The Dark City (12 page)

‘But Your Highness, the bracelet –'

‘Belongs to her,' said Edita. Behind her, the courtiers broke out into unrestrained chatter. ‘This bracelet is all I had left of my daughter. But now I have her back  …  The lost Lady Bianca.'

Bianca's eyes filled with tears and the Duchess's face swam in front of her. ‘Mother?' she whispered.

Edita took Bianca's hands in hers. ‘My darling Bianca, can it really be you? Let me look at you.' She stroked a strand of hair back from Bianca's face. ‘I can't believe it. After all this time. And Annunzio is dead  … '

Bianca couldn't speak, so she nodded.

‘She has returned at last,' Edita cried, spinning Bianca around to face the courtiers. ‘My daughter, Bianca!' called Edita. ‘The future Duchess of Oscurita!'

Bianca's knees turned to jelly, and she stumbled backwards, but a pair of strong arms caught and held her.

Duchess Edita dropped to her knees in a pool of spreading green silk and pulled Bianca into a tearful embrace. Bianca threw her arms around her mother's neck and held her so tightly she thought she would never, ever let go.

Bianca shifted on the garden bench, digging her fingers under the tightly laced corset of her gown, trying to find the place beneath her left arm where it kept poking her. If she could just work out which bit of it was the culprit, she might be able to tuck some of the fabric between it and her as a cushion. It wasn't as if this dress didn't have plenty of fabric to go around – she felt slightly lost in its deep blue oceans of silk and mountains of silver lace.

‘Lady Bianca, please,' said Lady Margherita. ‘You must not fidget so.'

‘Sorry,' said Bianca.

Beside her, Marco heaved a deep sigh and Lady Margherita shot him a glance of pure disdain.

Marco was looking almost as fancy as Bianca was, in a high-necked doublet of black on black on black. But she knew that even if her dress was horribly uncomfortable, she looked pretty amazing, whereas Marco just looked ill. The stiff black cloth didn't suit him at all, and the artificial lighting of Oscurita wasn't doing him any favours – his healthy brown skin glowed in the sunlight of La Luminosa, but after two days in Oscurita it looked sallow and dull.

Bianca tried to sit back and enjoy the little garden that came with her new suite of rooms in the Castle of Oscurita. It really was a wonderful place, crowded with statues of sprites and trickling fountains and strange plants she'd never seen before. An arbour covered in black ivy with bright pink flowers curved over the bench where she and Marco were sitting, and all around the walls
lux aurumque
flowers grew in beds full of shifting, flickering light.

It was one of the most beautiful places Bianca had ever been. It was just a shame that she was so
bored
.

She reached out a hand and turned the head of a
lux aurumque
flower towards her, watching the way the shadows swayed as she moved it.

Making magical paints had been one of the most thrilling accomplishments in her life. A secret only she knew. A thought – instant and unwelcome – came into her head about the apprentices she'd left behind. Had her apprentices run out of magical paint yet?
Would the studio still be running? Would the apprentices be worried about her?

Doubt it
, Bianca thought bitterly.
They don't need me.

‘Bianca, put that down! You'll dirty your hands.'

Bianca looked at the stain the
lux aurumque
petals had left on her fingertips.

Lady Margherita snapped, ‘You are a lady, not a gardener!'

Bianca frowned at Lady Margherita. She was an older lady who'd been assigned as Bianca's chaperone. Bianca wasn't sure what a chaperone was supposed to do, but so far they'd been in Oscurita for two days and all Lady Margherita had done was correct her behaviour, her posture and her speech, glare at Marco as if he was some kind of peasant rogue who might kidnap Bianca at any minute, and above all make sure that Bianca never actually did anything interesting. She dressed all in black, without a hint of colour anywhere on her, including in her ghostly-pale skin.

‘Lady Margherita,' Bianca said, ‘can't I –'

‘Ah?' Lady Margherita held up a warning finger. Bianca briefly fantasised about chopping it off.

‘
May
I see my mother today?' she asked carefully.

‘Sit up straight and ask again,' said Lady Margherita.

Bianca suppressed the urge to argue. She was already learning to pick her battles. She straightened up, making the corset dig deeper into her side, and said, ‘May I see my mother please?' in a clear, polite tone.

‘Her Royal Highness Duchess Edita is very busy,' said Lady Margherita, without looking up from her embroidery.

Bianca and Marco rolled their eyes at each other. Duchess Edita was always busy – or very busy, or extremely busy, or not available right now, or completely otherwise indisposed. Bianca understood that her mother was a Duchess and had duties to her city and her people  …  but still, surely she could take a few minutes to spend time with her long-lost daughter?

