The Traitor's Daughter (35 page)

“Then the Magnifico Onarto died,” Rione continued. “I’ve no picture of his face in my mind, but I still recall the sense of shock and outrage permeating all the household. Even at that age, I understood that some great tragedy had befallen us. Yet my own juvenile existence altered very little. The widowed Magnifica Yvenza assumed leadership of the household, a position to which she was well suited by nature. My father continued on as physician to the family of his dead patron, and we all lived comfortably enough beneath the roof of Ironheart.

“Some two or three years passed, and my father began to instruct me. I learned the function of his surgical instruments, the names and properties of the various medicinal plants that he used. He even permitted me to observe his exchanges with certain patients, and all of this I relished. It ended early, though. One fine day in spring, Strazinz set forth in search of some essential root or leaf, and committed the error of venturing too near the VitrOrezzi Bond, where he ran afoul of a band of Taerleezi horsemen. No witness has ever reported the details of that encounter, but it seems more than likely that the soldiers mistook my father for a Faerlonnish insurgent. They cut him down where he stood and left his corpse lying at the side of the road.”

He paused, but Jianna said nothing, afraid of breaking the magical spell cast by camaraderie and firelight that had for once loosened his tongue.

“My father’s murder occurred toward the end of my mother’s pregnancy with her second child,” Rione resumed. “The shock of the loss perhaps in part accounted for my sister’s premature birth and the resulting complications. My mother lingered for a few days following delivery. Sometimes she knew me, but much of the time she was unconscious or delirious. Many of those hours and days I spent searching through my father’s supplies in search of the right infusion or powder, the perfect remedy that would restore her. As a child I could not find it, and neither could anyone else. By the order of the magnifica, my mother received the best care that Ironheart could offer, but nothing could save her. She died and was buried not far from the Magnifico Onarto—yet another mark of Yvenza’s esteem. It was generally supposed that the baby Celisse would soon follow her mother, but to the surprise of all, my sister thrived.

“What then was the magnifica to do with us? Two orphaned children, no kin to her, and arguably no responsibility of hers. Onartino—who is just of my age, and was at that time old enough to express an opinion—believed that I should be set to work in the kitchen and that my infant sister should be placed in a wicker basket and left at some cottager’s door. No doubt there were many who agreed with him. Fortunately for us, the Magnifica Yvenza did not. Life at Ironheart is not luxurious, but the magnifica saw to it that Celisse and I received the same care, guidance, education, and privileges accorded her own sons. More than that, she took a personal interest in our progress, lavished time and attention upon us, and in short proved the most benevolent of guardians. Many’s the time that Celisse or I fell prey to some childish malady and she brewed the restorative draughts with her own hands. Often she took pains to see that we received the toys or trifles that we most desired—a penknife or fishing hook for me, and much the same for Celisse, for even as an infant my sister never valued dolls, or sweets, or anything commonly regarded as girlish. And more than once, when Onartino and I quarreled, the magnifica ruled in my favor over her own natural son.”

“Strange,” Jianna mused. “Not what I’d expect.”

“Ah, you don’t know her, you’ve only seen the worst of her. She is capable of great generosity. Celisse and I aren’t the only recipients.”

“Nissi?”

“Sheltered here since infancy, although the magnifica has every reason to resent her existence.”

“Why does Yvenza keep her, then?”

“Perhaps because her husband would have wished it, or perhaps she pities the girl. Or both. The magnifica is rarely disposed to justify her decisions.”

“I’ve noticed that.”

“She was more than good to my family throughout the course of my childhood,” Rione continued. “And when I was on the verge of leaving childhood behind me, she bestowed the greatest of gifts. Had she handed me over to serve as an assistant to some cobbler or cartwright, most would have counted me fortunate. But she did much more. She’d noted my natural interest in my father’s profession, she knew what I longed for, and she gave it to me. At her own expense she sent me off to the College of Medicine at the Zerinius in Vitrisi, where I studied for four years. My tuition, room and board, incidental expenses—she paid them all, while repeatedly dismissing or refusing my offers of eventual repayment. I did well enough at the Zerinius to win a position as under-practitioner at the Hospital Avorno, where I continued studying for another two years. During this time I received a small stipend, enough to live on. Upon conclusion of my term at Avorno, I was deemed qualified under Vitrisian law to practice independently, and so I have done ever since.

“A home, a childhood free from want, an education, my profession—all these things are the magnifica’s gifts. She has given me more than I can hope to repay in a dozen lifetimes while asking nothing in return beyond my loyalty. That loyalty is hers, along with my gratitude. Do you understand me, Jianna?”

Jianna’s eyes widened a little. He had never before addressed her by name. His gaze was clear and very steady.

“I am telling you all of this because you deserve an explanation of some kind. My loyalty is owed to the Magnifica Yvenza,” Rione said distinctly. “I may often disagree with her, but I will never betray her.”

She heard him too well. His meaning was unmistakable and the finality of it unassailable. There could be no answer and no appeal. A sense of intolerable helplessness froze her mind. Her eyes tingled with incipient tears, and for a moment she came close to hating him. A groan from the tub spared her the necessity of reply. Trecchio was astir again, and the purple waves were sloshing.

“Ready?” Rione rose to his feet and extended a hand to assist her.

She nodded. Ignoring the hand, she stood up. In silence she resumed her post beside the tub. The water had faded again. Trecchio was writhing and muttering, but most of his strength was gone and his opposition to Rione’s ministrations seemed all but perfunctory. The doctor toiled on, Jianna assisted, and the fresh energy born of the brief respite gradually faded, but her sense of impotent misery persisted.

There would be no help from him. He might pity her, even like her, but his first allegiance lay elsewhere and always would. There was no rescue in sight and virtually no hope.

