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I was frankly startled. “Find out who murdered you? Don’t you know?”

“No. That night in my bedroom, my bodyguard and friend, Barnadine of the house of Bianchi, and I shared a toast to celebrate our victory over the Acquasasso. Afterward, I fell onto my bed. Barnadine fell onto the pallet against the wall. I slept, unsuspecting that the wine in the flagon had been drugged by persons unknown. As dawn’s light first caressed the sky, I woke as the door creaked open.

I looked. A man with a horrible face entered. ”

“What kind of horrible face?”

“A demon’s visage: flat black silk on which was painted bloodred lips, red eyeballs, and pointed red brows. The nose appeared unformed, bones displayed like a decomposing corpse.”

“A mask, I hope.”

“Yes. After the first moment of terror, I recognized that thing as a man who clothed himself in cowardice. Then terror struck deeper, for I knew what that signified.”

“Assassin,” I said.

Elder nodded. “I reached for my sword close at hand. I couldn’t command my hand.

I couldn’t grasp the hilt in my fingers.

I dropped it. The blade hit the floor with a clang and woke Barnadine.

He stood, fell to one knee, then flat on his face.

The bedposts, the curtains, in my sight grew long and wavy.

With my faulty vision, I saw the masked assassin unsheathe a knife from his belt and advance in catlike steps toward the bed.

I resisted the drug’s bonds. As he climbed on the bed, I pulled a dagger from under my pillow.

” His voice grew strong with the memory of his struggle and he stabbed with the imaginary blade.

“I wounded him. I know I did. I swear—blood drenched the tip of the knife and my fingers, and he screamed.” Elder looked at me as if to convince me.

He seemed to need my very human assurance. “I believe you.”

“I kicked the demon off the bed. He hit the floor and screamed again. I heard a scuffle. Barnadine had recovered himself enough to fight, and I tried mightily to sit up, to defend myself and support my bodyguard!”

I discovered I had my hand over my rapidly beating heart, wishing as if in an unfolding onstage drama that Elder would win the battle, survive and live to guide Verona to peace. Even though I knew how this must end, still I hoped.

Elder dropped his head and in a flat tone continued, “Yet it was not to be so. Barnadine remained out of sight, unconscious, perhaps dead, and once more the demon’s mask rose above me, untouched, unbloodied, menacing in his silence.”

“This man, what did he look like?”

Impatient with me, Elder said, “He wore a mask.”

“No! His skin color, his weight, his height, his hair—”

“His hair was tied back in a black cloth, his mask was as I said. He wore black gloves, a wide cape of heavy black cloth. His height, I cannot say, for I couldn’t stand to measure myself against him, and the drug made me doubt my own senses.

His weight . . . he was a sturdy man, strongly built, good with a blade, a dishonorable warrior who killed for whim, for money, for family?

” Elder’s figure wavered as if heated by wrath’s flame.

“Almost certainly for family, an Acquasasso who imagined that by my death they could return to our most beloved Verona and rule.”

I couldn’t contain my frustration. “Did you not see after your death who lifted his fist in triumph?”

“I was nothing. I was not there. I was cold. I was dead.”

“What a waste of opportunity! Could you not somehow find him, track to his lair to view his countenance?”

“From that moment to this, I have been nowhere. O that this too solid flesh would melt . . .” Elder gestured at his ghostly self. “Well, it did. Only when you entered the palace gate was I animated, complete in memory of what had occurred and thirsting for justice. At last! ”

“Oh.” Probably not a coincidence.

“With a single thought, I sped to Cal’s side and spoke to my son.” Elder gestured, alive with excitement.

Well . . . not alive, but you know what I mean.

“Cal seemed to be unaware, heedless of me. Me—his father! He hurried to greet you and your family and it was only when I tried to block his path that he reacted.”

In that, I was quite interested. “What happened?”

“He walked through me, stopped, shivered, looked about as if sensing me, but not understanding.”

“Interesting.”

“Despite my shouts, he walked on.”

“He can be quite single-minded.” I experienced a burst of the kind of smug exaltation I previously had only experienced when successfully deflecting a marital suit aimed at me. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll find out who murdered you, and you promise in return that I’ll marry my One True Love.”

“I can’t do that. I’m a prince, not a matchmaker!”

“You’re a ghost.”

“As you wish. I’m a ghost, not a wishing well!”

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it. If I’m going to put my life in peril searching for a killer who—for what? eleven years?—has eluded capture, I want something in return.”

“There might be no danger. He might be dead.” Elder groped to give me reassurance, then thought it through and shook his head. “Although if there’s no chance for justice—”

“You wouldn’t have returned.” I had to agree.

“Yes. He’s out there . . . somewhere.”

“Stop being such a misogynist. The killer might be a woman.”

Elder honked like an angry gander. “Women are, by nature, gentle, sweet, and unfit for dangerous pursuits.”

“Yet you want me to find the person who stuck a knife in your chest and stopped your heart.”

“Yes!”

I folded my hands in my lap. “I can’t. I’m, ‘by nature, gentle, sweet, and unfit for dangerous pursuits.’ ”

Elder had talked himself into a corner. He knew it. I knew it. We stared at each other, him in scowling frustration and me in smug triumph.

Then from the stairwell, I heard a now-familiar voice. “To whom are you speaking?”

I stood and faced my betrothed, Prince Escalus.