The Traitor's Daughter (10 page)

The only illumination came from the fire and from a pair of utilitarian oil lamps hanging from the rafters. By that warm-colored glow she observed the faces of four companions. One of them she recognized too readily, with revulsion but without surprise—the hulking slush-eyed murderer, standing beside her. Three others sat at the table—one male, two females. The man was youthful, muscular, snub-nosed, and square-jawed. One of the females was likewise youthful, translucently pale of skin and hair, emaciated to the verge of invisibility. The other woman was much older, well advanced into middle age, with grey streaks marbling her mass of brown hair and deep lines framing her lips, but hardy and strong-looking. She was dressed in an unadorned gown of some sturdy dark stuff, no better than an upper servant might have worn, although it was obvious that she was no servant.

Jianna hardly noted the costume; she was caught and held by the other’s marked resemblance to Reeni’s murderer. There was the same coloring of hair, eyes, and skin. The same broad, square, heavy-jawed face, same assertive nose and full lips, the same wide-set, thick-lidded light grey eyes. While the size, shape, and color of the eyes were identical in mother and son, the expression differed. Where the son’s eyes were chill and seemingly vacant, the mother’s glowed with active intelligence.

They were scrutinizing Jianna with equal attention, and presently the woman remarked, “She has something of her father’s look. It’s in the eyes and brows, I believe. We shall soon know if she’s inherited his nature as well.”

The authoritative contralto carried an unexpected aristocratic accent. Jianna contained her surprise. Facing the other, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “My father—” she began, but her dry sticky mouth and tongue played her false, and only a hoarse croaking emerged.

“Sounds like a sick Sishmindri,” the woman observed with amusement. “One thing I’ll give her father, he could speak.” A new thought appeared to strike her, and she inquired, “Has the girl been properly watered?” There was no immediate reply and she prompted impatiently, “Onartino, speak up.”

The slush-eyed hulk beside Jianna stirred uncomfortably. His flat gaze wandered.

“Now.”

“How would I know?” The murderer addressed as Onartino shrugged. “That’s a business for servants.”

“You imbecile.” The woman spoke with an air of confirmed expectation. “You want to kill her before you’ve had the good of her?” Without awaiting reply, she commanded, “Nissi, see to it.”

At once the blanched young girl rose from her chair, took up one of the earthenware goblets, came around the table, and raised the vessel to Jianna’s lips.

Jianna gulped down watered wine. When the glue that seemed to line her mouth had dissolved, she looked up to encounter Nissi’s luminous, almost colorless eyes inches from her own. The lashes were exceptionally long, but pale and fine as cobwebs. The image of Innesq Belandor’s haggard visage flashed across her mind and it seemed to come from nowhere, for there was no discernible resemblance between her uncle and this wraith of a girl. For an instant the eye contact held and then, as if responding to some spoken command or plea, Nissi set the goblet down, shifted position, and applied herself to the cords that bound Jianna’s wrists. Her touch was cool and weightless as mist, but surprisingly effective. Within a moment, the cords fell away. Jianna brought her hands before her and stared at them in amazement. Her fingers were cold and numb, but when she flexed them, they stiffly obeyed.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“No one gave you leave to turn her loose, you little maggot,” Onartino observed. “Have you lost the few insect wits you ever owned?”

Nissi appeared deaf.

“Put those ropes back on her,” Onartino commanded, “or else I will. Which d’you think will be the worse for her, maggot—if you do it, or if I do it?”

Nissi regarded the floor attentively.

“Shut your mouth, boy,” the older woman suggested. “You’re not out in the woods.”

“Mother, this is my concern.”

“And I wish I could trust you to manage matters intelligently, but you’ve all the judgment of a stag in rut.”

The hitherto silent young man at the table guffawed, and the speaker turned on him. “You hold your tongue, Trecchio,” she advised. “You’re not one particle better than your brother—in fact, you’re not as good; you haven’t half his courage.”

Trecchio’s laughter promptly died. “I’m no coward,” he declared with a glower.

“There’s my little hero.” She bent an unkind smile upon him, then returned her attention to Jianna, demanding, “You are Aureste Belandor’s daughter?”

“The Magnifico Aureste is my father,” Jianna replied, voice emerging clear and composed. “He will pay my ransom.”

