The Traitor's Daughter (14 page)

The loss was significant but hardly seemed to matter now, not with Vinzille lying there on the bed, white and motionless, but free of disease. The arcane net enclosing the boy’s weedy frame could be dispensed with now. Vinz let the protective barrier slip, then collapsed into a chair beside the bed. For a while he simply slumped there exhausted, thinking of nothing. Presently he opened his eyes and watched his sleeping son. At last recalling his promise to his wife, he dutifully rose and tugged the nearest bellpull. A servant answered the summons, and was dispatched with a message to the magnifica.

Perhaps he fell asleep for a few minutes, for she seemed to materialize instantaneously, looking much as she had hours earlier. But not exactly the same. Her eyes were puffed. She had been weeping, an indulgence she rarely permitted herself. She was not weeping now, however. Her eyes were dry, her face set and white.

He answered before she asked. “He will recover. He is safe now.”

Her lips quivered and for a moment he thought she might give way to emotion, but she did not. Silently she went to the bed and stood looking down at the insensible boy. Very lightly she touched his cheek with her fingertips. Vinzille did not stir.

Vinz thought she had forgotten his presence and was taken by surprise when she turned to face him.

“Why was he left alone in your workroom?” she asked quietly.

There was no hint of accusation in her voice or manner, yet the guilt stabbed, and with it came anger.
Because I was called away to be told that your personal servant has been seen entering Belandor House
, he wanted to shout.
Because that Brivvia woman you’re so thick with is a spy, or maybe a messenger between you and Aureste Belandor. Because that collaborator you were once so eager to wed is probably plotting to ruin or kill me. Or do you already know that?
He said none of these things aloud, answering only, “I was called away briefly. I told him to do nothing until I returned. He disobeyed.”

“Of course he disobeyed. Do you not know your own son?”

Vinz said nothing.

“He’s still too young, that’s all.” She spoke with careful self-restraint. “He’s very talented, but still only a boy. Please try to make allowances for that.”

She blamed him for the accident; she blamed him for leaving an adolescent unsupervised in a dangerous place. She wouldn’t utter a syllable of reproach, but he could see it in her eyes and that was rich, coming from her, whose closest personal servant had been spotted sneaking around Belandor House.

Scarcely trusting himself to reply aloud, Vinz inclined his head.

She bent a small, lackluster smile upon him before turning back to her son. For a moment Vinz stood watching them both, then let himself out of the room. He closed the door behind him with an audible thud, but his departure went unnoticed.

He went to his bed where he lay fatigued but wakeful, suspicions simmering. At twilight time he rose and made his way to the north wing, shut down these twenty-five years for the sake of necessary economy. Climbing countless stairs to the top of Corvestri Mansion’s tallest tower, he placed a lamp in the window. The signal did not go unnoticed. When Vinz ventured out later that evening to a certain wineshop just behind the Plaza of Proclamation, Lousewort was there to meet him.

The place was busy and crowded. The atmosphere was hazed with smoke and the light was low, both attractive attributes under the circumstances. The two men faced each other across a small table. Vinz Corvestri hid in the shade of a wide hat chosen to preserve his anonymity. Lousewort was his usual highly nondescript self.

A serving girl brought them wine. Vinz waited until she withdrew, then announced with a resolute air, “I’ve considered all that you told me, and I’ve decided to defend myself. It is time to remove Aureste Belandor.”

“More than time.” Lousewort nodded.

They touched beakers and drank.

* * *

Jianna opened her eyes on cramped, dismal surroundings, which she regarded for a moment without recognition before yesterday’s events came crashing back.

Early-morning light pushed greyly through the tiny window of her cellar prison. The iron grillwork looked solid enough to resist cannon fire. The oaken door was similarly substantial, and she did not waste her strength on it. It was not without reason that rural residences such as this one, built to withstand attack, were known as stronghouses.

Rising from her cot, she freshened herself as best she could. Ordinarily Reeni would have been there to help. Her eyes stung. No, she would not think of Reeni. There was still plenty of water left in the jug. But now, despite all horrors, her healthy young body craved food, of which there was none.

