The Grand Design (45 page)

“I know,” lied Simon. “It’s my fault. I tried to stop him, but Richius wouldn’t listen. Stubborn, you know?” With one eye he looked over Tresh’s shoulder into the room. Shani was nowhere in sight. “Should I tell Dyana the girl’s asleep?” he asked. “She’ll understand, I suppose.”

“No, no,” Tresh grumbled. “I will wake her and take her down with you. It will be good for Dyana. She needs the baby close these days.” The nurse turned her back on Simon and walked into the room. Simon followed cautiously behind. His stomach gave a sickening lurch. Very slowly he put his hand behind his back and gave the door a gentle nudge, just enough to close it without making a sound. His hand then drifted to his belt and withdrew a stiletto.

“Dyana will be happy to see the baby,” Tresh was saying. “She is so sad now. Shani—”

Tresh’s voice constricted the moment the blade severed her spine. Simon’s free hand shot up and covered her mouth as he drove the stiletto deeper. The woman shuddered, her knees buckling. Blood sluiced from the
incision onto Simon’s hand. The sensation made him retch but he held fast, deepening the gash until Tresh’s shaking ceased and a feeble death rattle trickled through his fingers.

“Good people go to Heaven,” Simon whispered. Her eyes widened at the observation, horror-struck. Gently, Simon laid her down, withdrawing the blade but keeping his hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, woman,” he begged. “Go with God. Curse me when you see Him.”

The dying nurse tried and failed to move her paralyzed arms. What looked like a tear fell from her eyes. She gasped once, twice, trying to suck in air. A soundless scream climbed out of her mouth.…

And then she died.

Simon knelt over the dead woman. For a very long moment he forgot the direness of his mission. A wave of self-loathing drowned him. Carefully he reached out his bloodied hand and closed the woman’s sightless eyes. He dragged the dead woman out of the center of the room, pulling her into one of the bedchambers. The scent told him at once it was Dyana’s room, the one she shared with Richius. Simon cleaned his hands on Tresh’s dress, composing himself. He didn’t want the child to see him looking frightened.

Easy!
he scolded himself.
Be still.

At his command his heartbeat slowed. His breathing tranquilized. A serene smile crossed his face, as if the corpse at his feet existed only in a dream. Trancelike, he walked from the bedroom into the main chamber, quickly spotting the door to Shani’s room. The hinges squeaked as he pushed it open and peered inside. At once he sighted the Jackal’s daughter, asleep upon a tiny bed of wood and white sheets. The room was dark but for the last rays of sunlight splashing through the window. Shani’s face glowed pink, unmindful of the murder of her nurse. Without waking
her, Simon crept over to the bed and knelt down beside it, studying the child. She had her father’s round eyes and her mother’s milky skin. A strand of fawn hair fell across her forehead. At one year old, she could only toddle. Getting her out of the citadel would be difficult. But Simon was determined not to hurt her. He had considered gagging her, even stuffing her in a sack, but had quickly dismissed the idea. So instead he would try a different approach, one that might, with Heaven’s grace, seem plausible.

He would just walk out with her.

Most of the folk of the citadel trusted him now, and if they saw him with the child walking toward the kitchen they probably wouldn’t question him. Simon very gently reached out and touched the child, brushing the wayward hair from her face.

“Shani,” he whispered cheerfully. “Wake up. I have to take you to your mother.”

Shani’s eyes opened at the sound of the strange voice. They focused on Simon in confusion, but were unafraid.

“Hello,” he crooned. He gave the girl an encouraging smile while he continued stroking her hair. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. Mother wants you.
Mother.
”

Shani frowned, then let out a frustrated grunt. Simon slowly slipped the covers down and took her hand. It was impossibly small. Soft too, like a rose petal. Instinctively the fragile fingers wrapped around his.

“My name is Simon,” he said. “I …”

He stopped, unable to complete the lie. A vision of Eris flashed through his mind, and then Biagio, waiting with the Mind Bender for the child. Even as he fought to still himself, he began to shake.

“Shani,” he whispered desperately. “I know you can’t understand me, but listen. I’m an evil man. But I love a woman, and I can’t let her die. I’m taking you
someplace, and I’ll do my best to protect you there. I swear it.”

Surprisingly, Shani smiled at him, not pulling her hand away. Simon guided her gently out of the bed. N’Dek and the
Intimidator
would be offshore, waiting for him in a few short hours.

