once More
THE DAYS THAT followed were filled with elation and terror.
Rosamund had handed the plans to Leoric when she arrived at Tidehall for her next tea with Elswyth.
The young man hovered by the gate, as Lord Darnwell said he would, and waited for her to approach.
Tomas had frowned when she asked to walk and drove the carriage the rest of the way to the house.
In the brief gap she had handed him the plans.
She had been so paranoid that someone had spotted her that it took her to the second pot of tea to notice the fresh bruises around Elswyth’s neck.
The Princess had attempted to cover them with a scarf, but it had loosened as she leaned over to pour the tea.
“Elswyth!” she had gasped.
The older woman had quickly secured the scarf, clearing her throat, “it was an accident.”
“Oh, did he just accidentally wrap his fingers around your neck?” asked Isolde bluntly.
Since the party she had started to join them at tea. Marianne too who stared in horror at the marks.
“He just gets carried away,” mumbled Elswyth.
“When Aurelian gets carried away, he buys a new a carriage,” said Isolde, “he does not near choke me, or Emrys, to death.”
The older woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat and focused on the tea.
“You should tell someone,” said Rosamund, reaching out to touch her hand.
Elswyth could not look at her as she said quietly, “who would listen?”
Isolde rolled her eyes where Elswyth could not see and shook her head, though she said nothing else on the matter. She could imagine what had happened. She had made Bastian feel small at the ball, and so he had made himself feel big later. The guilt in her stomach grew.
Another betrayal to add to the list.
Guilt was a constant in her life since she had taken the plans.
Made only worse by the new proximity she and Dorian shared.
It was both sweet and painful. They moved around the house like secret lovers, hiding their short kisses from the others, the careful touch of bare hands.
She longed for these moments, for more than the brief kisses they shared.
Yet at the same time it stabbed at her heart. But he smiled. He laughed.
“What have you done to him?” Wulf had whispered one morning as Dorian had broken into giggles over something Corvin had said.
“Nothing,” said Rosamund with a pleased grin and an innocent expression.
Now their trips to The Veil were decided by where they could have the most privacy, often finding themselves in the quiet of the Reverie.
She felt most at peace there, walking in the rain, hiding under the stone gazebos and stealing kisses where she could.
When she kissed him, she forgot what she had done.
She would melt into it, all her focus on keeping back his power.
When he left to attend to business, or to visit the court, that would be when doubt crept back in.
She had heard nothing from Lord Darnwell.
Every morning when she attended breakfast she waited for the news of her missing brothers.
Would they suspect her? Would they know to look for her?
What if they were not there? What if they had moved them.
What if they were already dead…
Images of her brothers wasting away filled her mind.
Closely followed by the look of hurt, the look of betrayal of Dorian if he ever discovered what she had done.
She longed for distraction, she needed it.
When she was not walking with Dorian or having tea with Elswyth and the other princesses she would pace her conservatory, nursing the plants.
Nothing. There was nothing. No word. No news. Nothing.
Then at breakfast, Osric had appeared with another invitation for them both.
“Bastian wants you at Tidehall. Tonight,” said Osric as he handed over the teal invite to Dorian.
He had looked across the table at her and handed back the invite to his brother, “no thank you.”
Osric thrust out the invite again, “he insists. Family dinner. Both of you are to come. Us too.”
Perhaps this was what she needed, a distraction. She would need to focus, and that would perhaps keep the worst of her worries at bay. Dorian looked back at her, and she nodded. He sighed and said, “then you can let Bastian know we will be there.”
Osric looked relieved and wrapped the mists around himself, disappearing from the room.
“Hope you’re ready for a night of tedium,” Dorian said to her.
“Well I can think of something much more fun to do afterwards,” she said, forgetting that they were not alone at the table when both Corvin and Wulf spluttered into their tea.
Wulf burst into a fit of laughter which sent a flush into Dorian’s cheeks.
“Gnash doesn’t get it,” said the goblin looking at everyone confused.
No one explained it to him.
The journey to Tidehall was a familiar one, and Dorian complained the whole way.
She would have found it amusing, as she often did, if her nerves were not frayed.
What if this was what the Darnwell’s had been waiting for?
A chance to speak to her again on her visit to Tidehall.
If one of them was waiting by the gate, how would she explain to Dorian that she wanted to walk instead?
He would not let her go alone; he would surely come with her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine,” she said quickly, forcing a smile, “what was that about teal?”
“It’s an awful colour,” he said dismissively, but leaned towards her, holding his hand out to her, “are you sure?”
“I don’t mind it actually.”
“I’m not talking about the colour.”
“Yes,” she lied, “I’m fine.”
He squeezed her hand, “we don’t have to stay long. I won’t let him near you.”
She smiled gratefully at him, and he continued to hold her hand as they travelled.
Despite the guilt that haunted her, she was glad that he was there beside her.
His presence soothed her just as much as it caused her pain.
If he had not been there that she would have descended into one of her panics.
It would be fine. Dorian was here. It would be fine.
If the Darnwell’s were waiting, then she would find a way to speak to them.
But they were waiting. Though not in the way she was expecting.
The carriage paused as the wide gates to Tidehall slowly swung open.
In the thick perfumed air, a different scent carried on the wind towards them.
It was a familiar smell. One she recognised instantly.
That she would never forget. Dorian caught it too, of course he would.
But before he could warn her not too, she had pulled back the curtain and looked out the window.
There, atop the spiked ridges of Tidehall’s gates were the bloody, rotting bodies of Lord Darnwell, and his sons.
She did not gasp. Or scream. She only looked up at the bloated face of the man who had asked her to trust him.
She fought down the tears that threatened to spill.
She could not let Dorian see. He could not know what these men had meant to her.
Whilst Lord Darnwell’s head had been fully severed from his body to be placed on the spike of the gate, his sons naked bodies hung from ropes on either side.
Their chests had a myriad of wounds. Hot pokers had been placed against their skin, their nails were missing, and the limbs of the youngest were twisted and broken.
They had been tortured before they had been strung up on the gates.
They know. He knows.
Rosamund could feel the panic swelling inside her as the carriage rolled over the bridge to Tidehall.
If they had been tortured, then there was no telling what they might have told their captors.
Told Bastian. This was a trap; she was walking into a trap.
Bastian had wanted her to see, had hung them where she would have to pass them.
Why do that if he did not know? He knew.
He knew that she had been involved. And he would torture her the same way that he had tortured the Darnwell’s. And if she used her power…
I’ll burn.
“Rosamund?”
She realised how tightly she had been gripping his hand and quickly let go, “sorry…I…sorry.”
Her breath was becoming ragged, and she could see his concern deepening.
“No. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“It’s not like it’s the first time,” she snapped, “sorry, I…I just…wasn’t expecting it.”
He held her hand in a firm grasp, “I understand, it…it likely brings back memories.”
That had not even crossed her mind. She saw only what might be, what was awaiting her at Tidehall. Not the poor corpses of Edmund and Todric.
Great. I’ll add selfish to the list of my growing faults.
The carriage stopped in front of the large open doors, Bastian waiting at the top.
She thought her legs would betray her as she climbed down from the carriage, but Dorian held her upright.
Her feet felt like lead as she climbed the steps towards the older Prince, who stood as calmly as if he was standing on one of the decks of one of his ships.
“Dorian! Rosamund, so glad you could make it,” drawled Bastian as he embraced his brother.
Dorian stiffened beside her when Bastian wrapped his arms around him. Turning to her he enveloped her in the same grip; she could smell the sea and wine on him and had to fight down the rising vomit within her. He smirked at them both, “this way, you’re the last to arrive.”