“His title is false,” the other informed her, “and there will be no ransom. Shall we trade one of our own for money? You look confused, girl, as well you might. Allow me to enlighten you. I am the Dowager Magnifica Yvenza Belandor, widow to the Magnifico Onarto Belandor. Is that name familiar? No? It should be. Onarto Belandor is the kinsman whose title and life your father stole some twenty-five years ago. These two likely lads here are my sons, Onartino and Trecchio. The elder, already known to you, is the rightful Magnifico Belandor by the laws of inheritance. This girl, Nissi, is undeniably Onarto’s daughter, but she is not mine. For the sake of the blood that she carries, she has a place in my house, which is not grand, yet meets our immediate needs. We do not live in high state here at Ironheart, but have no fear—we anticipate great change in the near future. My dear—distant niece, I suppose I must call you, for now—your long-lost family members bid you welcome to your new home.”

Yvenza Belandor fell silent and Jianna stared at her in frozen incomprehension. The woman’s words, while clearly and cogently spoken, amounted to so much gibberish. Some sort of response seemed to be expected, however, so she collected herself to answer, “I don’t understand what you mean by all of that. You seem to be playing a game, but I don’t know the rules. I only know that your men attacked my father’s carriage on the open highway, killed everyone I was traveling with, and carried me here against my will. You seem to be telling me that you are not ordinary criminals and highwaymen. Perhaps you aren’t ordinary, for you chose your target with unusual care. You know who I am and you know that my father will pay well to secure my return, as soon as you name your price.”

Yvenza Belandor laughed out loud at that. “So young and such a cynic, else a simpleton,” she observed. “You haven’t been listening to me, girl. Or perhaps you’re slow of understanding. I say that we haven’t taken you for your father’s coin, although you may be certain he’ll pay dearly. In the end, he’ll give all that he owns. Or I might more properly promise that he’ll give back all that he stole.”

Any reply was sure to be wrong. Jianna said nothing.

Observing her keenly, Yvenza observed, “I begin to perceive that you are less dull-witted than genuinely ignorant. Your father, doubtless relishing the sweet flood of daughterly affection, has gone to some lengths to preserve your innocence. He’s told you little or nothing of your family history.”

“He’s told me to disregard the slander of his enemies,” Jianna returned. “And so I do.”

“And do you similarly disregard the recollections of your kin? I’ll share a few of my favorites with you,” Yvenza offered amiably. “Let me transport you back in time some twenty-five years or so. The civil wars have recently concluded and the dynastic issues have been resolved, not precisely to the satisfaction of all concerned. The island of Faerlonne, ancient seat of art and learning, has succumbed to the military vigor of neighboring Taerleez. Faerlonne is occupied by Taerleezi forces, and what was once a sister state of the Veiled Isles is now regarded as a conquered enemy. The Faerlonnish citizens are disenfranchised, stripped of their property, taxed to the verge of starvation, and subjected to new laws too unjust and outrageous to accept without a sense of degradation.

“My husband, the Magnifico Onarto, has forfeited the bulk of his fortune and property. He has seen his brothers and his closest friends die in the wars, and he himself has lost his right arm. For all of that, he is one of the more fortunate among the Faerlonnish. As head of one of the Six Houses of the Veiled Isles, he’s been permitted to retain his title, the family house in Vitrisi, and enough money to sustain a life of sorts. Those Belandor family members residing with the Magnifico are comparatively safe from the worst of the Taerleezi persecutions, and they will not starve. Mindful of his favored position, the Magnifico Onarto extends protection and hospitality to as many of his relatives as he is able to shelter beneath his roof.

“Among them is included Aureste Belandor, a second cousin sprung of a poor family branch, energetic and intelligent, but ambitious, ruthless, and reputedly treacherous. Onarto is warned, but he is generous of heart and chooses to give his cousin the benefit of the doubt. It is the mistake of a lifetime. Not six months following Aureste Belandor’s arrival, the Magnifico Onarto is secretly denounced as an active enemy of the Taerleezi regime—a saboteur, terrorist, and conspirator. If he is taken and tried, he will suffer torture prior to public execution. As it is, he receives warning in time to flee Vitrisi with his wife, children, and several retainers. The fugitive family finds refuge in a wilderness stronghouse called Ironheart, and there they live as outlaws. The traitor Aureste remains in the city as new heir to the Belandor title and fortune, courtesy of his Taerleezi cronies, whose favor he has courted at the cost of all loyalty and honor. Tell me, little maidenlady—what do you think of the tale so far?”