He hadn’t expected the babe to be so compliant. But Shani stood on her own, albeit shakily, her bare feet padding with him to a closet stuffed with clothing. Simon undressed her and hurriedly pulled some day clothes over her head. Shani squirmed and giggled, enjoying the attention. Simon rolled stockings and a pair of tiny shoes onto her feet, then took her hand again. Outside, not far from the entry to the citadel, he had hidden a coat to keep her warm on the long trek to the tower. An hour ago, he had stolen one of Falindar’s precious horses. The missing horse, he knew, would be noticed quickly.

“We’re going to go for a ride,” he told Shani. “Be a good girl for me. Please.”

Dyana left the kitchen after her meal, ignoring the appeals from her friends to stay with them and talk. She skirted the Triin warriors in the great hall of Falindar and made her way to the rear of the citadel where the heart tree grew and the cliff dove down to the ocean below. It was very cold, and she had no coat, but the moon was coming up and the shiver through her skin heightened her melancholy. The heart tree, that lone and legendary symbol of the Gods, erupted out of the rocky earth, blocking the moonbeams. Dyana stared at it, and before she could stop them, the tears came.

Without Richius, she was alone here. Her companions were nothing like her. She was more Naren than Triin, they said, more interested in being a man than a
woman. Her independent streak had earned her a reputation in Falindar, and now, with her husband off on a foolish crusade, Dyana felt the crush of loneliness. She cowled her arms around her shoulders to stave off the breeze.

In the end, she hadn’t begged Richius to stay. She had refused to shed tears for him. Now she wept openly, and wished he was here to comfort her. But men were foolish, even good men like Richius. And they were all too easily swayed by revenge. Dyana brushed her tears away angrily. Shani needed her. She would not be the weak-as-water woman the others expected her to be.

Dyana returned to the citadel, climbing the spiral staircase leading to the level of her bedchamber. It was very quiet in the corridor. Across the dim hallway, she found the door to her chambers an inch ajar. Without a thought she pushed open the door.

“I am here, Tresh,” she said in Triin. “Shani? Are you awake?”

No answer. No sound, either. Dyana hastened to her daughter’s room and gasped at the disheveled state of her closet. All of Shani’s clothes, the little Triin skirts and shoulder wraps, were strewn about the floor. The bed was unmade but empty. Dyana’s heart leapt with panic. She dashed into her own bedroom …

… and saw Tresh twisted on the floor.

Dyana froze. She stared at the dead woman, mute and breathless. Tresh lay in a waste of crimson, her eyes shut, her limbs stiff and impossibly bent. The color of life had drained from her flesh to stain the floor. Dyana backed away, slowly at first, then in a frenzy.

“Shani!” she screamed, racing from her bedroom. “Someone help me!”

Out in the hall, doors flung open. Startled Triin faces peered out from their chambers, roused by Dyana’s screams. One by one she asked the onlookers if they had seen Shani, but each of them shook their heads in
confusion, unaware of the dead woman down the hall. Dyana didn’t bother to explain. She flew down the stairs, taking them three at a time. All she could think about was Simon.

“You bastard!” she muttered, already certain of her quarry. “You did it, you monster.…”

She found herself cursing Simon and Richius both—the Naren for taking Shani, her husband for abandoning her. The unendurable thought that Shani might be—

“No!” she spat, refusing to believe it. “You will not take my baby!”

Biagio
 …

The name rang in her head like a bell. At the bottom of the stairs she collided with Deemis. Seeing her distress, the warrior took hold of her.

“What is it, woman?” he demanded.

Dyana grabbed his shirt with both fists. “My daughter; have you seen her? Have you seen Shani?”

Deemis frowned, clearly perplexed. “I have not. What is it?”

“What about Simon? Have you seen him?”

“Dyana, no. I—”

“Deemis, help me! He has taken her, I know he has. Tresh is dead in my chambers! He killed her and took Shani. I have to find her.”

She tried to tear away from the man but he held her fast. “Stop now!” he ordered roughly. “Where is Tresh? What has happened?”

Dyana hurriedly explained how she had gone upstairs and found Tresh murdered in her rooms. Her daughter was gone, she explained, and only Simon would have taken her.

“Richius was right, Deemis,” she insisted. “He has taken her. We have to find him. Lorris and Pris, help me!”

