The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  “What you expect of me, sir?” Cathal asked. He knew he was expected to marry her, but he didn’t know what else Father had in mind. He did know that Father would tell him, in detail.

  “I’ve arranged a marriage for you that is advantageous not only to you, but also to this family and Tournai. You will make Lady Velia feel welcome. You will give her all of your attention as we go about seeing you wedded.” Father fixed him with a hard stare. “I know you’ve had affairs in the past, and I’ve turned a blind eye, but you will not carry on with anyone while you’re betrothed to her. We don’t need her running back to Ardunn and breaking the betrothal.”

  “Father, I wouldn’t—”

  “I don’t need to hear anything more than that you will do as I ask,” Father interrupted, his voice sharp. “You will keep Lady Velia content here, and you will help me do the same with her uncle. He’ll leave after the wedding, and I want him taking favorable reports back to Ardunn with him.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  FLAVIAN WAS trying not to look as infuriated as he felt. Mostly because he didn’t want to draw additional attention to himself. Not at all because Velia had lectured him about suitable behavior and how important it was that everyone think he was Lady Flavia while she’d dug through his meager wardrobe of gowns for something suitable for a party at a duke’s home. He knew how important it was for no one to suspect that he wasn’t anything other than what he appeared. He just didn’t think the best way to do that was to be seen by more people who might find out his secret.

  Velia continued to disagree and to push, and Flavian had to give in. She had helped him get away from Ardunn, and as much as he didn’t want to get caught for his own sake, he didn’t want to be found out for hers either. He didn’t want her life ruined, didn’t want her to have to go back to Ardunn either.

  So he was at a party in the home of Cathal’s father. What he had seen of it was lavish, though he hadn’t seen much, and while he was mildly curious about the place that would someday be his friend’s home, he didn’t think it a good idea to sneak away from the party and explore. If he were caught, he would certainly draw too much attention to himself. He didn’t need that.

  He sat in a chair in the corner of the ballroom and listened to the music, watched the people dancing. And wondered if he got up and walked out the front door, just disappeared into the city, if he would be able to get away. The idea was tempting, seductively so—before he realized he was moving, he had stood from his chair, ready to leave. He sat back down quickly, hoping no one had noticed, or they’d be wondering what the crazy woman in the corner was doing.

  But it didn’t appear that anyone had noticed. Not any of the strangers who mingled around the room, nor the few people he knew. Velia was still on the dance floor with Cathal; the princes were dancing as well, together, something that could get them both imprisoned if they did it in Ardunn, but that buoyed Flavian’s optimism for Tournai. If he could just get out of the palace and the charade, he could have a good life here.

  He couldn’t walk out right then, but he kicked himself for not realizing that disappearing from a crowded party outside the palace might be a possibility. If he had thought about it, he could have planned to slip away tonight. But he hadn’t, and he wasn’t leaving with nothing but the clothes on his back—which happened to be a gown—not after he’d plotted so carefully to escape Tournai with the means necessary to begin a life elsewhere. He was not going to throw all that preparation, and the things he managed to carry out of Ardunn, away.

  But he hated the missed opportunity.

  “Lady Flavia?”

  He started. How had Cathal managed to get so close to him without his noticing? And from the look on the man’s face, it wasn’t the first time Cathal had called his name—or the name Cathal thought was Flavian’s anyway.

  “Yes?” he snapped, somewhat resentful of both the intrusion into his solitude and that it was Cathal intruding. But being sharp with him wouldn’t help Flavian, especially when Flavian was masquerading as a woman of nobility but far lower rank than Cathal or Velia. He moderated his tone and even dredged up a smile. “Did you need something, my lord?”

  Cathal’s expression only showed mild surprise, but he had probably been taught to control his outward appearance from the cradle. “I wanted to make sure you’re enjoying the party, Lady Flavia.”

  Flavian doubted that, but he supposed Cathal might be checking on him in the hope it would make Velia happy. “Who wouldn’t enjoy such a lovely party? I must thank you for your hospitality, my lord, in inviting me.”

