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O n hearing the question, the other men moved closer to hear, and all wore expressions of somber concern.

Friar Laurence looked to me. I raised my voice for all to hear, and put hope in their hearts. “Not yet. But you know, Barnadine, she has a will of iron and she is not easy to kill.”

His gaze shifted to look around at the men, but he spoke to me. “My whole life, she’s been there, directing and managing.”

The other men nodded.

I understood. I didn’t remember a time when the valiant princess hadn’t stood as a power and a presence in the house of Leonardi.

“She was kind when I . . . failed in my duty.” Barnadine meant when he failed to stop the assassination of Elder, and he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Before . . . I used to bring her flowers, those little pink blossoms because she loved the scent, and she thanked me most graciously. She said her husband used to cut them all—which infuriated her. He’d put them in a glass and give them to her.

Then she couldn’t be angry. She said the flowers reminded her of him.

I’d forgotten that, and now I wish . . .

” He passed a shaking hand over his wet eyes.

“The wine calls me, so I forget it all.”

“Do we have no idea what villain perpetrated this outrage on the old princess?” Holofernes had suffered slashing bruises on his legs and back, the result of a whip expertly applied; fury filled his voice and his expression was murderous.

“Someone who took advantage of the disturbance in Verona’s streets to enter the palace and plunder. One of the flagellants.” Dion’s voice seethed and condemned.

Marcellus eyed me with more cold disdain than ever before. “Or one of our own citizens encouraged by the unrest and the rumors of nefarious dealings in the palace.”

My mind skittered around, trying to decipher what I’d done this time to incur Marcellus’s disfavor.

With so much to choose from, it was difficult to decide, but I settled on the séance.

I did want to point out that Nonna Ursula had so commanded, but to put the blame on a woman so beloved and in jeopardy was the act of a she-goat.

Too bad Marcellus was like salt applied to a happy bed of spring-blooming columbine; around him, spring color and gaiety shriveled and died.

Cal turned to Friar Laurence. “You’ve worked hard all night and you’re weary. Take a few hours rest here before you return to your duties.”

Friar Laurence shook his head. “I must return to the shop to compound more medicines. I’ll take my rest there.”

“Should I come to help?” I had to offer, although I knew the answer.

“No!” The response came from several throats.

Cal said, “The streets aren’t safe for a female, and we can’t escort you.”

Friar Laurence nodded agreement, blessed us all, and made his way toward the great door on the street. He would always do his duty, but age and weariness had begun to make their mark.

With his departure, Cal looked around at his men. “It’s necessary we take this time to rest, and so you all should.”

Marcellus hauled himself to his feet. “I’ll speak to the rest of the guard, give them your commands to eat and sleep. With the proper behavior of all”—with his one open eye, he was looking at me—“we’ll recover enough to fight again.”

With chilly disdain, I said, “I’m sure all will do everything to your specifications of proper.” I congratulated myself on delivering a proper verbal slap.

Unfortunately, Lysander of the Marcketti chose that moment to descend the tower stairs.

The men turned to look at him.

They gazed at Cal.

They gazed at me.

With all the gazing and head turning, both above on the tower and here in the corridor, unspoken messages were being passed and assumptions being made.

Too clearly, they’d seen Cal and me descend the stairs and found naught amiss, but the unexpected appearance of another man—handsome, young, and rumored to be my suitor—caused suspicions to stir.

The way Lysander avoided glancing at me didn’t help. Staring fixedly at Cal, he cleared his throat and said, “My prince, if I may, I would request your noble company on the tower. I have a question about the placement of the lights.”

Cal appeared to notice nothing amiss with Lysander or his men or me, for he was ever the clever diplomat, and perhaps—oh, perhaps—had listened when I had made my thoughts clear above.

“Of course, Marcketti. I come at once.” He bowed to me.

“Thank you, Lady Rosaline, for your kind care of me and my guard. My lady’s generosity will be long remembered.

You should now return to Princess Ursula’s side. ”

I curtsied in return, feeling much as if I’d stepped onto a silent, possibly hostile theater stage, and I enunciated my lines the way I knew they should be written.

“My first care is for you, my prince, and your valiant guard of Verona are also my guard. Now I do indeed return to my conscientious attention to our wounded princess Ursula.”

Cal nodded approval at me, hurried to Lysander’s side, and at once engaged him in lively conversation as they climbed the stairs. Clearly, Cal delighted in this innovation he’d envisioned.

I turned on my heel and walked with dignity toward Nonna Ursula’s room and saw Tommaso pacing outside her door, watching for me.

I heard a man’s booted step and turned to glance behind.

As Marcellus passed, I heard the single, hissed, and scornful word: “Proper . . .”

Tommaso started toward me and somehow his shoulder connected, hard, with Marcellus’s shoulder. Caught by surprise, Marcellus stumbled and righted himself.

Tommaso made him a mocking bow. “My pardon, Lord. That was clumsy and not courteous, not behavior fitting of the palace’s exalted atmosphere.”

Marcellus started to retort, glanced at me, got the message, and stalked off.

Looking every inch a lad from the streets, Tommaso grinned, bowed, and fell in behind me. Although I appreciated Tommaso for his brawn and bravery, I had no idea he could provide a message with such pointed subtlety. Bravo to him!

In Nonna Ursula’s room, I found Elder hovering over his mother, while Princess Isabella argued loudly with Old Maria about whether the window should be closed. Tommaso stopped and stood stoically in front of its opening.

I paid them no heed, but hurried to Nonna Ursula’s side.

She was unchanged, except she’d begun to show the ravages of being too long without water; her eyelids looked almost transparent and her cheeks were gaunt. When I held her wrist, I could feel sluggish movement of blood in her veins. I glanced up at Elder.

He looked grim. “She’s very close, and as unwilling as I was. What can I do?”

“Talk to her. I think she hears you, maybe now more than ever. Talk to her. Convince her to come back before I have her ghost demanding I find her killer.”

“Maybe she knows.”

“Maybe she does.”

Cal arrived from his visit with Lysander and the window combatants cast themselves on him and argued their differing views about fresh air and deadly miasmas of the oncoming night.

With a hand on my shoulder, Cal broke into my despair. “I partially shut the window and sent them both away.” Going to his grandmother, he leaned over the bed and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I don’t understand how this could happen. She’s not one to allow a thief to harm her.”

As I stepped back, I saw the thing I hadn’t noticed before. Her cane with its heavy head rested close to her hand. Inspiration’s lightning flared around me. “What if it’s not a thief?”

“What?” Cal was clearly startled. “What?”

I gripped his arm. “I hadn’t thought . . . I was in such anguish. . . But only last night, we held the séance and hoped the word would spread that we were investigating Elder’s murder. The word has spread, indeed.”

“How do you know that?”

“Lysander. He heard it this morning in the kitchen of the Marcketti. Oh! And Friar Laurence also knew.”

“So soon!”

“Could we have frightened the killer so much that he watched until Pasqueta left to make her a poultice, entered Nonna Ursula’s chamber, and—”

“You’re saying he was within the palace? He didn’t break in, he . . . broke out?”