The Grand Design (Tyrants & Kings 2)

by John Marco

  ‘Let me go!’ she growled, kicking his tree-trunk shins. Donhedris ignored the assaults as if they were insect bites. The woman turned her wild eyes on the count and hissed, ‘Biagio!’

  Count Renato Biagio smirked, amused at the trinket given him. She was very beautiful, even covered in her own filth. He could imagine her washed and perfumed and sharing his bed. The mere sight of the pretty woman made Savros weak in the knees. The Mind Bender started toward her then stopped himself, barely able to keep his desires chained. Malthrak entered the room with a smile on his face.

  ‘Dyana Vantran,’ he said theatrically. ‘For you, Master.’

  Dyana kicked and cursed, spitting like a wildcat. Donhedris kept hold of her, jerking her head back painfully. And Biagio watched, enthralled by her fire and beauty. This was the creature Vantran had abandoned Nar for, the one that had worked her magic on him and made him murder Arkus by proxy.

  ‘Where is she?’ Dyana Vantran railed. ‘Where is my baby?’

  Incredibly, she broke free of Donhedris and rushed at Biagio. ‘Tell me!’ she screamed.

  Donhedris was on her again in a second, dragging her away and wrapping stout arms around her. She was hysterical, like some insane Naren beggar. Biagio hardly flexed a face muscle.

  ‘Dyana Vantran,’ he said softly. ‘You are more and less than I expected. Welcome to Crote, wild child. My home. And yours now.’

  The woman’s face collapsed. ‘Let me see her,’ she pleaded. ‘Let me see Shani!’

  ‘Oh, she’s beautiful,’ groaned Savros. ‘Renato, let me have her.’

  ‘Be still,’ snapped Biagio. He was studying Dyana, examining her closely, and hated the constant interruptions. Realizing she was bound securely, he rose from his chair and towered over her, dropping his shadow across her face. Unable to stop himself, he reached out a frigid hand and brushed it across her perfect cheek. Dyana howled at his touch and Biagio shuddered, staggered by her warmth.

  ‘Let go of her, Donhedris,’ he ordered.

  ‘Master?’

  ‘Do it.’

  Reluctantly, Donhedris complied. Dyana Vantran seethed but did not lunge at the count. Instead she stood there, her eyes silently pleading.

  ‘Go. All of you,’ said Biagio. ‘Leave me with the woman.’

  ‘Renato!’

  ‘Master?’

  Biagio turned on them with a roar. ‘Go!’ he bellowed. ‘Now!’

  It took a moment for his underlings to understand. Savros was the last to go. His eyes lingered hungrily on Dyana before he, too, slipped reluctantly away, shutting the door behind him. Dyana stood motionless in the center of the room, engulfed in silence and drowning in Biagio’s gaze. The count made no attempt to touch her again. His face was expressionless. Finally he moved away from her, settling back into his chair.

  ‘Go to the fire if you’re cold,’ he said.

  ‘Where is Shani?’ Dyana demanded. ‘Lorris and Pris, tell me!’ The next word seemed to choke her. ‘Please . . .’

  How much should he tell her? Biagio wondered. She was desperate for her child. Obviously she didn’t know Simon hadn’t returned. It seemed deliciously cruel to make her wait, but it was also pointless. Biagio picked up his brandy and considered the amber liquid.

  ‘Your daughter isn’t here, woman,’ he said simply. ‘I don’t know where she is.’

  ‘Liar!’ the woman flared. ‘You have her!’

  ‘I don’t. But I must say, I wish I did. Things haven’t worked out quite the way I intended. You, for instance, shouldn’t be here at all’ The count set his glass down again and looked at her. There was incredulity on her face, and a kind of wretched fear. She believed him, almost. ‘It’s not a lie, Dyana Vantran,’ he assured her. ‘If I had your child I would tell you so. This is my island. I’m lord and master here. I have nothing to gain by hiding her from you.’

  ‘Oh, God, no,’ she groaned. Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the carpet, exhausted and overwhelmed. ‘Where?’ she gasped. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Lost at sea, maybe. The ship that was supposed to bring her here hasn’t arrived yet. It may still come, but that remains to be seen.’ Biagio sighed theatrically. ‘Poor girl. This must be very hard for you, I know.’

