The Traitor's Daughter (6 page)

The covert action against Vinz Corvestri was absorbing. For days the project ruled Aureste Belandor’s thoughts, and during that happy term he could almost forget the imminent loss of his daughter. At times her departure seemed nearly unreal, a shadowy menace of the distant future. But the days marched by, and all too soon came a morning to which he awakened with a sense of empty gloom.

He lay on his back in a behemoth of a bed, an elaborately carved ebony extravaganza hung in heavy dark damask, looking up at the arched supports of the tester above. His eyes moved to the center of the vaulted structure, where the initials of the bed’s previous owner, once incised upon a decorative shield, had been chiseled away long ago. He had ordered the initials removed at the behest of his wife, who had otherwise threatened to consign the expensive piece of furniture to the flames. And she, ordinarily the epitome of spineless complaisance, had demonstrated such an uncharacteristic, almost hysterical determination that he had deferred to her wishes upon that one occasion. Even then she had obdurately refused to lie down in it, and the banished Magnifico Onarto Belandor’s best bed had gathered dust for years in a dark storeroom until the Lady Zavilla’s obliging death in childbirth had permitted its reemergence.

He really ought to commission an artisan to restore the damaged woodwork, Aureste reflected for the hundredth time. Not that the rough-hewn reminder of his predecessor’s fall disturbed his repose in the slightest, but the visible defect compromised the worth of an otherwise valuable piece.

Something leaden pressed upon his mind. It took a moment to dispel the mists of sleep and identify the cause. Today was the day. It had come at last. Jianna was going away.

He rose, washed, and dressed himself without summoning assistance, for he could scarcely abide a human or Sishmindri presence at such a time. He wanted nothing to eat, for his normally healthy appetite had failed him; a weakness he did not intend to display at the family table. She would be down there now in the south hall at breakfast with her uncles, an aunt or two, a few resident cousins, a couple of her long-dead mother’s people, and sundry visitors; no Taerleezis among them today. The magnifico’s absence would be noted, but Jianna and Innesq would understand, and theirs were the only opinions that mattered. No need to trade strained pleasantries before an audience of dim-witted kin. He and his daughter had talked at length the previous night, and everything important had been said.

The tolling of a distant bell alerted him. There could be no further delays; she would be leaving within minutes.

Exiting the master suite, he made his way along the corridor, and nothing in his calm face or his swift confident stride hinted at inner perturbation. Down the central stairway, through the grand entry hall, out the front door, and there was the carriage, blazoned with the Belandor arms in silver and drawn by four matched greys. At the bottom of the drive waited the six armed riders assigned to protect the vehicle and its passengers throughout the three days of travel between Vitrisi and the neighboring city of Orezzia.

A fairly sizable group of kinsmen and retainers had gathered at the door to see Jianna off. Nalio and his endlessly dutiful wife were there, no doubt because he imagined that it was expected of them. The youngest Belandor brother looked pasty and puff-eyed in the chill light of early morning. He was attired in a tunic and fashionable parti-colored trunk hose that called unfortunate attention to spindly short shanks. Middle brother Innesq was likewise there, ensconced in his wheeled chair, with a servant to attend him. Innesq never called for Sishmindri assistance with the chair, or with much of anything else, for that matter. His aversion to what he termed “abuse” of the amphibians was idiosyncratic and difficult to fathom.

There were the other insignificant kinfolk present, too, together with random servants. And there at the center of it all was Jianna herself, in a new traveling gown of deep garnet wool and a matching hooded cloak trimmed with wide bands of black fox. Her dark hair had been drawn back into a simple twist, its elegant severity softened by many a curling tendril. She looked at once adult, yet still the child she had been, and so beautiful that his breath caught and for a ridiculous moment his eyes actually misted.

His vision cleared in an instant. He strode forward, and the path to her side opened magically. Gathering his daughter into an embrace, he held her for a moment.

“We’ll have no farewells.” He kissed her brow lightly and released her. “I’ll see you again in just one month. That’s no time at all. We need no farewells for that.”

She nodded. There were tears in her eyes.

“Come, won’t you smile?” Aureste urged. “You will soon be a bride. It’s a happy occasion.”