  “My parents’ hospitality, really,” Cathal said. His gaze bored into Flavian, seeming to weigh whether he was telling the truth. Which he was, sort of. He was choosing his words with care. “I’m sure my mother will be pleased that you’re enjoying the party.”

  “As I said, it’s a lovely party,” he said. It was odd sitting there looking so far up to talk to Cathal. The man loomed over him. Flavian wanted to stand but knew that would appear strange.

  “You were watching the people dancing.”

  “Yes. The musicians are quite good, my lord.” The inane party chatter would make him crazy soon. He’d never been that good at it, but he had managed well enough. But in his disguise, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else, he couldn’t even do that.

  “They are. I’ll have to compliment my mother on her choice.” Cathal had glanced over toward the musicians, but he looked back at Flavian. “Would you care to dance, Lady Flavia?”

  “What? No.” Flavian only realized how he must have sounded when Cathal flinched back. He hoped his voice hadn’t gotten too loud and close to his normal tones. “I mean, no, thank you, my lord. I’m quite content here.”

  “If you think Lady Velia would object, I’m certain she won’t. She’s dancing with my brother now.” Cathal gestured toward the dancers, among whom Velia danced with Vrai. “And it would be my pleasure to partner you for a dance.”

  “Thank you again, my lord, but no.” He had nothing against dancing, even enjoyed it with the right partner, but he doubted he could manage it in a gown, if he could even remember to dance the lady’s part of the dances. Best not to try. “Really. I don’t dance.”

  IN THE following days, Cathal danced attendance on his betrothed at a number of outings and parties. He did his best to follow Father’s instructions and make Velia feel welcome and happy in Tournai. But he found it difficult to determine if she was either of those things.

  He could understand why Father was so keen about his marrying Velia. First and foremost were her connections to Ardunn, but beyond that was the type of lady Velia was. She would have made the perfect princess in Father’s mind, Cathal was certain. She navigated court functions effortlessly. She was demure when that was required but seemed to draw others to her, smiling and laughing and creating an atmosphere of frivolity. She also knew she wasn’t a princess, wasn’t even married to Cathal yet, and easily deferred to Elodie who was often at her side. Yes, Father would have liked her for Philip, but since Philip had married, Father would have Velia as his son’s duchess instead. And Cathal could see that she would make a good one for all those reasons; he just wished he could get to know her a bit.

  As much as Elodie was often at Velia’s side, Flavia frequently trailed behind Velia as well. When he showed Velia the city, Flavia was there too, quietly observing the sights of Jumelle—and, Cathal thought, him—as he told the ladies about them. She was an enigma, not behaving the way court ladies normally would—one moment quiet and retiring, the next sharp and sarcastic. She had none of Velia’s easy manner at court and none of Velia’s classic beauty, but Flavia had something of her own, a unique prettiness. And he had no idea why he was spending so much time watching Flavia and thinking about her.

  It made no sense.

  Cathal found work a relief from the endless round of entertainments and the confusion. When he was able to do so. Philip made allowances for Cathal’s frequent absences, bu
t Cathal wished he wouldn’t quite so much. He would rather have to work more, was actually grateful to be working at the moment.

  “What news do we have from Marcus?” Philip asked from his desk. Amory and Etan, huddled over some papers on Amory’s desk, stopped to listen for Cathal’s answer.

  If only he had better news to impart. The whispers of spies from Ardunn in Jumelle were troubling to say the least. “Still searching. They’ve uncovered rumors, suspicions, but that’s all. There are indications that there are at least two in Jumelle.”

  Philip slumped back in his chair, his fingers beating a tattoo against the arm of his chair as he thought.

  “At least two?” Amory asked.

  “Our agents are hedging. Indications are two, but originally they thought one. I don’t think anyone is eager to commit.”