  ‘What do you know?’ she spat. ‘Monster! You have taken my daughter and now she’s—’

  Unable to finish, Dyana Vantran lowered her head and swallowed back sobs. The sound of her anguish stoked something primal in Biagio, a great loss he had hoped buried. He remembered Arkus’ death and the awful vacancy in the aftermath, burying him. To his great surprise he actually felt sorry for his captive. Supposedly, losing a child was unimaginably painful. He wondered if it were anything like losing an emperor. With his long cape dragging on the floor, he rose from his chair again and went to her, staring down at her. She was a proud thing, too strong to resort to tears. Already he respected her.

  ‘Woman, this need not be a horror for you,’ he said, trying to be gentle. ‘You will not be set free. Not ever. But you can make this easier on yourself.’

  ‘Burn in Hell, Biagio,’ she rumbled.

  ‘I might yet if certain people have their way.’ The count crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Look at me, woman,’ he demanded. ‘I won’t speak to a pile of rags.’

  ‘Speak or do not speak,’ said Dyana. ‘I do not care.’

  Enranged, Biagio grabbed her up in both fists and lifted her effortlessly off the ground.

  ‘Yes!’ he growled. ‘I’m stronger than I look, don’t you think?’ He gave her a vigorous shake. ‘You will listen to me, bitch-girl, or you’ll be sorry.’

  A wad of saliva shot from her mouth, catching him in the eye. Biagio cursed and threw her back to the floor.

  ‘Do not task me!’ he roared. ‘I have questions for you, woman. Answer them, or I will give you to the Mind Bender and he will pull the answers from you!’

  A horrified understanding dawned in her Triin eyes. Biagio grinned.

  ‘Yes, you understand me, don’t you? Make this easy on yourself, woman. Answer my questions and I will spare you from Savros. Otherwise he will sharpen his blades on you.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ asked the woman. ‘I know nothing.’

  ‘Oh, that’s untrue. You know where your husband is.’ The count stooped a little closer. ‘He’s in Liss. Why?’

  She laughed resentfully. ‘Why would I tell you anything? You can burn, Biagio.’

  ‘You hate me very much, don’t you?’ asked Biagio playfully. ‘I understand. But there is the matter of Savros to consider. The Mind Bender has been very agitated lately, and you’ve made him hungry. Savros isn’t like most men. Most men see a beautiful woman like you and want to take her to bed. Savros wants to peel her skin off.’

  Dyana Vantran turned an unnatural shade of white. Her mouth dropped open as if to speak, then abruptly closed again behind clenched teeth.

  ‘Torture me, then,’ she said. ‘I will tell you nothing.’

  ‘I wonder,’ Biagio remarked. He circled her like a buzzard, looking down at her. ‘Savros could make you talk, but I don’t care to subject you to that. You’re no good to me dead, after all. I had planned on taking your little girl back to Nar with me when I reclaim the throne. I wanted to make your husband come there for her, surrender to me. I’ll use you for that now, if you prefer.’

  The woman looked up desperately. ‘What?’

  ‘Your daughter might still be on her way to me, Dyana Vantran. Simon Darquis is only a day late. When he comes, if he comes, he’ll have the child with him. I don’t need both of you.’ Biagio stopped circling and dropped down in front of her. He took her chin in his hand and forced their eyes together. ‘Why is your husband in Liss?’

  Dyana trembled in his grasp. ‘What are you giving me?’ she asked hopefully. ‘My daughter?’

  ‘Will you answer me honestly?’ he pressed.

  ‘What about my daughter?’

  ‘Tell me what I want to know, and I will spare
the child. I’ll take you to Nar with me instead. And I’ll save you from my ignoble torturer.’ Biagio loosened his grip on her chin and gently brushed her cheek, fascinated by her. ‘Really, I give so much and ask so little. I think I’m being more than fair, don’t you?’

  She pulled away from his caresses. ‘Your word,’ she demanded. ‘For what it is worth, swear it to me. You will let my daughter go free?’

  ‘I will send her back to Lucel-Lor in one piece, or I will send her back decapitated,’ said Biagio. ‘The choice is yours. Tell me what I want to know.’

  ‘That is your word?’ Dyana scoffed. ‘How can I trust that?’

