The Grand Design (61 page)

“This woman,” Biagio said softly. “Tell me about her. She is well?”

“Well enough,” said Malthrak. “She hasn’t eaten very much, and the voyage has sickened her. But she is well enough to talk, yes.”

“Has she told you anything?” asked Biagio. “Why has Vantran gone to Liss?”

Malthrak shook his head. “She wouldn’t say, my
lord. And I thought it best not to try and make her tell us. I thought you should question her yourself.”

Savros clasped his hands together. “Oh, smart fellows,” he said. “That was very wise of you.”

“So you know nothing more?” Biagio asked.

“No, Master. But the woman can surely tell you more. And since you don’t have the child, now you can use her against Vantran.” He looked down at his shoes, dejected. “We thought you’d be pleased.”

Biagio graced them with a sunny smile. “Dear Malthrak, I
am
pleased. With you, too, Donhedris. You’ve both done very well. But now I want to see this woman. Is she ashore?”

“Yes, Master. She’s ashore, and not too happy about it.”

“Good,” Biagio declared. “Bring her to me.”

“Now, my lord?”

“Yes,” said Biagio. “Right now.”

The two brothers bowed and left the room, leaving the door slightly open. When they had departed, Biagio looked at Savros and saw the most grotesque hunger in his eyes, something like lust but far less normal. It was the same aura executioners showed, before they lowered the axe or pulled the lever. The Mind Bender happily knitted his thin fingers together.

“I’ve heard Vantran’s wife is very beautiful,” he said. “Oh, this is going to be wonderful.”

“Easy, my friend,” Biagio cautioned.

Savros wasn’t listening. “Renato, I can make her talk. I’ll get her to tell you everything about Vantran’s trip to Liss. Please, let me. Please …”

“Patience, Savros. Let’s see what the woman is willing to tell us, first.”

“Renato …”

Another gesture from Biagio closed the torturer’s mouth. Biagio hated hearing him whine. Sometimes he regretted bringing Savros with him to Crote. There
just wasn’t enough work for him here. He was growing agitated, less stable by the day. And the thought of giving him the Jackal’s wife didn’t inspire Biagio with confidence. Savros might bring her down into the dungeon and come up with nothing more than a flayed skin. And her husk wouldn’t make a very useful bargaining chip.

A moment later, Biagio heard the ruckus of approaching feet outside his parlor. Donhedris’ heavy boots pushed the door open and he barreled inside, dumping a woman onto the carpeted floor. Her hands were tied behind her back, but still she writhed violently to her feet. When she noticed Biagio, she made to lunge for him, but Donhedris’ hand grabbed a fistful of her white hair and pulled her backward.

“Let me go!” she growled, kicking his tree-trunk shins. Donhedris ignored the assaults as if they were insect bites. The woman turned her wild eyes on the count and hissed, “Biagio!”

Count Renato Biagio smirked, amused at the trinket given him. She was very beautiful, even covered in her own filth. He could imagine her washed and perfumed and sharing his bed. The mere sight of the pretty woman made Savros weak in the knees. The Mind Bender started toward her then stopped himself, barely able to keep his desires chained. Malthrak entered the room with a smile on his face.

“Dyana Vantran,” he said theatrically. “For you, Master.”

Dyana kicked and cursed, spitting like a wildcat. Donhedris kept hold of her, jerking her head back painfully. And Biagio watched, enthralled by her fire and beauty. This was the creature Vantran had abandoned Nar for, the one that had worked her magic on him and made him murder Arkus by proxy.

“Where is she?” Dyana Vantran railed. “Where is my baby?”

Incredibly, she broke free of Donhedris and rushed at Biagio. “Tell me!” she screamed.

Donhedris was on her again in a second, dragging her away and wrapping stout arms around her. She was hysterical, like some insane Naren beggar. Biagio hardly flexed a face muscle.

“Dyana Vantran,” he said softly. “You are more and less than I expected. Welcome to Crote, wild child. My home. And yours now.”

The woman’s face collapsed. “Let me see her,” she pleaded. “Let me see Shani!”

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” groaned Savros. “Renato, let me have her.”

“Be still,” snapped Biagio. He was studying Dyana, examining her closely, and hated the constant interruptions. Realizing she was bound securely, he rose from his chair and towered over her, dropping his shadow across her face. Unable to stop himself, he reached out a frigid hand and brushed it across her perfect cheek. Dyana howled at his touch and Biagio shuddered, staggered by her warmth.

