The Traitor's Daughter

by Paula Brandon

  He seemed lost in frowning cogitation, and she took the opportunity to study him: face long but not excessively so, complexion pale but not unhealthily so, straight features, stubborn chin, an indefinably scholarly look. Hair presently invisible beneath the rain hood. Medium stature. Probably slender in build, under that voluminous rain cloak. A fine, intelligent, and thoughtful face. Its owner was sure to help her.

  Falaste’s head jerked slightly, as if he had reached a decision. Confidently Jianna awaited his reply.

  “I’ll help you to shelter,” he told her.

  “In Vitrisi,” she prompted, a little confused.

  “No. That’s not possible. But I’ll bring you to some cottage or campsite, where you’ll find assistance and a place to rest safely until you’re fit to travel.”

  “No, that isn’t what I want.” Her surprise equaled her disappointment. She had been quite certain, moments earlier, that he would succumb. “If you won’t take me back to the city, then at least bring me to some inn or posting house along the VitrOrezzi Bond.”

  “The nearest is a good day and a half from here.”

  “Well? Can you not spare the time to assist me?” She had not yet given up hope. Perhaps he could be shamed into compliance. “Are you not a gentleman?”

  “Maidenlady, if you are truly Aureste Belandor’s daughter, be certain that I offend family, friends, and allies by offering you the smallest aid, even so much as a bandage for your ankle. Nevertheless, I will conduct you to the nearest cottage, where I’ll exert such influence as I own to gain you admittance.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, “you might just as well throw a rope around my neck and drag me back to Ironheart behind your horse!”

  “Good idea.” A flat new voice entered the discussion.

  Jianna’s heart missed a beat. She wheeled to discover Onartino Belandor standing a few paces behind her. In the midst of the debate and the downpour, she had failed to notice his approach, and in that moment it seemed unbelievable that she had sensed nothing, because he was so extraordinarily large, looming there as huge and impervious as a rain-soaked colossus. The cold terror and hot hatred flared inside her and every nerve urged flight. She started to rise and the flash of pain from her ankle reminded her that she could barely walk, much less run. A rush of defeat and sick despair all but overwhelmed her. For a moment her eyes shut. Then she drew a deep breath, picked up her staff, and with its support stood up straight to face her hunter.

  Onartino snapped his fingers sharply. “Heel,” he commanded.

  Her eyes widened a little in disbelief. She did not stir.

  “Not trained yet?” Onartino inquired. “We’ll fix that.” One of his pockets yielded a small rawhide quirt. He gave it a flick, and the braided lash answered with a pert pop. Educational aid in hand, he started for her.

  This time, she sensed, he truly meant to hurt her, and there was nothing she could do to elude him or to hold him off. Without conscious volition, she threw a glance of anguished appeal into the eyes of Dr. Falaste. His response was all that could be desired.

  Without apparent haste he stepped in front of her, blocking Onartino’s way. “Softly,” he suggested in pleasant tones.

  “Keep out of it, Rione,” Onartino advised, finally acknowledging the other’s presence.

  Rione? The name was familiar. She had heard it spoken more than once, not long ago. At Ironheart? Yes. The memory clicked into place. Of course. Rione was that mysterious genius whose praises were sung in the infirmary. Why had he lied to her about his name? Or perhaps he hadn’t lied. Maybe Falaste was simply his given name. All of this shot through her mind in a fraction of a second.

  “Glad to keep out of it,” Falaste or Rione or Falaste Rione returned in his uniquely calming voice, “so long as it’s understood that there will be no violence here.”

  “Just a little instruction,” Onartino assured him.

  “With a whip? I think not.”

  “You think all the time, boy, and it doesn’t amount to much. It never did. Step aside.”

  “Put the whip away. You’ll not be using it on this girl.”

  “Do you know who and what she is?”

  “She told me her father’s name.”

  “Did she remember to mention that she belongs to me?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, the institution of human slavery has been abolished.”

  “The institution of human marriage hasn’t.”

  “You claim that she’s your wife?”

