The Ruined City (48 page)

“Ask your lady wife, Magnifico. She will be proud to explain the nature of her power over Aureste Belandor.”

Ask his wife. Not a bad idea.

The journey resumed. Vinz Corvestri sat in his carriage, studying the face of the Magnifica Sonnetia, who sat opposite him. And he found himself wondering, as he had so very often wondered during the course of their married life, exactly what went on behind the fine features and the sylvan greenish eyes. It was not the moment to ask, however. Sometimes Vinzille shared carriage space with his parents; sometimes he preferred to ride horseback. Today he was in the carriage, and his presence precluded potentially disruptive conversation.

Sonnetia had her writing box open in her lap. She was engaged in musical composition, one of her favorite diversions. Absorbed in her work, she did not at first notice her husband’s fixed regard. Presently, however, she twitched as if she felt an insect crawling on her skin, and looked up sharply to meet his unblinking eyes. Her brows rose in polite inquiry. He said nothing, and she returned to her work. Twice more during the next hour she looked up to discover him watching her. He said nothing, and after that, she ignored him.

Time passed as it had passed for what was beginning to seem endless days. The long, tedious hours in the carriage were enlivened from time to time by conversation with Vinzille, usually revolving about the technicalities of arcane procedure. Such discussions were enjoyable, but could not be sustained continually, and there were vast silent stretches that had to be filled with small pastimes, eating, and sleeping. He did not want to eat, and he could not sleep. No pastime could capture his interest. He sat and watched his wife.

Throughout the day there were periodic rest stops for the benefit of horses and humans. During such intervals Sonnetia and Vinzille invariably quitted the carriage. Vinzille was driven forth by an excess of youthful energy, while Sonnetia—she was glad of the chance to get away from him. Or so Vinz’s
suspicions ran. He would watch until her green-cloaked figure disappeared from view, then settle back in his seat with a sigh. He would not stoop to follow or spy on her. She might speak with anyone she pleased. She might step out of sight into the nearest grove or thicket and meet with … anyone. She might return to the Corvestri carriage—or not.

She always did return, though.

The day wore down to a nubbin. The tired sun sagged in the sky, and they halted to make camp. Darkness fell, the air chilled, and the space about them shrank to the diameter of a firelit circle. There was dinner to endure, and then a span of diffuse activity, and then at last he was alone with his wife in their tent. It was a fairly spacious tent, high enough to permit upright posture, and thus suitable to the dignity of a magnifico of Vitrisi. It contained two narrow cots, well blanketed, a small washstand, and a single small oil lamp. There were no luxuries, however—no partitions or compartments, no special lights or furnishings, no rare oils or perfumes, no remarkable refreshments. Quite simply, he could not afford such things. Others might afford them—Aureste certainly could—but what of that? Creature comforts were never truly important—or shouldn’t be.

At last he could talk to her.

She was bent over the washstand, her back to him. She had stripped down to her shift for the night, but had wrapped a blanket about herself for warmth or concealment. All he could see was a long curve of dark wool and a tumble of auburn hair.

“Magnifica.” He cleared his throat.

“Sir?” She turned to face him with her customary courtesy.

“I trust you traveled comfortably today?”

“As comfortably as a carriage allows.”

“And you ate well? The provisions supplied by Master Zovaccio were adequately filling and nourishing?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I hope so, inasmuch as those provisions came at a higher price than I ever dreamed. But perhaps you already know that.”

“Magnifico?” Her expression was uncomprehending.

“Perhaps you already know that the purchase price of the supplies was largely borne by Aureste Belandor.”

“By Aureste? Are you certain? Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Oh, it’s spoken of freely about the camp. I daresay I’m the last to know.”

“Not quite the last. This is the first time I’ve heard of it.”

“Is it? Is it indeed? That’s rather remarkable, madam, in view of the warm friendship you’ve cultivated with that man. Why, I’d have thought that the two of you tell each other everything.”