  Etan gave an eloquent eye roll, which summed up Cathal’s feelings on that situation as well. Philip didn’t bother with any gestures. “Tell them I want them to commit based on the information they have now. If they receive new information, they can report that.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Philip rolled his eyes, but that action was most certainly in response to what Cathal called him. Cathal ignored him. “More seriously, they suspect that Ardunn may already have someone in the palace.”

  Philip shoved a hand through his hair, the thick dark locks falling into disarray. “Well, we knew Ardunn was trying. Are they certain?”

  “No, but they strongly suspect.”

  “Then we need to assume someone has managed to infiltrate the palace and take steps to find them,” Philip said.

  “I hate to ask,” Etan began, “but how many people came with your betrothed from Ardunn?”

  They were all thinking it. Etan needn’t have worried about offending him. Cathal had no emotional attachment to Velia or her traveling companions. Flavia’s face floated into his mind, but he pushed it away. “Only six. Lady Velia and her companion, the duke and duchess, the duke’s secretary, and the duchess’s maid. We’ll have to look at all of them.”

  “Even more than we have been.” Philip sighed. “It would be too much to ask for Ardunn to concern themselves elsewhere.”

  “The emperor is land mad. He’s rolling over kingdoms to his east, building his empire, and still spying on us,” Etan commented. “Logically, we should be safe, as far west from Ardunn as we are.”

  “Do we know what they’re looking for? Is there some information they want in particular here?” Amory asked.

  Philip shrugged. “We’re small but rich and strategically located. They want to know our vulnerabilities, and they want to know why and how we remain when by all rights we should have been conquered by our larger neighbors long before now.”

  Etan perched on the corner of Amory’s desk. “Think they’ve heard the stories?”

  “If they haven’t, they will soon,” Cathal said, continuing to sort through documents as he listened to the discussion. He didn’t have the time to do only one thing—he would be pulled away into something for his betrothal soon enough.

  “True. But will they believe them?” Philip asked, a wry twist to his lips.

  “Should they? I’ve heard the old stories too, but they’re legends,” Amory said. “I assume they have some basis in truth, but I never used to—not before I learned about the Talent that runs in your family.”

  “There is some basis in truth, as you said.” Philip smiled at his husband, a depth of affection in his expression that Cathal only ever saw when Philip looked at Amory. Seeing it made him wish for someone he could feel that level of affection with, but he shook that feeling aside. “I would think that the legends of man-sized cats coming to the defense and protection of Tournai originated in us. Members of the royal family used their Talents and fought as cats more than once in our history to repel invaders.”

  “Though no one knew they were members of the royal family, of course.”

  Philip nodded in response to Etan’s interjection. “No, they didn’t, which is probably why they’re legends and not history.”

  “And best they stay that way,” Cathal said. The royal family had never made their unusual magical Talent public knowledge. It was said that there were even some spouses that hadn’t known of royal their spouses’ unique Talents. He didn’t know why the decision had originally been made—Etan would, if anyone did, with his interest in family history. After so long, though, Cathal had no desire for anyone to find out what he and his family could do. Let the legends stay legends. They would do more good that way.

  “You know the other part of the stories as well,” Etan said.

  “What other part of the stories?” Amory asked, looking between Philip, Etan, and Cathal, his eyes bright with curiosity.

  “You’ve heard the part of the legends that say the cats will always return when Tournai needs them?” Philip replied. At Amory’s nod, he continued, “Well, the other side of the stories, which no one outside the family would know, is that it’s said that in those times, when the cats will be needed, the Talent will grow stronger in those who possess it. And the cats will be larger and stronger as well.”

  “Presumably so we’ll be prepared for whatever the magic is needed for,” Etan added.

  “Though it hasn’t been needed in years,” Cathal said. He’d never thought much of the strange superstition that went along with their Talents.

  “But our cats are bigger than in previous generations, or so it seems. Grandfather died before I was born, but I remember Uncle Jeton saying often how proud he was that our Talents were so strong, Philip’s especially,” Etan said, his voice vibrant. History of the family and its magical Talent was all it took to interest Etan.