  “As soon as the East Reach Traveler turns up to make it legal. Me, I see no reason to wait, but Mother wants it done up in pink ribbons.”

  The doctor hesitated, then turned to Jianna and asked, “Is this true?”

  She looked into his clear eyes and somehow never even thought of lying. “There’s some truth in it. The fact is that they abducted me and then used threats and terror to force my consent. I did agree to wed this—this person here, but much against my will, and only to avoid immediate injury and dishonor.”

  “There, she confesses, she’s plighted her skinny little troth. Still questioning my rights?” Onartino demanded.

  “This is Magnifica Yvenza’s desire?” the doctor inquired.

  “Her plan. She’s set on the match. You know how she is.”

  “I do. I see the evidence of her mind at work.”

  “You mean to cross her?”

  The doctor answered with an infinitesimal shake of the head.

  “Then you can go on ahead and tell them that I’m whipping my little bride back home to Ironheart. Run along, boy.”

  “Wait!” Jianna felt the stirring of incipient panic. “Don’t go! Dr. Falaste, you can’t let him take me back to that place. For pity’s sake, help me!”

  “Maidenlady, I’ve already violated loyalties for your sake. I can do nothing more.”

  “I thought you were a kind man, a decent man. Was I wrong? Look at Onartino Belandor standing there with his whip. Do you know what will happen if you leave me alone with him?”

  “By your own admission, he is your betrothed. What passes between the two of you is a matter of family.”

  “He’s not my betrothed; I was already promised to someone else. I was on my way to Orezzia to be wed when they attacked my carriage. This man and his people aren’t family, they’re just kidnappers. If you leave me in his hands, he’ll kill me or worse.”

  “I don’t mean to kill her,” Onartino observed with the faintest hint of enjoyment. “Not before she’s tasted the joys of motherhood, anyway. You’re in the way here, Rione. Run along home.”

  “Please,” Jianna whispered, eyes fixed on the doctor’s face.

  He glanced at her so briefly and indifferently that it seemed as if her plea had gone unheard, then informed Onartino, “I’ll accompany you and the girl back to Ironheart.”

  “I told you to get out of this.”

  “We’ve two hours or more of walking before us,” the doctor observed serenely. “Best waste no more time. Put the whip away. You’ve no use for it today.”

  “Sure about that?” Onartino stared down at the doctor, who stood some inches shorter than himself.

  “Quite sure, as I know you’re no fool, appearances occasionally notwithstanding.”

  Jianna stiffened. To her surprise, Onartino replied with a mere twist of the lips, a small grimace of contemptuous amusement. In silence he returned the quirt to his pocket. He was not going to use the lash on her. He was not going to use anything on her. She swallowed a sob, her relief tempered by recognition of the reprieve’s probable brevity.

  “Maidenlady, you’ll ride,” the doctor declared.

  “She’ll walk,” said Onartino.

  “She’s injured her ankle.”

  “She’ll survive.”

  “She’ll delay us if we’re held to her best pace,” the doctor observed easily. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to drag her by the hair.”

  “She deserves a lot worse than that, after what she did
to Grumper,” Onartino told him. “Fond of Grumper, aren’t you, Rione? Well, I think she’s killed him. He was guarding her. Somehow she got the better of him, beat the shit out of him. Probably used a rock. That’s how she got away.”

  Jianna stared at him, dumbfounded. He met her gaze blandly.

  “Grumper is dead?” The doctor was taken aback.

  “I think so.” Onartino shook his head. “Mother will be seeing red. That was her best hound.”

  “It’s a lie!” Jianna found her voice. “I never struck the dog. Even if I wanted to, how could I? He’d have torn me apart if I’d tried it. If he was beaten, then somebody else did it.”

  “Who else had reason?” With a shrug of his heavy shoulders, Onartino addressed the doctor. “There you have it. Don’t let the big eyes fool you. She’s her father’s daughter.”

