The Grand Design (78 page)

Dyana stared at him, dumbfounded by the sight. She inched the door open a fraction. A blue residue stained the vial on the piano. The last of the stuff swam through the line into Biagio’s arm. The count continued his thunderous playing, unaware of her intrusion. He was breathing hard and perspiring in torrents. He looked on the verge of collapse. The luster of his golden skin had turned pallid, the color of sickness, and
his hair hung in strings around his neck and face. Dyana didn’t know whether to help him or flee. She knew that this was the drug treatment, just as Richius had described it. But she had no idea it was such a violent, rapelike act. Biagio looked weak, destroyed and void of his usual strength. With his tears and tired eyes, he looked like a little boy.

And then suddenly his playing stopped. His breathing raced in the silence, and he raised his head with an agonized groan. That’s when he saw Dyana, frozen in the doorway. He erupted at the sight of her, springing from the piano bench.

“What are you doing here?”

Dyana staggered back. She wanted to run but knew it was too late.

“Get in here!” the count commanded. “Now!”

Dyana held her breath and pushed the doors open wide. She walked into the room and stood before the shaking count. He was inhuman-looking, about to teeter from exhaustion. But his rage kept him upright, and his chest heaved with angry gulps of air. He balled his hands into fists and shook them at his sides, pulling the empty vial from the piano and sending it smashing to the ground.

“This is
my
place,” he hissed. “Mine! What are you doing here?”

“I am sorry,” Dyana stammered. “I meant no harm. I heard the music and came to find out what it was.”

“It’s my music!” he screamed. “You have no business here!”

“Sorry,” said Dyana again. She backed toward the door. “Forgive me, Count. I will leave.”

“Don’t you dare!” he roared, racing forward and seizing her arm. His grip was iron and painfully cold, and when he clamped his fingers around her wrist, Dyana cried out.

“You are hurting me,” she said, trying to stay calm. “Please …”

“You want to hear music?” he asked indignantly. “Or did you come to stare at the freak?”

“I did not!” Dyana protested. “I just heard your music. I did not know you were in here.” She grimaced at the strength of his grasp, then looked up at him, pleading. “Let go,” she said softly. “Please.”

Biagio’s face softened. Slowly his fingers uncoiled from her wrist, letting her loose. Dyana’s first instinct was to bolt, but she curbed the urge. Biagio was watching. He stumbled backward and fell upon his bench, sitting there with his hands trembling and his skin dripping sweat.

Dyana said nothing. Biagio closed his eyes and sighed, then used his dainty fingers to dig out the needle, popping it from his flesh. He tossed it nonchalantly to the floor, among the broken glass of the shattered vial. With painful slowness, his breathing normalized and a healthy color gradually returned to his skin. When at last he opened his eyes again, they were the old iridescent blue.

“Music is the only thing that helps me,” he rasped. “Otherwise the treatments would be unbearable. Arkus used to listen to a harpist when he took his treatments. He said the music took away the pain.”

“Are you all right?” Dyana asked. She chanced a step closer, afraid he might erupt again, yet somehow compelled to remain.

“I will be,” he said. “The drug is very strong. It takes time.”

“I know this drug,” said Dyana. “It makes you young, yes?”

Biagio nodded. “Something like that.” He looked up at her. “You shouldn’t have come. I don’t like being seen this way.”

“You are right,” said Dyana sheepishly. “I am sorry.”

She turned and made it halfway to the door before he stopped her.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked.

Dyana hovered in the doorway. She should have hated Biagio, but in that moment he seemed too frail to loathe. “I had a dream,” she answered. “It woke me.”

“I have dreams,” said Biagio. He ran his hands over his damp hair. “You can’t imagine the nightmares I have.”

“I think I can,” Dyana replied. “I have lost my child and my husband both.”

The count scoffed. “That’s nothing compared to losing an empire.”

“If you say so.” Dyana went for the door again. “Good-night, Count.”

“Wait,” Biagio called. “You might yet be wrong. Your child might still be alive.”

“If she is …”

“Yes, yes,” said Biagio with an annoyed wave. “I remember my promise, woman. You needn’t remind me every time you see me.” He ran his fingers over the keys distractedly, hitting a string of discordant notes. His shoulders slumped and a vacant expression crossed his face. Dyana knew he was thinking about Simon. Once again she approached him.