  “Ours are,” Cathal conceded, but that was all he would concede. “The three of us can change into extremely large cats, but Elodie can only change into a fluffy cat the size of a kitten, and Vrai’s cat is scarcely larger than an overgrown barn cat.”

  “True. And two of your sisters didn’t even inherit it,” Philip agreed. “But Etan’s right too. Father always said our Talents were stronger than those of our grandfather’s generation.”

  “Whatever that means, if anything,” Cathal said, but he smiled at Philip and Etan nonetheless.

  “Well, I’m grateful for Philip’s Talent.” Amory smiled at Philip, a soft, intimate smile. “He saved my life with it.”

  Philip returned Amory’s smile, but Cathal knew both of them had to look back at that time with some amount of pain still. “I guess these Talents of ours are good for something after all.”

  True, but Cathal doubted that was what all of those stories meant when they said the cats would be stronger when they were needed.

  A long moment passed while Philip and Amory looked at each other in a way that seemed to indicate they’d forgotten Cathal and Etan were there. Cathal went back to the document in front of him, trying not to feel as if he was intruding.

  “Well,” Philip said finally.

  “Yes, well,” Amory replied, a ripple of amusement and embarrassment in the words. “And is that the time? I have to meet Lady Flavia. I’ve been promising to show her the art in the south gallery, and we finally settled on a time.”

  “Wait. I need you to finish these first,” Etan said. “I’m sorry.”

  Amory sighed. “Let me at least send her a note. I don’t want her waiting there for me.”

  “I’ll go,” Cathal offered and was as shocked that he had as everyone else in the room seemed to be. “I’ll escort her until you can get there. You won’t be long, will you?”

  “Not long, no,” Etan said for Amory, but then Etan was the one with a stack of papers in his hands.

  “Thank you, Cathal. I appreciate it, but I don’t want to take you away from your work,” Amory said.

  “Can you spare me for a moment?” Cathal asked Philip. At Philip’s assent, Cathal turned back to Amory. “It isn’t a problem. I’ll step out, keep her company, and come back when you get
there. She’s waiting for you at the south gallery?”

  The south gallery was on the opposite side of the palace, so Cathal strode through long corridors to get there. He wasn’t as knowledgeable about art as Amory was, nor did he have the passion for it that Amory had, but he did know the palace, did appreciate its history and beauty, so he could probably keep Flavia occupied until Amory was free to join them.

  He found Flavia standing at the wide, arched entrance to the south gallery. She was fidgeting a little, fingers plucking at the skirt of her blue gown and tugging at the high lace neckline. She looked around her as she did, at the ornate chandeliers and the intricately carved stone of the columns. Perhaps she didn’t even realize she was moving so nervously.

  “Lady Flavia,” he said as he approached.

  She jumped a little, her hands releasing her clothing and stuttering for an instant before she clasped them in front of her. “Lord Cathal, good afternoon.” She glanced past Cathal. “I was to wait for Prince Amory here. His Highness was kind enough to offer to show me the paintings.”

  “Yes, I know. His Highness sent me because he’s been delayed. He hoped you might be amused by my company until he can join you.”

  “Oh, well, thank you, my lord. But I certainly don’t want to pull His Highness away from anything or to take up your time. I can look at the art by myself, or not if this isn’t somewhere I should be alone.” Her voice was quiet, and she should have seemed demure, even shy, especially with the way she kept glancing down, but her behavior didn’t quite read that way.

  “Prince Amory expressed to me that he is looking forward to showing you the art and discussing it with you. It’s no trouble at all for me to keep you company until he arrives.” He kicked himself. He didn’t think he could sound less enthusiastic if he tried. “It would be my pleasure.”

  There was frank skepticism in Flavia’s arresting eyes, but she only nodded and thanked him. Cathal offered his arm to her and then remembered the minor argument they’d had the last time he’d done so, but after a brief hesitation, Flavia took his arm and let him lead her into the gallery.