The Masquerader (Chapter Four)

            She lay pale and covered in sweat that reflected the candlelight dancing along the walls. Her dirty, blonde hair surrounded her in damp locks. Her eyelids fluttered tiredly. Her mouth barely moved as she recited the prayers she had learned in school.

            Dried vomit trailed from the corner of her mouth, missed by the neighbor that had taken care of her during the afternoon.

            His father knelt beside the bed and caressed her limp hand. His shoulders shook softly, and he whispered sweet nothings to ears that barely received.

            She looked down as if awareness had just made an appearance and stopped praying. “Darling.”

            Her returned her gaze and tried at a reassuring smile.

            “Darling, I'm sorry.”

            He sniffed and hid his wet cheeks. “For what, dearest?”

            Her fingers trailed down his jaw, memorizing the feel of the rough skin. “For giving up.”

            “What?” He forgot his shame and showed his face. His eyes searched hers. He was afraid of the true meaning of her words.

            She laughed quietly and closed her eyes, squeezing the hand he gave her. “I love you.”

            Her hand slid from his.

            “I love you too. Oh, God, I love you too,” he sobbed and fondled the hand, kissing it lightly. “Don't leave me now. Not when I need you the most.”

            Camden stood, unnoticed, staring at his broken father, wishing his mother would wake again to comfort him.

            Camden stared at the tattoo on the Masquerader's shoulder, her shoulder. The ornate cross of royalty stood out on Ranael of the Laleor family's pale shoulder in a bold crimson. He didn't really see Ranael though. The sight of another woman pale against the sheets reminded him of his mother in sickness and death. It brought memories that had been buried for good reason.

            He frowned as memories and the present melded into one jumbled world.

            Nothing made any sense anymore.

            The Masquerader, the man that had saved Camden from death was not only a woman but the traitor queen who had pushed for his execution not two days before.

            “Why?” he inquired as Rostoloff came in from the kitchen. Camden's frown deepened as Ranael stirred, and her eyes snapped open.

            She blinked quickly as her eyes adjusted and focused on a great bearded man leaning over her bed.

            Rostoloff smiled warmly. “'Ello, miss. Yer one lucky girlie. That arrow missed most everything, 'cept you.”

            Ranael sat hurriedly, and her lips twisted into a grimace. On a reflex she felt for her dagger, and panic rushed through as she realized all of her belongings weren't on her person. “Where is my mask, my arrows?” she whispered.

            Watching her pain and searching with a cold amusement fueled by years of anger, Camden approached the side of the bed opposite of Rostoloff and answered, “Safe with us. You have many faces, Ranael of the Laelor family, and they don't all fit together.”

            “Are you complaining?” She raised an eyebrow and asked, “Didn't one of those faces save your throat from the noose?”

            “One of them put it there.”

            She scoffed. “I always saw the leader of our cause with a bit more intelligence. Can't you see the Masquerader couldn't save you from a locked room and a torturer? A noose is simpler than thick walls and twenty guards.”

            Rostoloff interceded then, recognizing the same fire he had seen in the boy weeping, after his father's execution, in the eyes of this traitor queen.” May I point out that you, girlie, have been shot during Camden's rescue.” He glared at the boy and continued, addressing him, “She needs 'er rest not an interrogation.” He nodded toward the door. “Into the kitchen with ya, m' boy. M' patient would like a bit o' privacy fer me ta examine 'er wound.”

            Camden frowned but obeyed with a long look at Ranael. “We are not done, and you are not a part of my cause. We share two different causes that have crossed paths for the time being. I refuse to return to any Laleor tyranny.”

            Her eyes flashed, but she remained stoic in expression and language. “You know nothing, Bartolv,” she replied.

            “I apologize fer Camden,” Rostoloff murmured after he left, “I don't think 'e can tell the difference between you and yer family.”

            She stiffened, her eyes closing to hide they wounded gleam. “You don't know my family.”

            He smiled softly. “A little pride in yer family's healthy, and you're correct. I don't know yer family. Just what they did to us.”

            “My father was a good man, a man with a public face and a private one. Camden had a brush with the worse of the two, the lie, the show.” She glanced around and found the room too small. “I can't stay here. The Tornicans will notice my absence.”

            Rostoloff nodded and moved to the end of the bed, opening a trunk. He pulled a dress out.

            She blinked and frowned, perplexed. “Are you a friend, doctor?”

            He held up the dress and snorted. “I think ya know m' name, Ranael of the Laleor family. Use it.”

            “Are you a friend of mine, Rostoloff?”

            He shrugged. “Right now, I suppose. Camden'll get mad at you bein' missin' and all, but I'll stick by m' gut this time.” He handed her the dress and warned, “But if we're betrayed and it's by yer hand, I'd watch out 'cause I learn m' lessons, and I'll kill ya.” He watched her struggle to get the dress on under the sheets, and his eyes softened at the whimpers of pain, just too loud to be masked. Finally, he took pity. “I operated on you, girlie. Let me help ya with the dress. I've seen it all before. One thing you learn in my occupation, all of ya are the same.”

            Ranael blushed. “I don't think-

            Rostoloff raised an eyebrow. “Think yer goin' ta get it on by yerself?” He nodded as she gave in, and quickly dressed her to relieve any awkwardness as soon as he could. “This'll have ta do. I think it'll be a good fit. It's the best dress here, m' wife's wedding dress. I saved up for weeks to buy the fabric.” His eyes softened, and he took a deep breath.  “'E's angry... still.”     

            “My father sentenced his to death. It's understandable. Can you get the laces, please?”

            He laughed quietly. “I had a time getting these things undone after the ceremony.” For a moment, as he saw another woman in his late wife's wedding dress, he grew sober. “Ya wonder why I 'elp you, Ranael of the Laeleor family.” He sighed. “Ya wonder why I disobey my leader.” He gently spun her around and continued in a whisper, “I believe no one can free a country alone, no man can lead a revolution without assistance o' an intellectual sort.” Rostoloff hesitated and went on slowly, “Camden is educated. O' course, I got me some education too, or I wouldn't be fixin' people up. 'E needs someone on his level to strategize an' such. I don't 'ave that; I'm not on 'is level, ya see. You are.”

            Ranael nodded, unable to do much else.

            “Camden ain't the only important one 'ere, girlie. I believe you 'old more importance than ya see.” He looked into her eyes for a long moment, trying to see if any of what he had said had gotten through. He sighed. “Anyway, I'm hoping to get 'im calmed down this evenin'. If things go by the plan, 'e'll be deliverin' yer stuff tonight. If not... ya can't do much until yer healed up anyway.”

            “Just keep them safe.” She turned to him and looked up, into his eyes. “Thank you for this. I hope we can be allies. I've been fighting alone for a long time.”

            He shook his head. “Not alone. Just separate. We were goin' ta find each other anyway.” He led her to the door and watched her melt away into the alley.

            A cloaked figure detached itself from the shadows and followed with a slow gait as it ran it's pale, bony fingers across the wooden walls, it's dark green cloak disappearing long before Ranael's pale blue dress.