The Traitor's Daughter (7 page)

“So I observed.”

“You do not understand me. More than wrong, it was impossible.”

“Do you think you’ve failed in all these years to teach me that nothing is impossible? This mad art or science—I hardly know which to call it—of yours knows no rule or limitation.”

“You could not be more mistaken, brother. The forces and phenomena that I study are bound by their own inviolable laws. Their logic does not manifest itself to the casual observer but, once discovered, maintains a perfect consistency.”

“Bah, it’s all so much perverted lunacy.”

“Then it is discouraging to consider how many of our Belandor forebears have devoted their lives to the pursuit of just such perverted lunacy.”

“Yes, and what did it bring them? Solitude, obsession, and premature death, more often than not. They’d have been wiser to turn their talents toward the betterment of our House and our fortunes. Pour all that misdirected energy into something more useful. More profitable. Shipping, for instance. Timber. Silver mining. Anything.”

“Aureste, you will never change.” Smiling faintly, Innesq shook his head.

“I suspect that’s not intended as a compliment, but no matter—we digress. You were about to explain the so-called impossibility in your workroom.”

“I cannot explain it; I can only offer a theory. First, let me assure you that the creation of malign atmosphere is something that cannot occur accidentally.”

“ ‘Malign atmosphere’—is that what you call it?”

“It is as good a term as any to describe an air so toxic and unnatural.”

“And you say it can’t occur accidentally—does that mean you did it deliberately?”

“Certainly not. I could not do it deliberately if I tried, because it cannot be done at all. Picture yourself dropping a coin from your hand and the coin does not fall to the floor, but rises to the ceiling. Or think of igniting a fire and watching the room sink into darkness as the flames drink the light from the air. I see you shake your head, because you have known from earliest childhood that these things violate the laws of nature. Well, you may trust in my word when I tell you that the incident in my workroom just now was equally profound a violation of arcane principle.”

“Perhaps it only seemed so. I’m certain you’ll sort it out eventually. I’ve every confidence in your curious abilities. In the meantime, you are unhurt, are you not? Nobody was inconvenienced, and I see little immediate cause for alarm.”

“You are scarcely considering the implications.”

“I’m in no humor to consider implications. Today my only child left my house. The loss consumes me.”

“Ah. Jianna.” Innesq nodded. “Yes, that is hard for you. But it is a loss that every parent must eventually endure, and certainly in my niece’s best interests that she marry and live outside of Vitrisi.”

“You needn’t remind me of that. You need hardly point out my responsibility for the hatred she encounters here in her home city. No, I haven’t forgotten that it’s entirely my own doing, if that’s what concerns you.”

“I intended no reproach. You know that.” Innesq met his brother’s eyes.

“Yes. I do know.” Aureste’s dark gaze fell before the other’s mild, calm regard. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to wrong you of all people. But today I hardly know what I say.”

“You are troubled. It is only natural. You would do well to turn your thoughts and attention in another direction, if you can. Listen to what I am telling you now; it is more important by far than Jianna’s departure.”

“To you, perhaps.”

“To everyone. I have been trying to make it clear to you that the accident in my workroom occurred in violation of arcane law. Nothing less than an alteration in the basic principles governing our existence can account for it.”

“Innesq, I’m certain all this would fascinate one of your fellow arcanists, but you must understand that such matters exceed the scope of my knowledge or interests. You’re bound to solve this new riddle of yours in time, but I cannot help you. She looked beautiful, didn’t she? Like the very incarnation of youth and promise. The Tribaris will fall under her spell at once. Who wouldn’t? I wish I could be there when they see her for the first time.”

“So vast and elemental a change is no impossibility,” Innesq continued. “In fact, it is an inevitability in the wake of the Source’s reversal. You are aware that the Source is capable of reversing its spin?”

“I know little of the Source or its idiosyncrasies. I’m not certain that Flonoria is the best possible traveling companion for her. She’s suitable in terms of age, rank, and general demeanor, but not particularly intelligent. Jianna will easily find ways of getting around her.”

“Should this reversal take place, the results will be catastrophic—to mankind, that is. The Overmind of the former masters will resume sway, and we humans will flee the Veiled Isles or die. As for the Sishmindris, I’m not certain of the effect of the change upon them, but it is unlikely to improve their sad lot. Certainly they fear it.”