“You need not do this, you know,” she said carefully. “I am no threat to you. And neither is my husband.”

Biagio’s eyes flared, insulted. “Believe me, I know that. Your husband and his wretched Lissens are of no concern to me. They’re insects.”

“Then why hurt us?” Dyana knew it was a lost cause, but she had to try. “If you let me go, I can tell Richius that you know about his plans. I can get him to call off his invasion of Crote.”

The count smiled. “Now why would I want that? Your husband is the perfect sheep. He’s part of my grand design, you see.”

“What do you mean?”

He waved her away. “You ask too many questions.”

“But you know I am right,” Dyana pressed. “Why do you not let me go free? Richius never meant you any harm. And he did not kill your emperor. I am sorry for your loss, but—”

“What do you know about my loss?” spat Biagio. “Save your pity, woman. You know nothing of what you speak.”

“You are wrong,” Dyana countered. She got even closer to him, close enough to feel his remarkable cold, then fell to one knee beside the bench. “I know you loved Arkus. Richius told me so. I know the emperor was very dear to you. And you to him.”

Biagio’s face twitched. “Yes,” he whispered. “That is true. I loved him dearly.” He fingered more notes on the keys, his mind skipping back over memories. “But you may not be so right about his love for me. He had the chance to give me Nar. He knew he was dying, yet couldn’t admit it. He wanted to live forever.”

“And there was no magic in Lucel-Lor to save him. The mission you gave Richius was impossible.”

“There
was
magic,” Biagio insisted. “I know there was.”

“There was a man,” Dyana corrected. “My first husband, Tharn. He was touched by the Gods. But even he could not have saved your emperor. Even if he had wanted to, he could not. You have to believe that, Count Biagio. Richius did nothing to you.”

Biagio was silent. Dyana sighed.

“Look at you,” she said. “This drug will kill you someday. It is not natural.”

The count gave a black laugh. “Not natural? Ah, then it’s perfect for me. For I’m not natural and never have been. Archbishop Herrith could tell you that.” He turned and sneered at her. “Don’t you know what I am, woman? Or is that why you feel so safe with me? Because you know I’ll never take you to my bed?”

“I know what you are,” said Dyana. “And I am not afraid of you.”

“Well, you should be. I’m a monster.”

He turned his back on her, resting his elbows on the keyboard and burying his face in his hands. Dyana didn’t know if it was a signal to leave, but she remained in the chamber, waiting for Biagio’s gloomy mood to pass. Eris was right. The drugs
had
made him insane. Yet Dyana didn’t fear him. Something inside her told her to stay, to try and coax enough humanity out of the count to make him see his mistakes. And maybe, to save Richius’ life.

“It does not have to be this way,” she said softly. “I have heard things about you. And not just from my husband. I can even see it myself.”

“See what?” Biagio growled.

“The drugs, what they have done to you. People say you were not always this way. They say you were different when you were younger.”

Biagio lifted his head and stared at her. “Eris has been very naughty, hasn’t she?”

“Do not blame Eris,” said Dyana. “She only told me what I asked. And it is obvious, anyway.”

“What is?”

“That you are insane. Like Arkus.”

“How dare you!”

“It is the drug,” Dyana insisted. “It has made you mad. Anyone can see that just by looking at you.”

“Fool,” scoffed Biagio. “You’re only seeing the treatment. I’m not always like I am tonight. The drug keeps my body young. I am better than I ever was. Stronger and smarter.” He made a dismissive gesture with his slack wrist. “Don’t believe everything you hear, woman. If you were a Roshann agent, you would know better.”

“I know what I know,” said Dyana. She knelt down beside him. “All of this, everything you have done—it
is all for revenge. But if you let me go, if you send me to Liss on a ship, I will tell Richius not to invade. He will listen to me, and then you can both end this madness.”

“I don’t want to end it. Haven’t you been listening? I
want
Liss to invade!”

“Why?”

Biagio slammed a fist down on the keys. “You think I’m going to tell you that? Suffice it to say, I have my reasons.”

“Madness,” said Dyana softly. “That is all this is. And you are so insane you cannot even see it. The drug-”

“The drug keeps me alive,” spat the count. “It keeps me beautiful.” He took her wrist again, forcing her to look into his hypnotic eyes, holding her and not letting go. “Look at me. Am I not beautiful?”