Bianca was sure it wasn't Duchess Edita's fault – she imagined an army of Lady Margheritas and Secretary Francos ganging up on her, keeping Bianca away. None of the court seemed to like Bianca very much, and she knew they all thought Marco was suspiciously foreign and not a suitable companion for a member of the royal family.

‘Why don't we go for a walk?' Marco suggested. ‘We could see more of the city. Aren't royals supposed to know about the places they rule over?'

Bianca gave him a grateful smile. ‘That's a wonderful idea,' she said.

‘Absolutely not,' said Lady Margherita.

‘Of course not,' Marco whispered.

‘It's not safe,' Lady Margherita went on. ‘Not for a lady such as yourself – there could be assassins and vagabonds flooding the city as we speak, just waiting to take advantage of your naivety! And moreover, you might get into trouble. Nobody here has forgotten that you were dragged into the castle as common thieves!' She fixed her glare on Marco again. ‘As your chaperone, I won't let you get talked into anything so  … 
low
.'

‘Well, we won't go walking then!' Bianca said, as brightly as she could manage. ‘Can I –
may I
at least do some painting? I'd love to try to capture this garden. And I was thinking I could paint a portrait of my mother, and –'

‘Paint?' Lady Margherita looked scandalised. ‘Why would you want to paint? You would stain your dress and your fingernails and  …  no. Painting is not a pastime for a lady.'

‘In La Luminosa, I gave Duchess Catriona herself painting lessons!' Bianca said, raising her chin and trying not to remember how few of the Duchess's art lessons had actually got as far as painting. But Bianca did miss her friend.

‘Well, in Oscurita, your mother the Duchess would never turn her hand to anything so messy.' Lady Margherita put down her embroidery with a sigh of suppressed annoyance that almost matched the one building inside Bianca. ‘Lady Bianca, is there something wrong? It's as if you don't like it here!'

Bianca shook her head. ‘I love Oscurita! It's just  …  surely even ladies have to have something to
do
.'

‘If you really can't just sit still and enjoy the garden, why don't we go through our deportment basics again, hmm?'

It seemed to be the best offer Bianca was going to get. She got up and stretched.

‘No!' Lady Margherita snapped. ‘Sit!'

Bianca sat. She avoided Marco's eyes; she knew exactly what he'd say about her following orders like a dog.

‘You
must
learn to rise like a lady! Don't spring to your feet as if you've found a needle on your chair. Remember, you are a future Duchess – time itself will wait for you if you command it.'

Bianca took a deep breath and then got up as slowly and gracefully as she could.

‘Now, let's see you walk,' said Lady Margherita. She folded her hands in her lap, giving Bianca her undivided attention. Bianca glanced at Marco. He grinned and made an elaborate, sweeping ‘
go on
' gesture.

Bianca took a few steps, her back straight, her head up, her hands held neatly but not too tightly in front of her. She walked as far as the trickling fountain and gazed down into the dark water. Then she turned and walked back to the bench.

‘No, no, no,' muttered Lady Margherita. ‘You still walk like a peasant, child. Fold your hands more neatly. Keep your chin up – not that far! Keep your skirt out of the flowers, but don't fiddle with it. You must make it look
natural
.'

Bianca turned a little so she was facing Marco, with her back to Lady Margherita. ‘Can you imagine Duchess Catriona putting up with this?' she whispered.

Marco sniggered. ‘Not on your life!'

‘Marco Xavier! What are you saying to Lady Bianca?' Bianca stood back as Lady Margherita leapt to her feet, completely ignoring her own rules about sitting. ‘I have half a mind to have you thrown out of the castle!'

No!
Bianca felt her face flush.
I definitely can't cope with all this on my own!

‘Lady Margherita,' she said, drawing herself up as tall as she could. She thought,
what would Duchess Catriona do?
‘Fetch me my embroidery,' she commanded. When Lady Margherita opened her mouth, Bianca cut her off with her best impression of Catriona's withering glare. ‘It is my desire. And in case you've forgotten, my desire is your command.'

Lady Margherita raised an eyebrow, but she curtseyed low and scurried away.

As soon as she was gone, Bianca let out a heavy sigh and sank to her knees. The stiff silk of her skirt ballooned around her and she tried to pat it down but it only seemed to inflate somewhere else.

Marco got to his feet. ‘Come on, let's get out of here and back to La Luminosa before she comes back!'

Bianca frowned up at him. ‘I can't go back! I haven't even had a chance to explain about the Baron to anyone who'll listen yet. What about my mother?'