  “I swear I never hurt Grumper.” Jianna spoke urgently to the doctor, who was scrutinizing her face as if striving to read the mind and character behind it. For reasons that she could hardly define, it seemed essential to convince him. She did not want to watch the expression in his eyes transmute to hostility and disgust. “I wouldn’t do such a cruel thing, I’ve never so much as slapped a Sishmindri. Please believe me.”

  “Maidenlady, I should like to believe you,” he returned quite gently, “but I’m in no position to judge. Come, it’s time to leave.”

  She gazed up at him, unable to comprehend how this man could offer kindness and assistance, then turn around and hand her over to her enemies. Passionate entreaty shone in her eyes. She saw compunction in his, but no yielding. In miserable silence she stood and limped a few paces to the horse. She could feel the weight of Onartino Belandor’s regard as she went, but did not glance in his direction. The doctor boosted her into the saddle, then loosed the tether. For a wild moment she thought of clapping her heels to the horse’s flanks and galloping away; but it was impossible, he held the reins firmly.

  They moved off along the path, back the way that she had come, with the doctor leading the horse and Onartino bringing up the rear. Neither man could see her face. Jianna’s shoulders slumped. She bowed her head and her tears flowed, invisible in the falling rain.

  EIGHT

  “I will add another five hundred diostres if they can be transferred to my command within twenty-four hours,” Aureste Belandor offered.

  “Impossible,” declared the Governor Uffrigo.

  “A thousand, then.”

  “My dear fellow, ten thousand wouldn’t suffice.” Uffrigo beamed his gentle smile. “It is not a question of money.”

  “It is always a question of money.”

  “Upon my honor, I never knew you for such a cynic.” The governor did not trouble to conceal his amusement. “It is enough to shake my faith in human nature, just listening to you.”

  “Governor, I haven’t come here to fence. The matter is pressing. Name your price. I will pay it.”

  “Ah, you mean that, don’t you? I recognize desperation when I see it.” The radiance of the gubernatorial smile dimmed, giving way to limpid candor. “Then let us speak openly like the true, close friends that we are.”

  The two true, close friends sat in the governor’s private sitting room situated on the second story of the Cityheart. Here the atmosphere was lusciously warm, and the classical simplicity of the architecture warred with the Taerleezi governor’s appetite for magnificence. Uffrigo’s taste ran to massive furnishings heavily crusted with gilt carving. The walls glittered with vast mirrors ornately framed, the ceilings glittered with chandeliers dripping crystal, the brocade draperies swathing the windows glittered with thick golden fringe. The marble floor was polished to a hard gleam, and the Taerleezi emblem gracing the central medallion of the deep carpet glinted with golden thread.

  The governor and his visitor occupied vast overstuffed armchairs. Between them stood a low table freighted with expensive edibles—out-of-season fruits, aged cheese, new bread, and a jeweled assortment of glazed sweets—all laid out in insistent profusion, for Uffrigo was nothing if not hospitable. The governor—faultlessly groomed, attired in handsome robes of tawny velvet—sat comfortably at ease. Aureste Belandor—carelessly dressed, eyes shadowed, and face haggard with sleeplessness—recognized the strategic disadvantage of his own position and for once did not care.

  “Aureste, you shall have your Taerleezi troops in good time,” Uffrigo promised melodiously. “That is certain. But I cannot spare them yet; they are needed here in the city. You must wait a little.”

  “I can’t wait.” Aureste took care to speak calmly. “Too much time has passed already. I’ll increase my offer substantially, but that increase is contingent upon immediate delivery. You understand the reasons. I’ve explained the situation.”

  “Not entirely. It’s my understanding that the Belandor carriage carrying your daughter was waylaid en route to Orezzia. The passengers, driver, and guards all died, but your daughter vanished without a trace. No one has seen her and there’s been no demand for ransom, but you are convinced that she is still alive, held prisoner somewhere or other in the Alzira Hills. Correct so far?”

  Aureste nodded.

  “Is this conclusion based upon anything more than wishful thinking?”

  “It is. I’ve access to certain intelligence whose source I can’t divulge.”

