by John Marco
"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 telling 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."
"Chambers?" scoffed Dyana. "You mean prison, yes?"
"No," the woman corrected mildly. "You're not a prisoner here. Well, you are, I suppose, but you won't be treated like one. The Master is very kind to all his guests, except those that displease him. If you do as the Master says, you will be cared for."
"Master," spat Dyana. "Do you all call him that? I think it is disgraceful."
"You can call him Count Biagio," the girl whispered.
"I have no intention of speaking to that monster. He can imprison me on this island, but my mind is my own and I will speak to whomever I wish."
The woman smiled. "You'll feel different in time."
"I will not!" flared Dyana. She sat bolt upright in the tub, sending water sloshing over the rim. "And I can wash myself," she snapped. "Please. Just go now, will you?"
Her outburst stunned the woman, who shrank back with a wounded expression. "As you wish, Lady Vantran." She got to her feet. "You must be very tired. I'll wait outside for you. Call me when you want to get out and I'll dry you."
"I can dry myself, too," said Dyana. She pointed toward the door. "Good-bye."
When the slave left the room, Dyana sank back down in the warm water, submerged to her chin. The insistent scent of flowers filled her nostrils, so much better than the awful smells of the cargo hold. Sensation was coming back into her limbs, beating back the cold, and the dirt she had shed like a second skin had all washed away, making her feel lighter. Biagio had made an exquisite prison for her. And if he kept his word, if he spared Shani as he'd promised, she would keep her vow to him, as well. Whatever plans he had for her, however vulgar his designs, it would all be worth it if Shani was safe.
"You will not take my baby," she whispered defiantly. "Or my husband. I will beat you, devil."
She started plotting an impossible plan when the door to the bath chamber opened again. Peeking through the threshold was another young woman, one Dyana hadn't seen yet, a remarkable beauty with raven hair and eyes that smiled shyly when she noticed Dyana. Around her neck was the typical collar of a slave, but her clothes weren't a slave's clothes. They were elegant and expensive, made of flowing fabric that clung perfectly to her body. The girl took a cautious step into the room.
"Am I disturbing you?" she asked carefully
.
"Yes," said Dyana.
The girl frowned, but refused to leave. Instead she stepped inside and closed the door lightly behind her. She moved like a ghost, soundlessly and with purpose. Suddenly embarrassed, Dyana sank a little deeper into the tub and crossed her arms over her breasts.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The girl crossed the expanse of tile and paused at the side of the tub. She appeared nervous, unsure of herself. Her expression shifted between excitement and fear.
"My name is Eris," she said at last. "I wanted to see you."
"You are getting a good look. What is it you expect to see?"
Eris shook off her nervousness. "I'm not making any sense. I'm sorry, but I had to talk to you. You're Dyana Vantran, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am. And you are Eris. Hello, Eris."
The girl beamed. "Hello, Lady Vantran. I know I'm disturbing you. I'm sorry about that. But I had to see you, speak to you. It's very important."
Dyana smiled. The earnest girl was lovely, impossible to turn away. Dyana steered more bubbles over herself, saying, "Important? Well, then, you should tell me. Sit."
There was a stool at the side of the tub. Eris pulled it a respectful distance away from Dyana and sat down, crossing her legs awkwardly.
Her anxiousness intrigued Dyana. "What is it, Eris?" she asked gently. "How do you know who I am?"
"Everyone in the mansion knows who you are, Dyana Vantran. You're the Jackal's wife. Everyone is talking about it. When I heard you were here I knew I had to come. I have questions, if I may."
"Why is everyone so curious? Am I the first Triin in Crote?"
"Oh, my questions aren't about you, Lady. They're about someone else."
"Who else?"
Eris leaned closer, checked over her shoulders for eavesdroppers, then whispered, "Simon."
The name crushed Dyana's pleasant mood. "Simon?" she said indignantly. "What about that beast?"
Eris faltered. "Simon," she said again. "You know him, yes?"