They could not possibly mean to starve her to death. There would be no point.

Vengeance was the point. That madwoman Yvenza wanted to drink blood, preferably Aureste Belandor’s, but his daughter’s would do. But no, she reminded herself. Yvenza had something far worse than starvation in mind.

Jianna shivered a little and wondered why her father did not appear. He would rescue her, certainly, but when? How long—the thought came unbidden—before he would learn that she had been abducted? It might be days—weeks …

She went to the window and looked out at the courtyard, where a servant threw feed to a flock of geese. Her stomach rumbled. She could gladly have done with a handful of that feed. After a while the servant retired and then came another bearing a flattened featherbed, which was beaten until the dust rose in clouds. The scene was prosaic to the point of boredom; her own plight all the more improbable by comparison.

Jianna thought of calling out to them, but suppressed the impulse. There was nothing they would do for her, no interest or point in watching them, but it was better than watching bare stone walls and floor. She stood staring out the window until the scrape of a bolt spun her around to face the door. It opened and her breath caught as Yvenza Belandor stepped into the room.

“Good morning, niece.” Clad in last night’s plain dark dress, Yvenza appeared formidably vital by the light of day. She bore a tray with a bowl of gruel, some bread, and fried lumps of unidentifiable composition. Beside her paced a gigantic brindled boarhound. “You spent a quiet night, I trust. Peaceful and undisturbed?”

Jianna nodded warily.

“Excellent. I told those boys of mine that I’d whip them bloody if they dared lay hands on you as yet. Good to see that a maternal admonition still carries some weight with the lads. Well, then. I imagine you must be hungry by now.” She advanced to place the tray on the cot, presenting her back to the prisoner.

The door stood open. Jianna took a step toward it and a subterranean growl rumbled from the boarhound. Its head was lowered, fangs bared. She froze.

“Grumper will take you down if you try to run.” Yvenza turned without haste. “And if you raise a hand against me, he’ll tear you apart.” She looked the other up and down. “Not that I’d need his help, as far as that goes. There’s not much to you. I could break your arm or your neck with ease, and I doubt that you could return the compliment.”

“Probably not.” Jianna arched a fastidious brow. “I’m not much of a brawler.”

“No, I don’t suppose your father ever foresaw any need to teach his wee flower the rudiments of self-defense. Now, what would Aureste Belandor regard as suitable subjects? Dancing, perhaps? A little music, a little embroidery?”

“Among other things—mathematics, natural philosophy, languages, and literature, to name a few. Above all, I’ve been taught how to manage a large household, which is more than can be said for you, if I’m to judge by what I’ve seen of this place.”
Idiot
. She should have kept her mouth shut. Now this virago would probably set the dog on her.

Yvenza, however, merely appeared amused. “Quite the little spitfire, aren’t you, maidenlady? But I advise you to curb your wit in Onartino’s presence. My boy is somewhat hasty of temper, as you may have observed, and far less tolerant than his mother. For your own sake, you’d best learn to avoid provoking your future lord.”

This time Jianna managed to hold her tongue.

“Which brings me to the true topic of discussion.” Yvenza produced a benevolent smile. “You’ve had an entire night to consider matters, niece. I trust you’ve used the time wisely.”

“I’ve used the time to think,” Jianna returned with spurious composure. “I hope you’ve done the same. If you have, then perhaps you’ll avoid a serious error. Set a ransom on me, my father will pay it without hesitation, and you’ll live to enjoy the profit. But if you harm me, he’ll have his vengeance. You may be certain of that.”

“Who speaks of harming you? You are offered a fine marriage. Most girls would be delighted.”

“You’ve threatened me with violence and dishonor. You’ve promised me that you won’t hesitate to carry out those threats, and I believe you. But if you do, then my father will retaliate. He’ll raise a small army, he’ll find this place, and stronghouse though it may be, he’ll burn it to the ground. You and yours will die, else be left homeless and destitute. A high price to pay for the pleasure of ruining a girl who’s never harmed you, wouldn’t you say?”