“You’re forever fretting over the Sishmindris. I see no need for such concern. They’re only animals, if rather more teachable than most. Perhaps I’ll present one to the Tribaris when I travel to Orezzia next month. A fine gift, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would not. You might learn much from your victims, Aureste, if you but troubled to observe them.”

“I refuse to quarrel with you over those outsized frogs. Not today.”

“I do not seek to quarrel. It is best that you know, however, that the Sishmindris have been uneasy of late. They are far better attuned to the forces of the natural world than we humans, and they sense the imminence of cataclysm.”

“Surely you haven’t been talking with them.”

“I have. They are well worth listening to.”

“That’s absurd. Perhaps they possess certain brute instincts—I grant that’s possible—but there’s no intellect.”

“There is a great deal. The Sishmindris,” Innesq continued, forestalling his brother’s rejoinder, “foresee an upheaval so vast that the balance of nature will alter in its wake. Those so fortunate as to escape slaughter or enslavement at the hands of humanity are withdrawing to their ancient retreats.”

“Retreats?”

“Hidden fortifications constructed upon sacred sites.”

“Fortifications? Sacred sites? Come, you don’t take all this seriously? There’s apparently some migratory activity among these creatures, as there is among many other species, but what does it amount to beyond the hunt for food and breeding grounds?”

“Aureste, you are willfully blind. If you would only open your eyes—”

“My eyes are wide open, and they perceive reality, which is more than can be said for yours at times, clever though you are, brother. In any case, even if it were all true, mind-boggling upheaval and all, what exactly do you expect me to do about it? If it’s all as apocalyptic as you claim, what can anyone do?”

“If you ever bothered to glance through the Belandor family histories, you would know. There is talent in our family, Aureste. From generation to generation, it has always been present among us.”

“Certainly. And in our generation, you’ve got it. Why don’t you just use it as nature intended and—”

“And leave you in peace?”

“And leave me to manage Belandor affairs, as my position demands?”

“That sounds pleasantly restful, but I am afraid I cannot oblige. You must hear me, Aureste. We are not helpless to avert disaster. If I am correct and reversal is near at hand, then it is possible to influence the Source—that is, to cleanse the arcane anomalies presently impeding its rotation. This has been successfully accomplished in the past; more than once, if the histories are to be trusted. The combined abilities of some half a dozen arcanists of talent are required, and—”

“It is an arcane matter, then.” Aureste shrugged. “That’s your field of expertise, and I leave the affair in your hands. Probably you’re attaching undue significance to the dire croaking of a few peevish amphibians. You’ve always displayed an exaggerated regard for those creatures. But you may do as you please; I won’t interfere.”

“You cannot dismiss this matter so lightly. You must realize—”

“Come to me with solid proof—something beyond the stirring of the Sishmindris and a nasty little chill in your workroom—and perhaps you’ll convince me. In the meantime, do you think the six riders I sent with Jianna furnish adequate protection? Or shall I send another six after her along the road?”

* * *

“In the last century, your great-great-uncle Zariole married a Frovi of Orezzia,” Flonoria Belandor confided. “This is an incident rarely alluded to, for it is widely believed that the execution of the Fortificatri Ujei Frovi three hundred years ago compromised the gentility of the entire Frovi line. But that is arrant nonsense, for the collateral branch of House Frovi from which Zariole chose his bride remained untainted. Thus the integrity of our own Belandor lineage has never truly suffered a breach. Never allow yourself to believe otherwise.”

“Why would I believe otherwise, Aunt Flonoria?” Jianna inquired, wide-eyed.

“There are many malicious tongues in the world. You must not heed them. On the other hand, there are certain sound and solid standards that should be respected. When Tashe Divarra married the Jementu heiress, for example, the match was completely impossible. Her first cousin was Taerleezi middle class, actually in trade on Taerleez, and the thing simply couldn’t be countenanced. There are limits. But you understand that, do you not, niece?”