"I know him," growled Dyana. "How do you know him?"
"He's my . . ." The girl lowered her voice again, almost blushing. "He's my lover."
Dyana blinked. She stared at the girl, unsure how to react, shocked that such a delicate thing could belong to such a horrid man. Eris stared back at her with bewilderment.
"Lady Vantran, you've seen Simon, haven't you? I'm worried about him. He was supposed to be home by now, but he isn't. Do you know where he is?"
"Oh, child," sighed Dyana sadly. "I cannot help you. Really, I think you should go now."
"Why?" asked Eris desperately. "Please tell me. What do you know of him? Is he all right?"
"Eris, stop," begged Dyana. She couldn't bear the pain in the girl's voice, or her innocence. "I do not know where Simon is. If I did, I would tell you. I . . ." She looked away. "Please. I do not know."
Very perceptively, Eris shook her head. "You're lying," she said flatly. "You're hiding something from me. I know you are. I won't leave until you tell me what it is." She got up from the stool and knelt down by the tub. "My lady, I know Simon went to spy on you for the Master. I know you must hate him very much. All I'm asking is for you to tell me you've seen him, that he's safe. Won't you do that for me?"
"Is that what you think?" said Dyana. "That Simon went to Falindar to spy? Child, you are a fool. Your lover went to steal my daughter. He has her somewhere, even now."
"Oh, no. That's impossible. Simon went to spy on your husband. He told me so!"
"He lied to you," Dyana insisted. "He murdered my little girl's nurse and stole her from me. He did. And if you do not believe me, ask Biagio. He has already admitted it."
The light in Eris's green eyes flickered and went out.
Her jaw dropped open in shock, but no sound escaped, only a long, dreadful breath.
"It is true, Eris," Dyana continued. "That is why I am here. I went looking for Simon and my daughter and was captured by other men sent with Simon. I do not know where Simon is. I do not know where my baby is. But when I find him, I am going to kill him. I swear it."
"No," said Eris, shaking her head wildly. "It's impossible. Simon would never do that! I know he wouldn't!"
"You are wrong," said Dyana mercilessly. "He did it. He is a very charming man, your lover. He fooled all of us. He got us to care about him and made us think he cared about us. Then he took our little girl. Maybe he has fooled you, too."
"No!" Eris cried. She put her hands to her face, unwilling to listen. "You're lying. You hate Simon because of Biagio. But he's not like that. He's kind."
"Kind to you, maybe," said Dyana. "But to us he was unspeakably cruel." She reached out a dripping arm and beckoned Eris closer. "It is the truth, Eris. You can think what you want about Simon, but I am not lying to you. He stole Shani. And now they are both missing. If you have lost your man, then I have lost my daughter."
"Oh, God," Eris groaned. "It's Biagio. He made Simon do this. We were to be married! Biagio forced him to go, I know it!"
Eris dissolved into angry tears. Dyana kept her hand on the girl's arm, trying to comfort her and not really knowing why. She was innocent, certainly, duped like the rest of them by a cunning agent of Biagio. In the last few minutes an unlikely kinship had sprung up between them.
"He might be alive, still," Dyana suggested. "Maybe Shani, too. We cannot be like this, girl, falling apart. We have to have hope."
"But you'll kill him," sniffed Eris. "You won't be able to, but you'll try. Oh, please, Lady, please try to understand. He did this for me. It's the only thing that would have made him take your baby. Believe me, I know Simon better than anyone. He's not a monster."
"Eris . . ."
"He's not," Eris insisted. "I want you to believe that."
"I cannot," said Dyana. She tried to withdraw her hand but Eris grabbed hold of it.
"Lady Vantran, I don't think Simon hates you. Or your husband. He does what the Master tells him to do, that's all. If he does have your baby, I'm sure she's safe."
Dyana had to swallow hard to keep from crying. The thought of Shani in Simon's dangerous hands was too much for her, and she desperately wanted to believe the girl. She remembered her brief times with Simon in Falindar, how impenetrable he'd been, and she wondered if there was anything human under his mask, anything at all that would make him care whether Shani lived or died. Eris seemed to think so. Dyana hoped so, too.