Dyana was afraid to answer. He was beautiful, but he was also inhuman, and in those lovely, blazing eyes she saw madness. “Yes,” she replied. “You are beautiful. But not beautiful enough.” She pulled free of him. “I still see you as a monster. And not because of the way you look.” Carefully she reached out a finger and tapped his chest. “It is what is inside you that is diseased.”

“You are wrong, Lady Vantran. The drug makes me strong. I would not be able to tame the Empire without it.”

“And that is all that matters? You arrogant man. Maybe Arkus was right about not giving you the Empire. Maybe he saw how mad you were. He never—”

Biagio’s hand shot out, slapping Dyana hard across the face. She fell back, startled by the blow. Biagio towered over her, his face twisting.

“Don’t you ever speak his name to me again,” he seethed. “You wretched bitch. Arkus loved me! I was like a son to him.”

Dyana put a hand to her cheek. “Mad,” she said again. “That is what you are.”

She turned and left the chamber. Biagio called after her but she darted down the hall, desperate to be away from him. Her face stung but that was hardly a concern. What hurt far worse was her pride. Like a fool she had tried to reason with him. And for a moment, she had even thought it was working.

Stupid, stupid woman
, she chastised herself as she hurried from the count’s wing. Her soft shoes echoed with her eagerness, but she didn’t care who heard her now. She was irate, not only with Biagio but with herself. If Richius had seen her beg, he would have been appalled.

She made her way past the slave quarters toward her own rooms far removed from Biagio. Only when she saw her chambers did she breathe a little easier. But her relief was short when she noticed her door slightly ajar. She took a careful step forward and listened at the door. Hearing nothing, she pushed the portal open and peered into her rooms. All seemed just as she’d left it. The chamber was dark, but a paralyzing moonlight froze the furniture in its rays. Without a sound she took a cautious step inside, then, emboldened, took another. She heard the wind outside but nothing else. Shadows danced on the walls, reflecting the moonlight. Dyana frowned, sure that her imagination was getting the better of her. No doubt she had forgotten to close the door on her way out.

“I need sleep,” she said softly. Sleep would take her mind off things.

She went to her bedchamber and found it dark. The shades were drawn over the glass doors. Dyana stared at the doors uncertainly. And then she felt afraid.

“I left those open,” she whispered to herself. “I know I—”

From out of the darkness a hand shot over her
mouth. Arms wrapped themselves around her, enormously strong.

“Don’t be afraid,” came a voice. Its tone was high, like a hissing snake. Not Biagio. Worse. Dyana tried to scream but the cold hand muffled her sounds. She tasted chemicals on the flesh. Savros the Mind Bender leaned forward and put his cheek against hers. “Pretty thing,” he cooed. “Pretty, pretty thing.”

He was breathing fast and lustily. Dyana fought to break free. She kicked and twisted against his lanky arms, amazed at his iron grip. Savros giggled at her struggles.

“Oooh, please, save your strength,” he whispered. “Don’t fight me so. Save your vigor for the chains.”

No!
Again Dyana tried to scream and heard only a feeble gurgle. Savros tightened his coiling arms. She could see him smile from the corner of her eyes.

“I’ve watched you so long,” he moaned. “You’re so beautiful. Your skin, like a flower. I have to take you, pretty Dyana.”

He parted his lips and let his ruby tongue dart out, lapping at her cheek. Dyana hit a wall of nausea. She drove an elbow into his ribs, but Savros’ reedy body was made of stone, and he absorbed the blows too easily for a normal man. His arm came up in retaliation, snaking around her neck and tightening until she thought she’d black out.

“I have a place,” he said. “Downstairs. I’ve prepared it just for you. Yes, yes, just for you.”

He was gibbering, overcome with perverted lust. Dyana could feel the unnatural heat pouring off his cold skin. He began dragging her backward toward the door. Still she fought against the pain and blackness, but her acrobatics only delighted Savros the more.

“Yes, yes!” he chimed. “Dance for me, pretty thing. You will dance for me.”

He pulled her out of the bedroom and into the main
chamber. Dyana could barely breathe now. She was exhausting quickly, but knew she had to break away before he got her down into his dungeon. Fear exploded in her brain, an awful mix of pain and bloody visions. Amazingly, Eris’ voice came to her out of the fog, telling her to watch out for Savros.