“Let go of her, Donhedris,” he ordered.

“Master?”

“Do it.”

Reluctantly, Donhedris complied. Dyana Vantran seethed but did not lunge at the count. Instead she stood there, her eyes silently pleading.

“Go. All of you,” said Biagio. “Leave me with the woman.”

“Renato!”

“Master?”

Biagio turned on them with a roar. “Go!” he bellowed. “Now!”

It took a moment for his underlings to understand. Savros was the last to go. His eyes lingered hungrily on Dyana before he, too, slipped reluctantly away, shutting the door behind him. Dyana stood motionless in
the center of the room, engulfed in silence and drowning in Biagio’s gaze. The count made no attempt to touch her again. His face was expressionless. Finally he moved away from her, settling back into his chair.

“Go to the fire if you’re cold,” he said.

“Where is Shani?” Dyana demanded. “Lorris and Pris, tell me!” The next word seemed to choke her. “Please …”

How much should he tell her? Biagio wondered. She was desperate for her child. Obviously she didn’t know Simon hadn’t returned. It seemed deliciously cruel to make her wait, but it was also pointless. Biagio picked up his brandy and considered the amber liquid.

“Your daughter isn’t here, woman,” he said simply. “I don’t know where she is.”

“Liar!” the woman flared. “You have her!”

“I don’t. But I must say, I wish I did. Things haven’t worked out quite the way I intended. You, for instance, shouldn’t be here at all.” The count set his glass down again and looked at her. There was incredulity on her face, and a kind of wretched fear. She believed him, almost. “It’s not a lie, Dyana Vantran,” he assured her. “If I had your child I would tell you so. This is my island. I’m lord and master here. I have nothing to gain by hiding her from you.”

“Oh, God, no,” she groaned. Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the carpet, exhausted and overwhelmed. “Where?” she gasped. “Where is she?”

“Lost at sea, maybe. The ship that was supposed to bring her here hasn’t arrived yet. It may still come, but that remains to be seen.” Biagio sighed theatrically. “Poor girl. This must be very hard for you, I know.”

“What do you know?” she spat. “Monster! You have taken my daughter and now she’s—”

Unable to finish, Dyana Vantran lowered her head and swallowed back sobs. The sound of her anguish stoked something primal in Biagio, a great loss he had hoped buried. He remembered Arkus’ death and the
awful vacancy in the aftermath, burying him. To his great surprise he actually felt sorry for his captive. Supposedly, losing a child was unimaginably painful. He wondered if it were anything like losing an emperor. With his long cape dragging on the floor, he rose from his chair again and went to her, staring down at her. She was a proud thing, too strong to resort to tears. Already he respected her.

“Woman, this need not be a horror for you,” he said, trying to be gentle. “You will not be set free. Not ever. But you can make this easier on yourself.”

“Burn in Hell, Biagio,” she rumbled.

“I might yet if certain people have their way.” The count crossed his arms over his chest. “Look at me, woman,” he demanded. “I won’t speak to a pile of rags.”

“Speak or do not speak,” said Dyana. “I do not care.”

Enraged, Biagio grabbed her up in both fists and lifted her effortlessly off the ground.

“Yes!” he growled. “I’m stronger than I look, don’t you think?” He gave her a vigorous shake. “You will listen to me, bitch-girl, or you’ll be sorry.”

A wad of saliva shot from her mouth, catching him in the eye. Biagio cursed and threw her back to the floor.

“Do not task me!” he roared. “I have questions for you, woman. Answer them, or I will give you to the Mind Bender and he will pull the answers from you!”

A horrified understanding dawned in her Triin eyes. Biagio grinned.

“Yes, you understand me, don’t you? Make this easy on yourself, woman. Answer my questions and I will spare you from Savros. Otherwise he will sharpen his blades on you.”

“What do you want from me?” asked the woman. “I know nothing.”

“Oh, that’s untrue. You know where your husband
is.” The count stooped a little closer. “He’s in Liss. Why?”

She laughed resentfully. “Why would I tell you anything? You can burn, Biagio.”

“You hate me very much, don’t you?” asked Biagio playfully. “I understand. But there is the matter of Savros to consider. The Mind Bender has been very agitated lately, and you’ve made him hungry. Savros isn’t like most men. Most men see a beautiful woman like you and want to take her to bed. Savros wants to peel her skin off.”

Dyana Vantran turned an unnatural shade of white. Her mouth dropped open as if to speak, then abruptly closed again behind clenched teeth.