"What is wrong with your master?" Dyana asked. "He is insane. I could tell when I met him. And his eyes! They are like blue diamonds. Why?"
Eris nodded dreadfully. "It's the drug." She explained how Biagio was addicted to the potion that kept him alive, and how she and Simon both believed it had eaten away part of his brain, made him demented. Dyana had known of the drug from Richius, but hearing about it from the girl and seeing Biagio's alien eyes had struck at her heart. Eris whispered when she talked, afraid she might be overheard. "He wasn't always this way," she continued. "When he was younger he was normal. But now the drug rules him. And he hasn't been the same since Arkus died."
"Arkus," Dyana groaned. "That is a name I know too well. Your master blames my husband for his death. I tried to tell him he is wrong, but he would not listen."
"He will listen to no one about that," Eris agreed. "He still grieves for the emperor. The old man was like a father to him. Simon says it's destroyed him. He has so little, you see. No family. Only the Iron Circle."
"Iron Circle?"
"His henchmen, the ones that sided with him against Herrith." Eris smiled. "There's a lot for you to learn, Dyana Vantran. A lot about Biagio you don't understand."
Dyana nodded. "Then you will teach me, Eris. I need to know these things if I am to .survive here. Biagio means to take me to Nar. I want you to tell me everything you know."
A wicked smile crossed the girl's face. "I know a lot," she whispered, then proceeded to tell all she knew about Biagio and his unrequited love for Simon.
TWENTY-SEVEN
To Dragon's Beak
Admiral Danar Nicabar, full from a meal of beer and fish, drew his woolen collar close around his neck and stared out into the night, toward the two vessels trailing his flagship through the cold ocean. Black City and Intruder, his two escorts, were barely visible in the murkiness. A storm from the south was chasing them northward, racing them to Dragon's Beak. Nicabar could see the electric flashes of lightning on the horizon, briefly yellowing the sky. A fierce wind ripped at the deck, pulling at his coat and hair, but the admiral stood firm, hardly feeling it at all. Years of service had toughened his skin to leather. He had heard about the vaunted winters of Dragon's Beak and laughed. Nothing on land was as harsh as the sea.
Certainly not General Vorto.
Three dreadnoughts. And one of them was the Fearless. Nicabar grinned, satisfied. Biagio had wondered if three would be enough, but Nicabar had confidence in his guns. Vorto might go to Dragon's Beak with an entire legion, and still they would be too few to stand against a bombardment. If Enli had done his job and secured his brother's ravens, and if the mercenaries purchased by Biagio had already taken the north fork as planned, three dreadnoughts would be enough.
Nicabar's smile shifted to a frown. It suddenly seemed like a lot of ifs. But Duke Enli was a clever man. And Vorto was not. Biagio, of course, was the most clever by far, and since his grand design had succeeded up to now, Nicabar had few doubts about its ultimate outcome. It was a complicated and precarious scheme, and sometimes even Nicabar wondered about its veracity, but Biagio was a master puppeteer. When he pulled the strings, the whole world danced.
A jagged blade of lightning sliced the southern sky, leaving its impression in Nicabar's vision. The admiral waited for the inevitable thunder. Then he heard it, louder than God, rumbling from Heaven. It would be like that in Dragon's Beak, he thought. When the Fearless opened up her cannons, the earth would tremble. Nicabar pulled off a glove, then reached out to caress a nearby mast. The wood felt stout and invincible against his fingers. Nothing Liss had ever built could compare to the Fearless. She was without peer, perfect, and Nicabar's greatest love. Some men longed for women; others, like Biagio, for the hearts of men. But Admiral Danar Nicabar had been born and bred to command mighty vessels. He knew this as certainly as anything. God on His throne had reached down and chosen him, saying, "Here is the man to command the seas. I give him dominion."