For a moment Yvenza Belandor regarded her in silence, then curved a genuine smile. “Clever, like your father,” she observed. “And no coward. But still young and apparently not yet much the strategist. Stop and think, maidenlady. How likely is it that Aureste will attack and raze our Ironheart while you lie here within its walls? He’ll never place your precious little life at such risk.”

“Depends on how greatly he’s provoked. Push him too far and he’ll strike back, no matter what.”

“I think not. In any case, I can deal with your father should the occasion arise.”

“Don’t be too sure of that. He knows how to fight. He—”

“His martial prowess, should he actually possess any, is unlikely to display itself. Unless I am much mistaken, the next intelligence he receives will confirm his daughter’s marriage to my son.”

“Yes, you
are
much mistaken if you think I’ll—”

“What I think is that you’ll consider the consequences of refusal. I will leave you now. I will return in one hour with my oldest son. If at that time you accept his offer of marriage, I shall embrace you as a daughter, and you will be treated as such. If you refuse, I’ll regard our conversation as concluded. Containing my disappointment as best I may, I’ll withdraw, leaving you alone with Onartino. What happens thereafter will be a matter entirely between you and him.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jianna lied. She had gone cold inside. She tried to moisten her dry lips and failed. “You’re not a monster. You won’t do this.”

“You’ve a great deal to learn, maidenlady. I shall enjoy observing the progress of your education.” Yvenza sauntered from the room, trailed by the dog. The door closed behind them, and the bolt scraped.

Jianna stood staring at the locked door. Presently her vision blurred and the hand she raised to her eyes came away wet with tears. She dashed the droplets away. No time for tears now; she needed to think. If Aureste Belandor found himself imprisoned and endangered, he wouldn’t weep; he’d find some way of besting his enemies. His daughter would do the same. She drew a ragged breath and strove to focus. But her mind was clogged with bewilderment and terror; there was no room left for strategy. No room,
no time
. Yvenza had promised to return in one hour, together with her subhuman son. One hour, and they would be here, and she did not let her mind touch upon what would happen then.

The cellar air was chilly, but the sweat prickled under her arms and the palms of her hands were clammy. Her eyes ranged the trap of a room, found no escape, and shut—but that only worsened matters, sharpening the mental images. She saw Onartino, his muscular bulk, his dead eyes, and there was no weapon with which to fend him off, nothing to hide behind, nothing to stop him except a promise to place herself in his power forever, and even that ultimate concession could only postpone the inevitable for a little while.

How little?

Any respite, however brief, might offer an advantage. That’s what Aureste Belandor would say if he were here. He would tell her how to outwit her captors, how to lie to them and purchase herself a little time. Or perhaps he didn’t need to tell her; the answer seemed suddenly clear enough. Why had it taken her so long to see it?

She would promise to marry Onartino. Some indeterminate interval would elapse before a legitimate magistrate empowered to perform the ceremony could be secured. During that time she would be treated decently—Yvenza had said so. They would surely let her out of the cellar. If she played her part well, they might even come to think her resigned to her fate. They would relax their vigilance, but she would not relax her own. She would watch continually, and sooner or later her chance would come. She would escape Ironheart, make her way back home, tell her father what had happened, and then he would order this entire nest of outlaws exterminated. Maybe he would let her watch the executions.

It was all there, whole and complete in her mind, the fruit of desperation. But Aureste Belandor’s daughter would make it work.

She became aware that she was trembling. She would have to control that.

Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she bowed her head and willed herself to think of Vitrisi and the people she had left there. Her father. Uncle Innesq. Even prissy Uncle Nalio. They were not lost to her; she would see them all again, and soon.

The diversion was effective. Her breathing eased, and her pulse steadied. When the door opened again, she was almost calm.

“Time’s up.” Yvenza, intolerably casual, stepped into the room.

Beside her Onartino loomed like a monolith. His eyes, although pale in color, somehow seemed to reflect none of the morning light.

At sight of him, the hatred and terror swept through Jianna in fresh waves. She concealed both, resisting the natural impulse to back away. Her face was as expressionless as Onartino’s own as she informed her jailer, “I will marry your son on one condition.”