“Torture me, then,” she said. “I will tell you nothing.”

“I wonder,” Biagio remarked. He circled her like a buzzard, looking down at her. “Savros could make you talk, but I don’t care to subject you to that. You’re no good to me dead, after all. I had planned on taking your little girl back to Nar with me when I reclaim the throne. I wanted to make your husband come there for her, surrender to me. I’ll use you for that now, if you prefer.”

The woman looked up desperately. “What?”

“Your daughter might still be on her way to me, Dyana Vantran. Simon Darquis is only a day late. When he comes, if he comes, he’ll have the child with him. I don’t need both of you.” Biagio stopped circling and dropped down in front of her. He took her hand in his chin and forced their eyes together. “Why is your husband in Liss?”

Dyana trembled in his grasp. “What are you giving me?” she asked hopefully. “My daughter?”

“Will you answer me honestly?” he pressed.

“What about my daughter?”

“Tell me what I want to know, and I will spare the child. I’ll take you to Nar with me instead. And I’ll
save you from my ignoble torturer.” Biagio loosened his grip on her chin and gently brushed her cheek, fascinated by her. “Really, I give so much and ask so little. I think I’m being more than fair, don’t you?”

She pulled away from his caresses. “Your word,” she demanded. “For what it is worth, swear it to me. You will let my daughter go free?”

“I will send her back to Lucel-Lor in one piece, or I will send her back decapitated,” said Biagio. “The choice is yours. Tell me what I want to know.”

“That is your word?” Dyana scoffed. “How can I trust that?”

Biagio reached into his cape and withdrew his Roshann dagger, the only weapon he ever carried. The sight of it widened Dyana’s eyes. With drama he twirled it in the light, making sure she saw it perfectly. Then, without another word, he circled around behind her and quickly cut the ropes binding her wrists. When he was done he stood up, returned the dagger to his belt, and casually walked over to his chair.

“I’m growing tired of asking you this,” he complained as he sat down. “Why has the Jackal gone to Liss?”

The woman at his feet rubbed her rope-burned wrists, dumbfounded. For a moment the count thought she might lunge at him, but he saw no murder in her eyes, only the glint of confusion.

“Say it again,” she demanded. “Tell me you will spare my daughter. Tell me you will send her back to Lucel-Lor safely, and then I will tell you the truth of what I know. Swear it, Biagio. Or I will tell you nothing.”

“As you have said, so do I swear,” promised the count. “If Simon Darquis brings your daughter here, I will see to it that she’s returned safely to Lucel-Lor. She will not be harmed. Now …” He scowled at her. “Tell me what I want to know.”

Her eyes dropped to the carpet in confession.
“Richius has gone to Liss to help them fight against you,” she said softly. “He is to form an army for them. They are going to invade your island.”

To Biagio, the admission was like music. A little smile broke out on his perfect face. “When?”

“I do not know,” she replied. “A Lissen captain came and took him away, not long before I was captured. His name was Prakna. He told my husband they were planning an invasion of Crote, but needed his help to do it.” She looked away, sick with herself. “Your promise, Biagio. Remember it!”

“I have a memory like an iron box, woman. Go on.”

“That is all,” Dyana said miserably. “That is all I know.”

“That can’t be all,” insisted the count. “How many men? And when? I need dates.”

“I have no dates!” she flared. “I swear, I have told you the truth. Richius and the Lissens are going to invade Crote. They want to use it as a base, to strike at Nar City. But I do not know when. And I do not know how. Soon, I think. That is all.”

Soon. Biagio’s smile widened. He picked up his glass of brandy and hid behind it, unable to tame his glee. His Roshann agents had done very well for him. So had Nicabar and the others. Prakna was probably very proud of his tight-lipped bunch, but there were always leaks in any big scheme, and something like an invasion was impossible to keep secret, especially from the Roshann. Biagio gave himself a silent congratulations. Everything he had planned had come true flawlessly. Almost.

“You have been honest,” he declared. “And for that I will honor my promise to you. I believe you have told me everything.”

“I have,” said Dyana desperately. “I swear it.”

“Have no fear for your daughter, woman. Do not fear the Mind Bender, either. I will deal with him myself.”
Biagio looked her over, examining her filthy clothes. “You look atrocious. I’ll have someone bathe you and find fresh clothing for you. My home is very comfortable, Dyana Vantran. I see no need for you to suffer here. It’s not you that concerns me.”