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Thatblue panel? she wondered, staring at the colorful design beside the bench. She reached up and pressed the oblong that was blue.
Nothing happened. She pressed again, harder.
The wall with the panel swung partly open, making no sound in the silent hallway.
Instantly Arianne stepped forward. She slid through the gap—and froze.
Julian and Cren had their backs to her. They were facing a huge bed in a well-appointed chamber, with green silk bed hangings and draperies, a gold-and-green-threaded tapestry upon the wall, a carved chest of drawers, rugs and rushes upon the stone floors, and a fire in the hearth.
“Quick, my lord, there is no time to be lost. Kill him now!” Cren hissed.
Sword drawn, Julian stared at the white-haired figure lying in the bed.
Arianne recognized him at once. It was Archduke Armand.
Nicholas’s father wasalive.
8
Shock flooded Arianne.She almost started forward, but the old duke, who had not seen her, began to speak, and she stayed rooted where she was, surveying the tableau as if it were a scene from some bizarre dream.
“Yes, kill me now, Julian. End this. I’ve suffered enough. I should have been struck dead the day I sent my son away. I believed you…your lies…over Nicholas.”
“I don’t want to kill you, Father,” Julian said in the quietest, most reserved tone Arianne had ever heard him use. Yet he sounded resigned. He was going to follow through!
“But there is no choice,” Julian continued. “A rebellion is under way. I must marshal my men and fight those who would cast out the rightful heir to Dinadan.”
“You’re not the rightful heir. Nicholas is.”
“You disowned him. Banished him. And Cren here claims he is dead. So it is left to me—once you are gone. And so now, lest someone find that the old duke lives still, you must needs be truly gone.”
“Then do it!” the old duke rasped, contempt in his sagging, lined face, as well as grief, a grief so great that Arianne’s heart ached for him, because she knew it was not himself he grieved for but the son he had wronged.
“At least admit to me, before I die, that you were the architect of my feud with Nicholas. You drove the wedge between us with your lies…You paid those peasants to swear they saw him attack that girl…”
“And I paid her to swear to it,” Julian said softly.
The duke groaned.
“What would you have had me do?” Julian demanded, his voice rising, shrill with hatred. “I knew that with him here in this court, I would never have a chance to succeed you. He was the firstborn, and you favored him over me in every way besides. Outright murder would have been too risky. So I found another way.”
“Evil…boy,” the duke whispered, and despite his frailty, his eyes glinted with rage.
“Yes, it’s true. It was wicked of me, wasn’t it?” Julian sneered. “But brilliant, too, you must admit. For that little incident never happened, my lord, none of it—nor any of the other rumors of Nicholas’s wrongdoing that I whispered in your ear.” Julian gave a laugh so low and spiteful that it filled Arianne with horror. “Your precious Nicholas was innocent of it all. Now at last you know the whole truth.”
“I suspected…”
“Ah, yes, you became suspicious, and that’s what forced me to arrange your death. You would have summoned Nicholas some time ago, searched for him and heard him out. You were ready to doubt me and welcome him home, so therefore you left me no choice!”
“You have no choice now, my lord,” Cren spat. “Kill him and let us go down to the fray. You must rally your soldiers and your supporters among the people. There isn’t a moment to spare!”
“You do it!” Julian shoved his sword back into its scabbard. “I cannot. He is my own father—you kill him, quickly, and then we will go…”
“No!” Arianne rushed forward as Cren drew out his sword with a billowing motion of his sleeve. She braced herself between the two men and the duke’s sickbed.
They stared at her in stupefaction, then wrath lit Julian’s face. His eyes glittered like sword points.
“What the devil are you doing here? My wife’s servant dares…”