“Very happy.” She swallowed hard.

“What will it take to make you truly believe that?” He pondered. “Ah, I have it. Time. And not very much time at that, I suspect.”

“I’ll try to think so.”

“How can you doubt? Haven’t you learned in eighteen years that I am always right?”

She managed a genuine smile at that, and amended, “Often right.”

“Shall we compromise and say usually right?”

“Agreed. But just the same, nothing will be truly right in Orezzia until you come.”

“It will only be—”

“And stay for a long, long visit,” Jianna insisted. “Weeks, at the very least. Do you promise? You
have
to promise.”

“Promise. The Tribaris will think they’ll never be rid of me.”

“Good. That’s the only way I’ll be able to stand this.”

“I thought we just agreed—”

“We did, we did. I haven’t forgotten. Probably it will all turn out well in the end. I know you’ve chosen wisely for me; you always have. It will be all right.”

“Yes, it will. But listen to me now, Jianna.” A quick glance assured him that his family and servants had withdrawn a respectful distance. He spoke in a low tone meant for her ears alone. “If it should somehow happen that you are not content—that your new husband or his family members do not treat you with appropriate respect, consideration, or generosity—in short, if you find yourself seriously dissatisfied for any sound reason, either before or after the marriage ceremony, then you need only send a message to me. I will come to you, and if need be I’ll bring you back to Vitrisi. You shall not be trapped in a marriage that you do not desire.”

“You really mean that?”

“You will be content, or else you will come home. I give you my word.”

“Once I’m wed, couldn’t the Tribaris stop you from taking me back?”

“They could try,” Aureste observed mildly.

“And they’d fail. You’ve never made a promise to me that you couldn’t keep.”

“And I never will.”

“I know. I love you, Father.”

“Then trust me, and be happy.” He led her to the carriage, which she entered to join the two traveling companions already seated within: her designated chaperone, stately Aunt Flonoria Belandor, and the young maidservant Reeni. He closed the door, stood a moment looking in at her, then stepped back and reluctantly signaled. The coachman cracked his whip and the big vehicle began to move, its wheels crunching on white gravel. Jianna leaned out the window and waved. Family members and servants returned the salute. Aureste scarcely noted the squawking voices or the fluttering hands. He saw nothing but his daughter’s face.

As the carriage neared the bottom of the drive, the six armed riders swung into position. Vehicle and escort passed through the open gate, which was shut and locked behind them. The group gathered before the doorway quickly dispersed. Aureste did not see them go. His eyes remained fixed on the carriage until it disappeared from view, and even then he did not move, but stood staring off down the quiet street.

Eventually the sharp chill of the late-autumn breeze on his face recalled him to reality, and he looked around to find himself standing alone. He went back inside then and for a time wandered the marble corridors of Belandor House, which—despite a busy population of residents, guests, servants, and sentries—struck him that morning as empty and bleak. Repairing to his study, he busied himself with the household accounts, but found his attention wandering and therefore turned his thoughts to Corvestri Mansion, where his various agents labored in subversive secrecy. But the prospect of his hereditary enemy’s impending downfall, ordinarily a source of warm satisfaction, offered no pleasure today.

Aureste closed his ledgers and rose from his seat. In time of trouble, there was but one remaining source of comfort and advice remotely worthy of consideration.

Out of the study and along the corridor to the second salon, where a section of elaborately carved dark paneling concealed a doorway wide enough to permit passage of a wheeled chair. The door stood ajar. Innesq often left it that way in mute testimony to his contempt for subterfuge. He was probably safe enough in doing so, for the younger brother of the Magnifico Aureste, close friend of the Taerleezi governor, had little to fear from the authorities. Nevertheless, Aureste was frowning as he stepped through the door into a short, narrow passage, at the end of which stood another door, likewise open to afford a glimpse of the workroom beyond. The official ban upon arcane practice or investigation among the conquered Faerlonnish was widely disregarded—an open secret often ignored by the Taerleezi authorities, particularly in the case of highborn or very talented local savants. At least a token show of compliance was expected, however. The illicit workroom and its location should certainly remain inconspicuous. A modicum of discretion eased everyone’s life—a fact that Innesq Belandor seemed unwilling or unable to accept. His casual illegalities bordered on insolence, and the best of good counsel never seemed to exert much influence.