The woman had not abandoned her air of pleasant equanimity. Jianna, sensing the imminence of explosion, felt her jaw muscles tighten. Loath to display weakness, she met the other’s eyes and replied evenly, “You speak of the traitor Aureste, but where’s the proof against him? You claim that the Magnifico Onarto was secretly denounced. If that’s true, what right have you to assume that Aureste did it?”

“Ha. Logical questions, evidence of a mind at work.” Yvenza’s air of ominous amusement remained intact. “You will be disappointed to learn, however, that the matter scarcely amounted to a mystery. Aureste stood to profit hugely by his benefactor’s downfall. Moreover, his character was by that time known to all.”

“Is that what you call evidence?” Jianna dared to speak with a hint of scorn. “And what of the charges against this Magnifico Onarto? You haven’t said, or even seemed to care, if they were justified or not. Was he in truth a saboteur and terrorist? If so, was it wrong to stop him?”

“Someone will have to file the edges off that tongue,” Onartino remarked.

“Patience; let her ask what she pleases,” his mother decreed. “It’s more than time that she learn the truth.”

“Truth?” Jianna shook her head. “So far I’ve heard only lies about my father.”

“Mother never lies,” Trecchio interjected.

“Quiet, boy,” Yvenza told him. “Give my little niece a fair chance to digest a deal of new information. It’s all unfamiliar to her, and she hasn’t even heard the whole of the story. Let us continue her education, while observing the effects of instruction upon an impressionable young mind.” Refreshing herself with a sip of wine, she resumed.

“You might imagine that the new Magnifico Belandor, satisfied with his stolen property and title, would permit his disgraced fugitive cousin Onarto to eke out a wilderness existence in peace, but such was not the case. Evidently troubled by his wronged kinsman’s mere presence in the world, Aureste Belandor issued orders, and Onarto vanished from the very heart of his supposedly hidden fastness. Three days later, his remains were discovered in the woods, not a quarter hour’s walk from this stronghouse. The cord embedded in the flesh of his neck described the method of execution. The beasts of the forest had partially devoured his body. The birds and insects had likewise been at work, but I had no difficulty identifying my husband.”

They did not intend to ask for ransom. They hated her father unreasoningly, wanted vengeance, and doubtless meant to kill her in as gruesome a manner as they could devise. But she would not give them the satisfaction of witnessing her terror. Moistening her lips, Jianna replied with an appearance of detachment, “Aureste Belandor issued orders, you say? How do you know that? Did anyone hear him speak? Was this Onarto’s executioner ever found, and did he implicate my father in his confession? Answer if you can.”

“The murderer, unquestionably a member of my household, was never identified,” Yvenza recalled pensively. “Investigation and deduction narrowed the suspects to a trio of servants, but the guilty individual could not be determined and I was therefore obliged to hang all three. Justice was served and my surviving followers received a valuable lesson. A wise move, wouldn’t you agree?”

A barbed smile invited debate. Jianna did not let herself rise to the bait. Her air of composure remained carefully intact as she observed, “I see you’ve no proof at all against my father. He’s a famous, wealthy man. Few Faerlonnish fared so well after the wars, and many resent his good fortune. I care nothing for the lying accusations of the envious.”

“Now, there’s true filial devotion. Thoroughly misplaced, but admirable all the same. You boys might profit by so sterling an example.”

“I mean to profit,” said Onartino.

“Good lad. Let us conclude, then. Despite the seeming totality of his triumph, I am pleased to report that the traitor Aureste did not go entirely unpunished. His betrothed at that time, the Lady Sonnetia of House Steffa—evidently gifted with some sense—not only broke off her connection with Aureste Belandor, but for good measure promptly accepted and wedded the young Magnifico Vinz Corvestri, scion of House Belandor’s ancient enemy. A particularly pretty choice, that. I gather from my sources that the blow hit home and Aureste felt it deeply for a while. Unfortunately, such a man was not one to suffer at great length, and it was not more than two years later that he consoled himself with the Lady Zavilla of House Gorni, who presented him with a great fortune and an heiress before considerately removing herself. It is rumored that the neglect and undisguised contempt of her husband greatly hastened the Lady Zavilla’s death, and this I can well believe.”