Page 24

N onna Ursula cackled, then laughed until she collapsed back into her chair.

Horribly, after a few moments of shock, so did we all, leaving Yago standing in the doorway, the framed picture of puffed velvet indignation. In chilly tones, he asked, “What is the jest?”

When Nonna Ursula gained control of her amusement, she told her son about the séance and that he’d walked into a Situation.

Cal apologized to his uncle for his misplaced mirth, and offered him a seat.

Expressions of acute dislike passed across Yago’s face as he realized he’d been summarily dismissed as his brother’s killer.

He was insulted as only a weak man could be, and Elder agreed with me.

“Yago wants to think he could kill me if he desired, but he doesn’t have the gut or the wit.

Yet I wonder about the wife. She has cunning, ambition, frustration. Where is she this night?”

“Yago, where is Lugrezia?” Nonna Ursula spoke as if Elder’s question had prompted her. “I commanded she come, too.”

“Alas, she begs your forgiveness, Mamma.” Yago sat in the seat offered him and fussily arranged his puffed sleeves. “Last night she took ill of a bellyache.”

“That peacock was undercooked,” Mamma murmured.

Yago continued, “It’s too bad. She would have loved to attend one of your séances.

” He shot his mother an evil glance. “What ghosts did you meet? What wisdom was given you? None, I surmise, for young Escalus’s sword remains sheathed and I hear nothing of the ballyhoo after the assassin or the search for his whereabouts. ”

“In sooth, we learned far more than I expected.” Nonna Ursula smiled enigmatically. “Assist me, Grandson, and you, Rosaline. I am to bed.”

“But I just got here!” Yago complained.

“Too late. Too late! And without the required wife.” She dismissed him with a gesture. “I’ll summon you another time, with a specific schedule, and you’ll attend as you’re told. You are, after all, the lesser son.”

“If she’s deliberately prodding him—” Elder began.

“She is,” I replied.

“—She’s doing a good job of it. But why? Does she suspect him of my murder? Or does she have an ulterior motive?”

I didn’t know, and Yago stared at me so oddly, I knew he’d heard my comment to Elder and wondered at me.

“Rosie, bring the skull.”

Thankfully, with an insouciance I admired, and had no desire to match, Imogene loaded the skull into its bag. I grasped the ties in one hand. With the other, I took Nonna Ursula’s arm.

Cal grasped her other arm, and together we assisted her toward the great walk, past the bodyguards hovering close enough to hear every word from within, and toward her bedchamber.

“What are you doing, Nonna?” Cal asked close to her ear. “You anger Yago for no reason.”

“Ha!” Elder kept pace with us and grinned at me. “That’s my boy, asking the right questions. He’s a bright one.”

“Indeed,” I said. It could be taken as a reply to both Cal and Elder.

But also . . . why was Elder gloating about his son doing the smart thing?

The podestà who had guided Verona for how many years now and increased his influence and power?

I supposed it must be simply a father/son thing, like when Papà went to Cesario and wrestled with him, teaching him holds and praising his manly prowess.

Elder’s sentiments were, I suppose, an indication of how much Elder had missed of his son’s growing-up years, and the guidance he would have given him.

Elder would probably be horrified to know I considered him rather sweet.

“I have reason.” Nonna Ursula’s feet kept catching on the smooth floor, as if weariness meant she couldn’t lift them high enough to clear the surface. “I would replace Yago’s heart of a mouse with that of a lion, and if not him, let the surgery be done to his wife.”

“If one of them hides the heart of a sly rat, slinking through the piles of garbage with blood on its claws—what, then?” Cal asked.

“We wait for it to slink into our trap.” Nonna sighed; the idea of her only living child as traitor disheartened her.

As we walked, I heard a low buzz of conversation; the hive of servants passed gossip too juicy to contain.

About the séance? Of course. About Cal’s unexpected and uncontrolled anger?

Yes, for one skill that Cal had learned in the dungeon, and in all the years after, was to withhold his emotions.

If he had them, he hid them. They were his, and not for display, for fear someone would use them as weakness.

I understood and even agreed. In my family, every emotion was laid bare and shouted to the rooftops, and with exuberant parents and so many siblings, I sometimes felt buffeted by laughter, love, sorrow, anger.

Yet . . . interaction with a man who, at least in the daylight hours, seemed without expression, and without feelings, could lead to .

. . No, not could lead. Did lead to misinterpretations.

I’ll say this for Cal; he might not be handsome, and he might not be my One True Love, but he had piqued my interest enough that I dissected his motivations.

Ghost or not, Elder excelled in displaying emotions, mostly exasperation, and perhaps if he had lived, he would have humanized his son a little.

I cast an eye on Cal. If I did wed him, or almost certainly, when I did wed him, that would be my chosen task.

I grinned. He wanted to use me for my various household skills and breeding abilities. I wanted to fix his faults. Could this be a good basis for a marriage?

Possibly not, but it might be exhilarating.

We escorted Nonna Ursula into her bedroom, where her serving maids, Old Maria and Pasqueta, waited with mulled wine and fresh nightclothes.

Nonna Ursula sank into her chair and gestured Cal close.

Putting her hands on either side of his face, she said, “You started this, my darling boy, when you brought Rosie into our family. A new light permeates the palace, a new rhythm moves us to dance. Nevertheless we must first lay the dead to rest. Escalus wanders. He disturbs my rest and yours.”

Cal turned his head and looked at me darkly. “If Rosie is to be believed, he speaks to her.”

Nonna Ursula didn’t hesitate. “If you believe she lies, why marry her?”

“I didn’t say I thought she lies.”

“You didn’t say you believed her.”

“I do believe her.”

Well. Good for you, Cal. I like your clear declaration, even if it is accompanied by a darkling glare. I did not smirk.

Elder was not so kind. He smirked for me. “See? He loves you, or he’d have you committed to a holy hospital in care of nuns.”

I corrected him. “Cal admires me and my attributes of character and figure.” And I carefully deposited Yorick’s skull still wrapped in its bag onto the table before the fire. Let Old Maria or Pasqueta put it in its proper place.

Him in his proper place? Was a skull a him or an it ? I shuddered. I didn’t know, and I turned my attention back to the conversation.

Cal said, “I dare not proclaim my faith in Rosie. Nonna, you know very well what that would lead to. I pray your workings of this night will remain within the palace walls.” He sensibly recognized the Pandora’s box we had opened.

“That would defeat the purpose, would it not? Dear boy, safety is no longer our sole goal.”

“Nonna, you could be hurt.” When he looked at his grandmother, I could see the love he held for her—and the apprehension.

“How?” she asked. “This palace is guarded. My window is barred on the outside. Your men are loyal, are they not?”

“I bind them to me with responsibility, praise, payment, and my loyalty to them.”

“He is a smart boy,” Elder said to me.

I nodded.

“He got that from me,” Elder added.

I cast him an amused glance.

He grinned back, so cocky I realized with a shock I liked the man.

“And from Princess Eleanor?” I asked.

In a softened voice, the ghost said, “She gave him her grace, her endurance, her upright strength, and her endless capacity for love.”

That startled me. To me, love is frequently, loudly proclaimed, and generous with its application. Cal’s affection for sister and grandmother was obvious, fervent and protective, yet he dispensed his emotions like a miser dispensed his gold.

Being a man, maybe he didn’t know what they were.

I noticed Cal and Nonna Ursula scrutinizing me and the space around me.

Elder was right. If I didn’t get this mystery solved soon, I could find my pragmatic repute overlaid by whispers of madness. May God grant that Nonna Ursula’s séance prove fruitful in my quest to find Elder’s killer.