Aureste walked into the too-accessible sanctum to discover his brother crouched in the middle of the floor, surrounded by shards of broken glass and phosphorescent splashes whose vaporous exudations seemed to suck the warmth from the atmosphere. Innesq was hugging himself and shivering violently.

He looked up. His face—a finely etched, haggard, almost delicate version of his older brother’s—was bloodlessly white, his lips faintly blue. His dark eyes, deep-set and ringed with the shadows of chronic illness, seemed enormous and far too brilliant for comfort.

“Help.” Innesq spoke with difficulty through chattering teeth.

“How?” Aureste was already kneeling at the other’s side. He touched his brother’s hand and found it icy.

“Blanket. Fire.”

Aureste stepped to the hearth and replenished the dying blaze. The flames jumped, then inexplicably sank. A woolen throw lay across the arm of a nearby chair. Grabbing it up, he wrapped his brother’s shoulders, but Innesq’s convulsive shuddering hardly abated.

“A hot drink.” Aureste’s eyes raked the chamber in search of a kettle, of which there was none. “I’ll ring.”

“No. Wait.” Innesq laid a shaky hand on his brother’s arm. “How do you feel?”

“I? What nonsense is this? This is not the time—”

“Quiet. Pay attention. Tell me.”

So compelling were the other’s eyes that Aureste obeyed, halting in midsentence. His mind and senses opened. The frigid clasp of Innesq’s hand was draining the warmth from his flesh. The air of the workroom was cold, bitter, and hungry; ravenous for something unidentifiable and vital. Instinctively he shrank from the fangs of the atmosphere.

“Tell me,” Innesq insisted.

“As if we are not alone in this room. And cold,” Aureste admitted. Too cold; unnaturally cold and breathless, as if the air he drew into his lungs no longer sustained life. He inhaled and felt himself suffocating. Momentary fear took hold, to be swept away by a rush of anger. One of Innesq’s unnatural, illicit experiments had precipitated disaster of some incomprehensible variety. His arcane meddling had placed all of Belandor House in jeopardy. It was Innesq’s fault.

“This liquid you’ve spilled is the source of trouble, is it not?” Aureste kept his voice even. “I’ll remove it.”

“No. Do not touch that.” Innesq’s cold grip tightened. “Get us out.”

The urgency in his brother’s eyes postponed all queries. Aureste rose to fetch the wheeled chair that stood in the corner. He brought it near, then hauled Innesq from the stone floor to the cushioned seat. The ease of this task unnerved him. The emaciated body lay too lightly in his arms. Innesq had always been delicate, his health perennially precarious, and if he should die, now that Jianna was gone, there would be nobody left, nobody who mattered …

Aureste shied from the insupportable thought.

Swiftly he pushed the chair from the workroom, shutting the door behind him. Once through the corridor and back out into the second salon, he closed the concealed door in the paneling, then turned to survey his brother. Innesq’s face remained white to the lips—he was pallid at the best of times—but his violent tremors were starting to subside.

“I’ll ring for help.”

“No. Better, now,” Innesq whispered. “You?”

“Well enough.” Aureste drew a deep breath and felt the renewed warmth coursing along his veins. “What was all that? Shall I order the house evacuated?”

“No need. The worst is over. The workroom will clear itself within a day.”

“What happened?”

“I cannot answer with any great certainty,” Innesq returned mildly. His voice was weak but clear. His hands still shook.

“Then I suggest that you take a good guess. If you are ready to speak.”

“There is little to say at the moment, for I do not possess enough information. I was at work and all went as might be expected, until there came a disruption.”

“I won’t pretend to understand you. I know only that you’ve given me your word that these experiments of yours endanger no member of my household. It was upon such assurance that I permitted construction of that workroom whose secrecy you scarcely trouble to guard. And now I discover—”

“It is very curious.” Innesq spoke with an air of bemusement, apparently unaware of the burgeoning tirade that he interrupted. “It should not have been thus. It was wrong.”