“I don’t understand you. What has put such thoughts into your head?”

“It’s common knowledge. That shouldn’t surprise you. You’ve not exactly striven for discretion.”

“What need? True, I’ve spoken to Aureste Belandor from time to time since the journey began. Where’s the harm in that?”

“Oh, no harm at all, certainly no harm, if you care nothing for your own reputation, or your marriage vows, or the honor of your House, or your son’s welfare.”

“But this is fantastic. You aren’t seriously suggesting—”

“I am suggesting that Aureste Belandor must have good reason to pay for the food that you eat. He’s not renowned for his altruism.”

“Magnifico, listen to me. You distress yourself needlessly. I know nothing about the sale of provisions, but I know something of the Magnifico Aureste—”

“A triumph of understatement.”

“He may not be renowned for altruism, but he’s not incapable of generosity, and—if all of this is true—then I believe
that his motives in this case are good. Still, if you’re unwilling to accept the favor, then you might offer to repay him. If that isn’t convenient here and now, then give him a note.”

“Do you imagine that I’d place myself in debt to Aureste Belandor, of all men?”

“By your own reckoning, you’re already in his debt.”

“Not by my own will! It was done by stealth, without my knowledge or consent. The extent of
your
knowledge isn’t clear, but one thing is. That man would never have put forth such sums save in payment for what he has enjoyed, or what he expects to enjoy.”

“You insult me.” Sonnetia’s face froze. “You insult me without justice or reason. And your suggestions are vile.”

“If my words are vile, then how much the worse are your actions?”

“I have never wronged you, never in all these years. You’ve no cause and no right to accuse me.”

“No cause? I should like to believe that, but you stand compromised. Perhaps you are honest, but appearances suggest otherwise, to me and to others. You are my wife, and I’m still willing to trust in you, but the appearances must be altered. First and foremost, you are never to speak to Aureste Belandor again. You will not address another spoken or written word to him throughout the remainder of this journey. If he speaks to you, you will not answer. When we return to Vitrisi, the prohibition remains in effect. This course will display your virtue, and thereafter any tarnish darkening your reputation will be polished away by the hand of time. Now swear yourself to silence, and prove your constancy.”

“I have nothing to prove.” Her voice was very low. She was staring at him, and her expression was singular. “The character of my entire life speaks for itself.”

“Well, then.” Vinz hesitated. “Give me your assurance, then.”

“First you forbid me to speak to Innesq Belandor, on pain of arcane enforcement. Now I am not permitted to speak to
Aureste. What next, Magnifico? Shall I be forbidden communication with servants? Acquaintances? Friends? Family members?”

“This is a hysterical exaggeration. My decision is based on sound reason. I expect your compliance.”

“You shall not have it. Understand here and now that I will speak to anyone I choose, whenever or wherever I choose, and I will say whatever I choose. You do not rule my thoughts or my speech, you never have and never shall. And if you attempt to constrain me by arcane force, then we will see what our fellow travelers have to say about it.”

It was incredible. She had never openly defied him before. He had thought her too well bred ever to do it. For a moment, Vinz found himself at a loss. He looked at her white, set face, and for the first time saw undisguised, unequivocal hostility there.
And disdain?
He did not know what to do, but one thing was clear—he must be strong.

“You’re my wife. Must I remind you of your duty? You’ll respect my authority.”

“I respect legitimate authority when it is not abused.”

“Oh, and you’ve grown so wise, you’ll judge when to obey and when to balk? You’ll be a proper wife—
when it suits you
?”

“A proper wife isn’t to be mistaken for a beast of burden.”

“This is absurd. I hope you won’t oblige me to resort to threats and coercion; such things lower us both. For the sake of your own good name, and the welfare of our son, I demand only your promise to break off all communication with Aureste Belandor, a notorious character. Now then, madam?”

“ ‘For the welfare of our son’? Your tyranny clothes itself in hypocrisy. I’ve already told you, my thoughts and speech are my own. I’ll employ both as I see fit.”