“You will go to the kitchens and wait there with the women,” Deemis ordered. He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to listen. “Stay with them. We will
find your daughter and this snake,” he snarled. “We will, Dyana. Now go.”

“Deemis—”

“Go!” he barked, shoving her away. He didn’t wait to see her leave, but instead turned his back and started bellowing for help and horses. The sound brought warriors running. At their master’s order they scrambled for the gates, spreading out in a wave. Dyana fell backward against the wall and closed her eyes, and all the loss she had ever felt in her life was nothing compared to the void swallowing her now.

The horse Simon had stolen from the stables was fast and black and perfectly invisible in the moonlight. With the Jackal’s daughter wrapped in a coat in front of him, he sank low in the saddle and rode hard, following the trails through the grassy valleys and woodlands, past the eyes of owls and far, far away from the towers of Falindar. For the first hour of the journey Shani hardly made a sound, but well into their second hour of riding she began to fret. Simon tried to cheer her, but he dared not slow his pace. Every rough jolt made the child more uncomfortable and vocal. By the third hour, Shani was crying hysterically.

“Easy, child. Easy,” Simon pleaded. They were in a thick forest with only the moon to guide them, and Simon worried that the horse would break a leg. Shani wailed. It was very late, and the time of his rendezvous was fast approaching. He had made extraordinary time, but he wondered if the impatient N’Dek would wait past midnight for him to arrive. The recently departed Lissen schooners might have frightened the captain off, or he might decide that his passenger had been found out. Simon tried not to think of it, and found a distraction in Shani’s knifelike cries.

“Not much farther, girl,” he said, trying to soothe her. “I know it’s cold. I’m sorry.”

He
was
sorry. Remarkably, he regretted every step. But then he remembered Eris and the mind-sick Biagio, and was able to subdue his regrets. With one hand on the reins he wrapped the other around the child, holding her fast, imparting what comfort he could. Shani seemed to nestle in his embrace. The human need for warmth overcame her, and she buried herself in Simon’s coat. She was light like her mother. Simon held her carefully, as if he were cradling an egg.

By now Dyana had discovered them gone. Doubtless, she was frantic. Simon knew he had ruined her, maybe in a way worse than he’d murdered Tresh. At least the nurse’s pain was over. Dyana’s would be endless.

“Your mother loves you very much,” he said absently as they raced beneath a canopy of fruit trees. “You’ll see her again, if I can help it. I’ll do it if I can. God help me to try.”

If God wasn’t deaf to the prayers of assassins, if He cared at all for innocent children, He would help Simon find the way. Simon grit his teeth at the thought. Suddenly he wanted God to damn him, to drag him to Hell for all the countless sins and burn him eternally. With all the self-loathing in the world he made a silent promise to Heaven, that he would gladly burn forever to save both Eris and the Vantran baby.

They rode in darkness for another hour, burying the distance between Falindar and their hidden destination. What had taken Simon a day to walk, they were traversing in mere hours, and when at last Simon heard the shore again he knew they were near the tower.

Simon Darquis felt his stomach knot with dread.

He slowed his horse just a bit and cocked his head to listen. Even Shani stopped her crying, pacified by the distant sound of surf. Simon took a sniff and smelled the brine of the ocean. He sharpened his eyes on the horizon, peering through the moonlight, and with his
trained vision glimpsed the dark outline of the tower. His vigor renewed, he kicked his heels into the horse’s sides, propelling it on faster. The way was narrow and treacherous, but time was short and so was Simon’s patience, and when the horse hesitated he struck it again, harder this time, all his guilt and frustration cracking against the animal’s ribs. But when at last they neared the tower clearing, Simon drew back on the reins and slowed the horse to a cautious trot, finally bringing it to a full halt when the shadow of the structure fell upon them. In his arms Shani kicked and gave a gurgle of protest. Simon smiled bleakly down at her.

“You’re right to fear, girl,” he admitted.

The tower seemed deserted, but through the moonlight Simon saw two black specks floating on the ocean. He stared at the horizon, dumbfounded. Two ships? What was N’Dek doing? Not caring if the horse ran off without him, Simon dismounted, then helped down his little parcel. He did not let the child’s feet touch the ground, though. Instead he held her in his arms as he abandoned the exhausted steed and headed cautiously toward the tower. The open archway beckoned with blackness. Simon held his breath. Shani, sensing his trepidation, did the same. Inside the dark recesses he heard a scraping sound, the sound of boots on stone. When he heard it a second time, he paused.