Traitor's Masque Read Online Free Page B

distant and vague and Trystan had been forced to wonder if she had made a mistake by shutting other people out of her life. But she had still not really tried to make friends. She had been too pre-occupied by her anger at the disruption of her perfect world, too busy trying to set it right. She had only wanted her father back. Until that terrible day he returned from his journey sick and shivering and never left his bed again.
    It still ached. Even three years later, those memories filled Trystan with the familiar leaden drag of loss.
    As she urged Theron into a brisk trot across the damp, fog-shrouded field, a bitter echo of the same useless questions kept time with the drum of his hooves. Why her? Why him? How could he die and leave her alone?
    Caught up in her recollections, Trystan realized how tense she had become only when Theron's head tossed uncomfortably and he began to jig beneath her. She slackened her grip on the reins and released the rigidity in her legs until he subsided. If only her own troubles could have been so easily resolved.
    Once the funeral was past, by the time her anger and grief had diminished, and by the time she realized she had no power against Malisse, it had been too late. Between her own pride and her stepmother’s restrictions, she was left utterly alone.
    Or so she had always thought. She was beginning to suspect she had been entirely mistaken.
    When the eaves of the forest finally appeared through the mist on the far side of the field, Trystan urged Theron into a canter, eager to leave the familiar fields behind. She had thoroughly explored the pastures around Colbourne years ago, but avoided the woods since her father's death. There had never been enough time, and it would have felt strange to go there without him. But Alexei was right. She needed to go back. Perhaps it would help her find a way to move forward.
    The edge of the field was marked by a brush fence, thick and tangled, which Theron hurdled with ease, though it was much more difficult to convince him to pull up afterwards. He had not yet had a chance to expend much energy, and did not appreciate being forced to walk until they found their way through the brush to the nearest of the forest paths.
    Once they pressed through the edges of the wood, it proved more pleasant, due to the efforts of royal foresters to keep the paths and the underbrush cleared. Their vigilance provided a shady haunt for picnics or royal hunts, which Trystan knew occurred primarily during the long summer months, when bored nobility descended in droves on the nearby court at Evenleigh. Fortunately, she was unlikely to have much company on such a cool spring morning, especially at an hour which fashionable society considered closer to bedtime than breakfast.
    Trystan's memory proved adequate to the task of finding her way into the wood, but, sadly, it failed miserably in the matter of navigation within. Where her mind recalled broad, open paths laid out in a neat pattern, she found instead a maze of narrow trails, none of which seemed to lead in a predictable direction.
    It was a pleasant enough place to be lost, unless one wanted to be elsewhere and was mounted on a horse that had decided to be silly about trees. The farther they went, the more nervous Theron seemed, blowing anxiously and flicking his ears at every sound.
    The sun rose higher, filtering sporadically through the foliage overhead, indicating to Trystan that she had perhaps been unforgivably foolish. She had simply assumed her memories would guide her, but it had been too long, and no doubt the forest trails had changed.
    Inwardly cursing her failure to consider this probability before attempting such an unwise expedition, Trystan was on the verge of returning the way she had come when she heard the improbable sound of hoofbeats. She pulled Theron to a stop and listened, hoping they had been an echo, but they continued.
    Trystan had no desire to discover what sort of person besides herself