“I see that you are lost to decency and honor. But I’ll not allow you to smirch the name of House Corvestri. I want your promise of obedience here and now, else there will be no choice at all but to take steps. Yes, steps. I’ll do it, too. I’ll do
what must be done to protect the family name. Do you understand me?”

“Oh, yes. I understand you perfectly. I understand your doubts and your terrors. I am sorry for you, but my life is no longer hostage to your weakness. Those days are over. I am my own mistress.”

“Or Aureste Belandor’s?”

She did not trouble to answer, but regarded him with a faint, pitying smile. The smile was unendurable. He slapped her face.

He had not intended to do it. His arm seemed to have moved of its own accord.

Sonnetia pressed a hand to her reddening cheek. For a moment she stood staring at him with an incredulity that matched his own. Then, pausing only long enough to snatch up a satchel of her belongings, she made for the exit.

“Where are you going?” Vinz asked.

“To sleep in the carriage.”

“Unnecessary. You are making too much of this.”
I’m sorry! Forgive me! Don’t go!
he wanted to plead. But his tongue seemed endowed with a perverse will of its own, just as his arm had been, a moment earlier, and the words refused to emerge.

“I prefer it. I do not wish to sleep near you. I will never share a bed or sleeping quarters with you again.” With that, she was gone.

Vinz sat on the edge of his cot, blindly regarding the canvas exit through which his wife had passed. For a time he seemed frozen, and felt nothing at all. Then the ice cracked and broke.
She was not coming back
. He recognized the significance of that brief but calamitous exchange, and misery filled him, but stronger than misery was rage. Not at Sonnetia, she was not to blame. He reserved his anger for the person truly responsible for all his woes.

Aureste Belandor. Always.

Perhaps she would bypass the carriage and go directly to him.

Vinz was almost startled to discover the intensity of his own hatred. It was vast and consuming, ravening inside him like some great beast. He had always hated Aureste, but never before had the hatred owned him.

He must find some outlet, else the hatred would eat him alive from the inside out. He considered. So often he had contemplated a world free of Aureste Belandor, and the thought had brought peace and joy. He had attempted to achieve that beautiful ambition upon one occasion, and failed through sheer mischance. It was time to try again.

The Magnifico Aureste was no arcanist. He was not essential to the success of the expedition. They could all do quite well without him.

It would be easy enough to remove him—any stout lad among the Corvestri guards could do the job. The trick would be to eliminate Aureste in such a manner that no suspicion could fall upon the Magnifico Vinz. Not Sonnetia’s suspicion, and certainly not Innesq’s. It must appear natural—an accident, perhaps, with nobody to blame. Any arcanism employed must go undetected by an entire gathering of accomplished arcanists. A challenge, to be sure, but not an impossibility.

Vinz sat motionless and blind to his surroundings, while the dark thoughts swirled in his head.

Grix Orlazzu came to an open, flat stretch of ground, and there he paused. The scene before him was indistinct, half lost in the perpetual mists of the northern Wraithlands. He could descry an expanse of hardy, drab ground cover interspersed with rocks and patches of bare dirt; a dim palisade of dark conifers edging the clearing; and beyond, the suggestion of lofty hills. Little enough to see, but it was not with his fallible eyes that he was likely to view reality.

Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and opened his mind. No stimulants or fortifications were required in this place; he had not needed them of late. The extrasensory perceptions poured in freely.

Energy roared through the soil, the vegetation, the water, and the air. It sang through his brain and danced along his veins. His surroundings almost glowed with power, so intense that he could only conclude that the slow, immutable underground circuit had carried the Source to this very spot; that it rotated upon its great axis directly below. Its proximity elated and awed him. He might almost have imagined himself merging with that great originator of power, losing his individual identity and becoming part of it, but for the odd sense of discord. It was as if he were hearing a mighty chorus sung slightly off key, and the wrongness jangled his nerves.