“Indeed, Aunt.” Jianna nodded earnestly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the young maidservant Reeni’s tongue emerge pinkly, wiggle once, and withdraw—a rudeness occurring outside Flonoria’s line of vision. She swallowed a rising giggle.

“And ever since then,” Flonoria continued, “the Divarras have been regarded as—not quite all they might be. Their quality is somewhat impaired. It is unfortunate, but such is the way of the world. There is a lesson to be learned here, niece.”

“Yes, Aunt.” Jianna’s expression was contemplative. Behind Flonoria’s back, Reeni’s pretty kitten face warped itself into a grimace of eye-popping grotesquerie. A sputter of laughter escaped Jianna, and she disguised the lapse with a fit of coughing.

“Ah, you are ill, my dear,” Flonoria sympathized. “The dust of the road has congested your lungs. The jolting of this carriage has doubtless aggravated the problem, upsetting your digestion and perhaps disrupting the delicate balance of your womanly parts. I shall instruct the coachman to halt, allowing you time to recover.”

“No need, Aunt,” Jianna replied, red-faced with suppressed hilarity. “I’m well, truly. There’s nothing wrong with my womanly parts that a little fresh air won’t cure.” Raising the nearest window shade, she leaned her head out to draw deep drafts of autumn mist down into her lungs while allowing free play to her facial expressions. Presently the giggles subsided and she took stock of her surroundings. The rutted road, still firm at this time of the year, wound through a jaggedly hilled, heavily treed wilderness that displayed no sign of human habitation. Sodden brown drifts of dead leaves sprawled over the ground, and countless bare branches arched black against a somber sky.

Gloomy. Desolate. Drab. Hard to believe that Vitrisi, with all its life and color, lay but a day and a half behind her. Home, along with everything dear and familiar, seemed infinitely distant. Orezzia, with its promise of vast change, was as yet unreal. There she would soon be a wife, unquestionably an adult, with a new name and a new life. She would no longer be Jianna Belandor, daughter of the Magnifico Aureste, but Jianna Tribari, wife of a noble Orezzian family’s oldest son and heir. There would be a great household of which she would one day be mistress. There would be a husband, family, retainers, husband, Sishmindri, visitors, husband, hangers-on, husband, fresh surroundings, strange ways, husband … a prospect at once alarming and alluring. Marriage, of course, was designed to unite great Houses, great fortunes, great political factions. The personal preferences of the participants, particularly the bride, counted for next to nothing. In most cases. But the daughter of Aureste Belandor was special. For her, things would be different.

Her happiness meant everything to her father. He had chosen carefully for her, and his judgment could be trusted. He had promised her contentment and she expected no less. With any luck, however, there could be more than that. Practical reality notwithstanding, there was such a thing as love in the world; even, occasionally, between husband and wife. Perhaps she would be one of fortune’s rare favorites. Perhaps the betrothed awaiting her in Orezzia would be someone wonderful. She would not make the mistake of spinning romantic dreams; she was not that foolish. And yet wedded happiness was no impossibility, not for her; she was, after all, the daughter of the Magnifico Aureste.

Jianna strained her vision as if expecting the face of her future to take shape out of the fog, but saw nothing beyond hills, trees, and the dark forms of the six mounted bodyguards surrounding the carriage. It never occurred to her to hail the guards. They never had anything to say beyond
Yes, maidenlady; No, maidenlady; According to the magnifico’s commands, maidenlady
. Really, they weren’t much better than Sishmindris. After a while the scene palled and she leaned back in her seat.

She must have daydreamed longer than she knew, for Aunt Flonoria had fallen asleep, her substantial form lax against the cushions. But Reeni was wide awake, busy fingers embroidering a fanciful letter J in gold thread upon one of her mistress’ handkerchiefs.

“Put that aside,” Jianna commanded in a low tone respectful of her aunt’s slumbers.

Reeni complied at once. Her look of guarded attentiveness suggested uneasiness, perhaps expectation of a well-deserved rebuke.

“I want to speak to you.”

“Yes, maidenlady.”

“I want to ask you—” Jianna paused uncomfortably.

“Yes, maidenlady?”

“Do any of your friends—the girls of your own class and age—do they ever talk about being married?”

“All the time, maidenlady. Sometimes it seems they don’t talk of aught else.”