  “ ‘… Whose source I can’t divulge.’ I’ve always admired that phrase, it has such a ring of righteousness. Despite your reticence, my dear fellow, I believe I can guess. As I recall, you’ve a rather gifted brother. But come, we’ll say no more of that.” Uffrigo chuckled warmly. “As always, you may rely on my discretion.”

  He was paid handsomely for that discretion. Aureste did not allow his expression to alter.

  “Let us grant for the sake of argument that your intelligence is correct,” the governor continued. “I don’t understand the silence of her captors or the absence of a ransom demand, but let that pass for now. Do you have any idea of her exact location? If you had those troops you so much want here and now, would you know where to lead them?”

  “I believe so. I’ve been given to understand that she’s held in a stronghouse—a distinctive, recognizable style of construction. One of my agents has located just such a stronghouse buried in the woods of Alzira above the VitrOrezzi Bond, not far removed from the site of the attack. This is my target.”

  “Really? You are so certain? The right sort of architecture, convenient location, and that’s enough to justify so costly an undertaking? There’s nothing more? Have you any idea who inhabits this stronghouse?”

  “I do.” Aureste paused, disinclined to continue, but the governor sat watching with a bright-eyed expression of innocent curiosity that somehow managed to suggest the unhappy consequences of recalcitrance. “I know the inhabitants; it’s an old association. There are mutual grievances.”

  “Are there indeed? The plot thickens.” Uffrigo was patently charmed. “Then I must suspect that the assault upon your Belandor carriage was no random occurrence.”

  “I think not.”

  “Confide in me, my friend. Exactly who are these mysterious enemies of yours?”

  The familiar anger boiled up inside him, but as always Aureste concealed every trace of it. He knew from hapless experience that the governor’s seemingly idle curiosity was not to be denied—evasion was useless, and he attempted none. Inwardly cursing the fates that subordinated him to a playful Taerleezi viper, he confessed, “They are family and retainers of my predecessor.”

  “Come again?”

  “The surviving members of Onarto Belandor’s household. The traitor Onarto, as you may recall, held the title of Magnifico Belandor before me.”

  “I wouldn’t know. You were already magnifico by the time I was appointed to the Vitrisi post. Ah, never shall I forget the warmth of your welcome. A pity so few of the Faerlonnish share your sense of generous hospitality.”

  As usual, it was difficult to know whether or not the barb was in
tentional. Aureste said nothing.

  “And this naughty Magnifico Onarto was executed as an enemy of Taerleez?” Uffrigo delved.

  “No. He and his immediate family fled Vitrisi. Presumably he was warned of impending arrest in time to make good his escape. He took refuge in the woods for a time, I was told. But I’ve heard nothing of Onarto or his people in decades, and I’d imagined that branch of the family extinct or emigrated years ago.”

  “But the branch, as it were, has taken root and flourished. Perhaps Onarto lives on yet in sylvan splendor, cozily at one with nature.”

  “Perhaps,” Aureste agreed blandly.

  “So you suspect disgruntled kinsmen of stealing your fair daughter. But this is pure conjecture, is it not? Has your agent reported any sightings? Anything even to suggest, much less confirm her living presence in this stronghouse?”

  “No.”

  “No. Well, then, I can’t help but observe that your proposed expedition is highly speculative in nature. Only consider, my dear fellow. Why should your enemies abduct and hold pretty little Jianna in silence and secrecy? Where is the satisfaction in that? If they have her, wouldn’t they want you to know it? Would they not, in fact, delight in tormenting you with all sorts of colorfully gruesome threats? If vengeance is the motive and your suffering the aim, they cannot remain silent.”

  “Unless they mean to plague me with uncertainty.”

  “There’s an exquisite refinement. Are these people capable of such restraint?”

  “I couldn’t say.” Aureste spoke the simple truth. He had revolved these same questions ceaselessly for days without reaching a satisfactory conclusion.

  “It’s a sad truth,” Uffrigo mused, “that the simplest and most obvious answers to knotty questions are too often correct. In this case, despite your mysterious informant’s opinion, you must consider the possibility that you’ve heard nothing of your daughter because there’s nothing more to hear. The poor child is gone.”