  Biagio reached into his cape and withdrew his Roshann dagger, the only weapon he ever carried. The sight of it widened Dyana’s eyes. With drama he twirled it in the light, making sure she saw it perfectly. Then, without another word, he circled around behind her and quickly cut the ropes binding her wrists. When he was done he stood up, returned the dagger to his belt, and casually walked over to his chair.

  ‘I’m growing tired of asking you this,’ he complained as he sat down. ‘Why has the Jackal gone to Liss?’

  The woman at his feet rubbed her rope-burned wrists, dumbfounded. For a moment the count thought she might lunge at him, but he saw no murder in her eyes, only the glint of confusion.

  ‘Say it again,’ she demanded. ‘Tell me you will spare my daughter. Tell me you will send her back to Lucel-Lor safely, and then I will tell you the truth of what I know. Swear it, Biagio. Or I will tell you nothing.’

  ‘As you have said, so do I swear,’ promised the count. ‘If Simon Darquis brings your daughter here, I will see to it that she’s returned safely to Lucel-Lor. She will not be harmed. Now . . .’ He scowled at her. ‘Tell me what I want to know.’

  Her eyes dropped to the carpet in confession. ‘Richius has gone to Liss to help them fight against you,’ she said softly. ‘He is to form an army for them. They are going to invade your island.’

  To Biagio, the admission was like music. A little smile broke out on his perfect face. ‘When?’

  ‘I do not know,’ she replied. ‘A Lissen captain came and took him away, not long before I was captured. His name was Prakna. He told my husband they were planning an invasion of Crote, but needed his help to do it.’ She looked away, sick with herself. ‘Your promise, Biagio. Remember it!’

  ‘I have a memory like an iron box, woman. Go on.’

  ‘That is all,’ Dyana said miserably. ‘That is all I know.’

  ‘That can’t be all,’ insisted the count. ‘How many men? And when? I need dates.’

  ‘I have no dates!’ she flared. ‘I swear, I have told you the truth. Richius and the Lissens are going to invade Crote. They want to use it as a base, to strike at Nar City. But I do not know when. And I do not know how. Soon, I think. That is all’

  Soon. Biagio’s smile widened. He picked up his glass of brandy and hid behind it, unable to tame his glee. His Roshann agents had done very well for him. So had Nicabar and the others. Prakna was probably very proud of his tight-lipped bunch, but there were always leaks in any big scheme, and something like an invasion was impossible to keep secret, especially from the Roshann. Biagio gave himself a silent congratulation. Everything he had planned had come true flawlessly. Almost.

  ‘You have been honest,’ he declared. ‘And for that I will honor my promise to you. I believe you have told me everything.’

  ‘I have,’ said Dyana desperately. ‘I swear it.’

  ‘Have no fear for your daughter, woman. Do not fear the Mind Bender, either. I will deal with him myself Biagio looked her over, examining her filthy clothes. ‘You look atrocious. I’ll have someone bathe you and find fresh clothing for you. My home is very comfortable, Dyana Vantran. I see no need for you to suffer here. It’s not you that concerns me.’

  ‘No,’ said Dyana bitterly. ‘It is Richius. This is all just your way of getting back at him, is it not?’

  ‘Your husband took something very precious from me,’ said Biagio. ‘I’m just exacting payment.’

  Dyana shook her head. ‘I know this story. You are wrong, Biagio. You blame Richius for killing your emperor, but he had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘He had everything to do with it!’ exploded Biagio. Again he rose from his chair, stalking Dyana across the room. ‘Your wretched lover killed Arkus. He left Aramoor because of you, and sided with the Triin against Nar. And Arkus died because of it. Vantran was supposed to go to Lucel-Lor to save him!’

  ‘No,’ Dyana insisted. ‘You are wrong. There was never any magic in Lucel-Lor to save Arkus. Richius could not have helped him.’

  The count felt the rage rise up in him. ‘Don’t you dare defend him,’ he hissed. ‘Not to me! I know the truth about the Jackal. I know what he did to Arkus. And I will make him pay for what he’s done to me!’

  With a whirl of his cape he reclaimed his brandy and drained the glass, fighting the urge to strike the woman. She was despicable, entranced by the Jackal’s magic like so many other fools. The brandy burned its way down his throat, scalding him and making him cough. When the glass was empty he tossed it against the hearth, sending it shattering to bits.

  ‘Don’t ever speak well of him in my presence again,’ the count warned. ‘I will cut your tongue out if you do.’