‘What about my father? Two whole days, Bianca!' Marco sank back down on the bench and stared at his hands in the flickering light from the flowers and the dim thunder-lamp on the wall. ‘We've been staying in this place for two days and I didn't even get the chance to tell Father I was going to meet you, let alone run off to a completely different, horrible world!'

Bianca gasped. ‘It is not horrible!'

Marco raised his eyebrows. ‘You hate it here just as much as I do!'

‘I do not!' Bianca protested.
I don't
, she added to herself.
Not as much as he does.

‘Oh
right
.' Marco scoffed. ‘You like the way Lady Deportment treats you, do you? And the rest of the court? They all look at us like we're  … ' He flailed his hands, looking for the right word.

They look at us like we don't belong here
,
she thought. On their first evening in Oscurita they'd attended a grand dinner in their honour that had felt more like a funeral feast. It wasn't just the black clothes and the dim light – Bianca still thought the castle was beautiful. It was the way the courtiers sat and whispered together. Some remembered to smile when they spoke directly to Bianca, but they gave each other odd looks and shushed each other when she met them in the corridors.

Bianca sighed. ‘I know, it's all a bit strange. But I can't just leave!'

‘So you enjoy your lessons in royalty? You like learning to sit and walk and not being allowed to touch your own garden? You like the idea of never painting again?'

Bianca flinched as if he'd jabbed her in the stomach. ‘No, of course not! None of this is me, you know that. But I'm sure if I can just talk to my mother –'

‘Bianca, your mother hasn't bothered to spend more than two minutes with you since you arrived.'

Tears sprang to Bianca's eyes. She struggled to her feet and stepped back, hoping the dim light would hide her face from Marco's limited vision.

‘Come with me,' Marco insisted. ‘Come
home
. You're not happy here.'

‘I am
extremely
happy here!' Bianca snapped. The lie caught in her throat, and her thoughts echoed back:
I want to be happy here  … 
She sniffed back the tears and turned on Marco, her face flushing. Much as she missed La Luminosa, there was no way she was leaving. ‘This is where I belong, and this is where I'm staying.'

‘Well, I'm going. At least I know my father will be glad to see me.'

It was as if she'd been skewered right through the heart with a shard of ice. ‘I bet your father hasn't even noticed you've gone,' she snarled. She felt the next sentence before she said it, rising behind her teeth like water behind a dam. ‘Who'd miss a tumbler who can't stand heights?'

Marco glared at her from underneath his eyebrows. ‘Lady Margherita's wrong,' he said slowly. ‘You
have
changed since you came here. You've forgotten everything you care about. What about Duchess Catriona? What about the other apprentices? What are they going to do if the only one who knows how to make magical paints has swanned off to play at being a royal? What about di Lombardi's legacy?'

With every word Bianca's heart beat faster and faster. Catriona, Cosimo, Rosa, Lucia, di Lombardi, Marco, her mother – how was she supposed to serve them all at once?

‘I've got to try!' she said. ‘I've only just found my mother! I just  …  I don't care about di Lombardi's legacy right now!'

The words felt like poison in her mouth but she raised her chin at Marco defiantly.

‘I see. I'd better go, then,' Marco said. ‘You'll have to open a painting for me.'

Bianca sucked in a deep breath. She wished she could take back everything she'd just said. But she nodded. ‘Margherita will be looking for my embroidery for a while. It's not in my room – I dropped it behind the bench over there.'

For a second they grinned at each other – watery, strained grins.

‘Come on. There are some paintings in my drawing room; I'll see if I can get one to open.'

She led the way back inside, through the tall door set with thick, distorting glass and into her private drawing room. She sighed as she looked at the huge room. Three enormous couches surrounded a fireplace nearly as big as her attic back in di Lombardi's old house. In the hearth, twisted black wood gave off bright blue flames that heated and lit the room – but not enough to keep Marco from shivering or tripping over the black marble tables and piles of silky purple cushions.

Bianca had felt a little bit lost and alone in this room even with Marco around. She could barely imagine it without him.

Then she scolded herself.
If he wants to go, let him go. I'll be perfectly fine. I'm home now.

Most of the paintings in the room were portraits of people who looked faintly familiar – they had to be old relatives, but she hadn't been able to talk to her mother long enough to find out about them. Only one had a door: a portrait of an old lady with hair as white as snow, wearing a deep crimson robe embroidered with a white dragon. She was standing, leaning on a cane and looking out of a high window. The door was black, just like the one that'd led Bianca to Oscurita, except instead of blue trim, it had bright red edges, the colour of a La Luminosa rose.