I’ll find a way out on my own, then. I’m not helpless. I don’t choose to be helpless
.

But choice had little to do with it.

The repetitive mechanical rhythm of work dulled the edge of desperation. Her back and arms were aching again, and the discomfort offered an almost welcome distraction. Her clothes were wet, her shoes were soaked again, and these small things helped to exclude wretched thoughts. Conversation with Rione was minimal; there was nothing left to say. She dimly noted the passing of the hours, and at length looked up from her labors to behold a patch of the courtyard greyly visible through the kitchen window. Dawn was breaking.

“It’s done,” said Rione.

Jianna glanced at him unwillingly. She had hardly allowed her eyes to rest on him throughout the preceding hours. He was pale, his eyes shadowed with fatigue, dark hair disheveled. His hands, always so scrupulously clean, were deeply stained with purple. A similarly deep purple, almost black bruise marked his cheek. She winced at the sight and sympathy undermined anger, which wouldn’t do; she did not want to lose the anger.

“His convalescence will be long and painful, but he’ll keep his hand,” the doctor explained.

“It’s a triumph of your skill, then. You are truly a brilliant physician.” Jianna felt her face color. The tribute had slipped out of its own volition. She did not wish to flatter and please him; he had made it clear that he was no true friend of hers. She saw the response to her praise in his face and instantly lowered her eyes to the bath, where Trecchio wallowed in deep slumber. The ulcers on his hand, arm, and shoulder yawned wide, but the ashen craters and desiccated flakes of the afternoon had vanished. The wounds were angry, but now essentially ordinary in appearance and presumably treatable by ordinary means. Trecchio’s face was profoundly still, smoothed empty of everything other than possibility.

Like a baby
, Jianna thought, and the simile struck her as strange, for she had never regarded him as anything beyond large, repellent, stupid, and dangerous.

He was scarcely dangerous now and, for this moment at least, she could wish him a complete recovery.

“Do we take him out, dry him off, and bandage him up now?” she asked.

“Not quite yet. I’ll give the infusion a little longer to do its work. In the meantime, I want you to rest. You’ve more than earned it. You’ve been toiling valiantly throughout the night and you must be exhausted.”

Valiantly
. That and his look of concern kindled an internal glow that she deliberately extinguished. Concern? He had none for her, not in any way that really mattered. Favoring him with a curt nod, she turned with a switch of damp skirts, marched back to the hearth, and seated herself. For a little while longer she watched him tend his patient; disappointed and resentful though she was, it seemed that she could not refrain from watching him. But soon her eyelids drooped, her eyes closed, and her chin sank. The warmth of the fire softened her bones and her brain. There was no resistance left in her, and she sank without a struggle.

When she woke she knew at once that she had slept for hours, curled up on the hearth like a scullery maid. The sunlight angling in through the windows was strong and bright. A few kitchen servants drudged at their accustomed tasks. The morning was well advanced. The big rusty bathtub and its occupant had vanished. The puddles were gone, and the floor was dry. Dr. Rione was nowhere in evidence. All of this she absorbed almost unconsciously, for her attention fixed on the trio looming above her. The Magnifica Yvenza stood flanked by two of the larger household servants. Probably the pressure of their regard had awakened her. Serviceably clad in her customary plain gown, the magnifica appeared well rested and untroubled; indeed, her expression was positively benign. Jianna blinked and sat up, absently brushing fine ashes from her face. Nameless dread fluttered her belly. Every instinct screamed a warning.

“Awake at last, little maidenlady?” Yvenza inquired genially. “I trust you’ve slept well.”

Jianna nodded and rose to her feet. The long rest had restored her vigor. She was ready and willing to run, but her path to the exit was blocked. Her mind whirred. Yvenza’s air of guileless amiability somehow suggested impending doom, and only one possible cause suggested itself.

“Trecchio?” she forced herself to inquire. He must have died despite all their care, and now his grief-maddened mother desired vengeance.

“Idiot Boy is doing well,” Yvenza replied. “Far better than his stupidity deserves. He’ll recover and retain his hand, thanks to my Falaste.”

Her
Falaste.

“I am glad,” Jianna murmured.

“Are you indeed? Now there’s a pretty expression of sisterly affection.”

Sisterly?
Jianna could think of nothing to say.

“My dear child, I believe that I can divine your true feelings. During the term of your residence among us, you’ve come to regard my younger son as a brother, in much the same manner that you have come to view me as a foster mother. Tell me, is it not so?”

“Who could resist the charm of Ironheart and its inhabitants?” Jianna returned with a burlesque sweetness designed to mask mounting apprehension. Her tormentor was about to say or do something dreadful; she could sense imminent devastation.

“Ah, spirited as ever, I see. What an addition to our household you are. You know that I’ve regarded you as my daughter in all but name since the very evening of your arrival, do you not?” Without awaiting reply to a query clearly rhetorical, Yvenza continued, “Now at last, following so long and weary a delay, I’m delighted to inform you that the final difficulty has been resolved, and your full membership in our little family is about to become a legal reality.”

Jianna felt the blood drain from her face. She said nothing.

“What, no questions? I will assume then that you understand me. Yes, I see by your face that you do. And not so much as a single witticism? Well, at times the heart is too full for speech. My own powers of communication remain unimpaired, and therefore I’ll confirm what you’ve already realized. The East Reach Traveler has finally arrived, within the last half hour. He is ready, willing, and legitimately empowered to perform the marriage ceremony. Indeed, it would have been done already, were Onartino anywhere to be found. It seems that my lusty lad departed at dawn upon one of his hunting expeditions. No fear, however—he’ll be back by sunset if not before, and then we’ll proceed. Therefore rejoice, maidenlady—this is your wedding day.”

TWELVE