  ‘Just do not break your promise to me,’ said Dyana. ‘Or you might find a knife in your back someday.’

  He looked at her, impressed by the threat. ‘I’m sure you mean that,’ he said. ‘I will watch my back very carefully, never fear. Now go. Wash yourself. Get some food.’

  Confused, Dyana looked around the chamber, unsure what to do. ‘That is all?’

  ‘For now. If I want you, I’ll send for you. Go. Malthrak is surely waiting for you outside. Tell him to take you to my serving women. They’ll find a room for you and bathe you.’ Biagio waved her away distastefully. ‘Hurry, please.’

  Still in a daze, Dyana Vantran walked from the chamber. Biagio heard her voice outside, directing Malthrak to take her to the servants. When he was sure she had found her way, he went to the door and closed it, not wanting Savros or the others to disturb him. The bottle of brandy on his antique desk beckoned him. He retrieved it, taking a draw. Good brandy was hard to get now in Crote. Supplies of everything were running low, including patience. Biagio brooded over the bottle. He should have been pleased with the news about Liss, but all he could think of was Simon.

  Simon, his adored friend. Where was he now? On his way to Crote? Or perhaps at the bottom of the sea, surrounded by sharks? Count Biagio quickly drained his glass and poured himself another. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions – except when emotions were involved. He closed his eyes and saw Simon’s face, then quickly tried to squash the image. There was work to be done. No time to brood over a potential lover. His grand design was almost complete. Just a few more pieces remained.

  Dyana sat in an enormous, sterling bathtub, her eyes closed, and let Count Biagio’s servant pour wonderfully hot water over her head. The room the woman had taken her to was far from Biagio’s parlor, in a part of the sprawling mansion peopled mostly by slaves like the one who serviced her now. Yet despite the lowly status of the wing’s inhabitants, the bath chamber was ridiculously elaborate. The claw-footed tub stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded by mosaic tiles and beautiful, flowering vines climbing the tapestried walls. Fragile vessels of porcelain rested alongside satiny pillows, and gold-trimmed robes hung on brass hooks. The smell of lavender wafted in the steamy air, competing with an ivory orchid blooming from a golden vase on a sculpted pedestal of marble. There were glass bottles of colored bath oils on shelves and ornate displays of soaps, cut into whimsical shapes and piled high in woven baskets. Yet all Dyana could think about was Shani.

  It seemed impossible to her that Simon hadn’t returned to Crote, yet she believed Biagio. She could think of no reason for the count to lie to her, although lying was his speciality. But if he was t
elling the truth, that meant Shani was in danger. Or worse. Dyana groaned as the slave massaged her hair with oil, working out the filth. She had come all this way, endured the unspeakable voyage and the lecherous hands of her captors, and only Shani’s bright face had kept her sane. The thought of finally seeing her daughter had forced her to be strong, but now she wilted in the bathtub. The deliciously warm water trickled down her face and breasts, and she was without shame in front of the stranger, lost in a melancholy fugue.

  ‘You’re very pretty,’ said the slave, a dark-haired girl with a brainless smile. Did she even realize she was a slave? Dyana wondered. What kind of place was this island? All the servants seemed sickeningly cheerful, as if the collars around their necks were little more than jewelry. The slave had told Dyana her name, but Dyana hadn’t really listened. Was it Kyla?

  ‘We’ll get you clean again, don’t worry,’ said the woman. She shook her head sympathetically. ‘It must have been wretched for you on that ship. Sometimes I bathe the sailors, when they come ashore. They’re even filthier than you!’

  Dyana let out a disinterested sigh. Small talk was just an annoyance to her, and this one loved to chatter. She had hardly stopped since bringing Dyana to the bath. The slave dipped her hands into the bubbly water and drew out a cupful, then dribbled it over Dyana’s face to clear it of soap.

  ‘I’ve never seen a Triin,’ said the woman. ‘Your skin is so white. Like a dove.’ She ran a soft hand over Dyana’s shoulders to test the alien flesh. ‘Soft.’

  ‘What will happen to me here?’ Dyana asked pointedly. ‘What will Biagio do to me?’

  The woman laughed. ‘Nothing will happen to you, Dyana Vantran. I’ve been told to take care of you. After I bathe you I will take you to your chambers. Others are preparing them for you now.’