The Golden Key (109 page)

The woman in the painting waited, so lifelike that Rohario sometimes felt as if, should he extend his hand, she would take hold of it and step out of the portrait. Her gown, done in the style of those times, actually seemed to have weight; the ash-rose velvet of the fabric gleamed softly. Now and again, when the light was right or the Galerria quiet enough, Rohario imagined her head had turned just the tiniest bit, or that her hand had changed position, one ringed finger altered so slightly, or that the bands of light in her suite of rooms were shading from midday toward afternoon.

But of course that was impossible.

He sighed, rested his chin on a hand, studied her face. And was struck by revelation.

She was the model for the Holy Mother in the altarpiece in the Sanctuary of the cathedral. How could he not have seen it before? There were little changes, of course: The shade of hair was different, the robes of the Holy Mother purposefully even more antique than Saavedra’s gown, and the Mother wore no earthly adornment except for Her holiness while Saavedra held dangling from one hand a handsome golden key on a golden chain, symbolic of her family’s wealth and traditions.

This portrait was a study done from the life, while the Holy Mother was copied from a face recalled through the veil of years. And the great Sario Grijalva had done both paintings, one at the beginning of his distinguished career, the other at the end.

Rohario heard footsteps. He turned, wincing at the pain in his shoulders and ribs, and discovered Ermaldo, Count do’Alva, Minister of State and distant cousin to the do’Verrada family. Ermaldo halted a few paces away, looking more impatient than respectful. “My lord, His Grace wishes to speak with you now. He is deeply distressed over the death of our holy brother, Sancto Leo, who was tutor to His Grace.”

Rohario grimaced as he rose, this time not only from pain. This was all it took to make a total ruin of the whole grim day. Again he was responsible for the death of someone his father cared for.

He had spent the last two years staying out of his father’s sight. Now he would be reminded of the ugly truth all over again: It was Rohario’s fault, and Rohario’s fault alone, that his beloved mother, Grand Duchess Mairie, had died of the Summer Fever two years
ago. He had only wanted some lilies to put in a vase at her bedside. How could he have known that the flower vendors were contaminated with the Summer Fever? His father had never forgiven him.

“I’m coming,” he said to Ermaldo. He cast one last beseeching glance toward Saavedra, again catching sight of her eyes in the mirror.

Where is Alejandro
?

Was that whom she thought of? Her lover, Duke Alejandro?

“Long dead,” he whispered, feeling a sharp sadness at the mystery and tragedy of this beautiful woman’s life. Then he followed Ermaldo to the Grand Duke’s study.

  FIFTY-NINE  

“You
were not injured badly, I trust?” The Grand Duke did not look up from the sketch of a
Treaty
that lay on his desk, nor did he glance at his companion, Andreo Grijalva. The Lord Limner stood half in shadow, head turned to look out the window into the private courtyard of Palasso Verrada, where acacias bloomed. In the pause before Rohario spoke, the Lord Limner moved out of the shadows to look at the young man. The painter lifted an expressive eyebrow, no doubt a comment on Rohario’s disheveled clothing. A faint aroma of oil and turpentine sifted through the room, emanating from the Grijalva.

“You have not answered me,” said the Grand Duke, still without looking up.

“I am not badly injured,” said Rohario. “Your Grace.”

“I understand you attempted to save the life of Sancto Leo.”

“He was protecting me, Your Grace. Anyone would have tried to help him.”

“How were you assaulted?”

Rohario suddenly recalled Leo’s angry words: “
Do you know nothing of what goes on in this city
?” “The Iluminarres Procession turned into a riot!”

“So my conselhos have reported. The instigators will be captured and punished.”

How could the Grand Duke speak so coolly, after the horrors Rohario had witnessed? “But, Patro, shouldn’t we first find out what caused them to
start
the riot?”

“How kind of you to show some interest in governance, Rohario.” The Grand Duke’s tone was so sarcastic that Rohario flinched, clenching his hands. The Grand Duke placed a finger over a face on the sketch—from this angle Rohario could not see who it was—and beckoned with his other hand to the Limner. “Andreo, I do not want Count do’Palenssia standing there. If he is standing as far as possible from the do’Najerra representative then it will suggest his son ought to be as far removed from the do’Najerra fortune as possible. I want the do’Najerra heiress for Benetto. He will need all that gold for his upkeep, because he will never be capable of anything except playing with toy soldiers.”

Renayo looked up, eyes shot through with unspoken accusations. Rohario cringed. The fever that killed his mother, brother, and baby sister had also permanently crippled Benetto in mind and body. Dismissively, Renayo looked down at the treaty.

“Of course, Your Grace,” said Andreo. “I will do what is necessary.” He moved to sit in a winged side chair with a red brocade pillow. The tails of his green silk coat trailed down toward the carpeted floor, and his vest, stitched in green and gold thread, showed in its full sartorial glory.

The Grand Duke was, as usual, dressed more simply. He wore a high, doubled-down shirt collar and a bow-tied cravat, nothing fancy, and a saber-gray dress coat in the new northern style, square cut and double-breasted. Clothing did not concern him as long as it was perfectly cut and made of the finest materials. Wealth concerned him.

He rolled up the
Treaty
, handling the stiff paper with care, and examined two smaller sketches that lay beneath it. Edging closer, Rohario saw that one was a series of pencil studies of half a dozen young women; the other showed a harbor scene, with two ships, four merchants, and offloaded cargo. It looked like a preliminary sketch for a minor
Treaty.
But it also looked old-fashioned, without the clean—and, in Rohario’s opinion, boring and stilted—lines of paintings done in the modern style.

“I don’t like these,” said the Grand Duke. “They look undisciplined.”

The Lord Limner sighed in the manner of a man much put upon. “One of our Itinerrarios returned last month. He was posted abroad soon after his eighteenth birthday, but by going abroad at such a young age, he absorbed fashions from these other countries that are not in line with Grijalva standards. Too much emotion.”

Rohario sidled up to the side of the great desk. Renayo, still ignoring him, appeared not to notice he was there. The harbor sketch was interesting, but the miniature portraits caught his eye. For five years now, neighboring kings and princes had been sending painted miniatures of their daughters to Tira Virte in expectation of Don Edoard’s coming of age and needing a wife. Most of the miniatures were well-executed; few painters gained court favor if they could not flatter their subjects. But these sketches had real life in them. Names were carefully printed beneath each one: Lady Elwith of Merse, Princess Alazais de Ghillas, Judit do’Brazzina, Countess Catarin do’Taglisi. The first two were lovely young women, the other two still girls of twelve or fourteen, but each seemed so individual that Rohario felt he knew them and could
predict how they would act on first meeting. Elwith looked robust, Alazais gentle and shy, little Judit appeared to be suppressing a laugh, and the delicate do’Taglisi countess looked like a rabbit trapped by hounds.

“But he’s an ambitious young man,” added Andreo. “Works very hard. Thinks of nothing but painting. But he’s too much in the thrall of the Old Masters, too opinionated. He seems to think that since he was baptized with the name of Sario, he ought to be given the same authority as the first Sario had. Eiha, these young people!” He glanced at Rohario.

Renayo frowned at the portrait studies. He had gained many frown lines, on his forehead and around his mouth, since Mairie’s death. “Edoard is not ready for a bride.” Then his tone changed utterly. “Rohario. Andreo tells me the young woman did not agree to the liaison. What did you say to her?”

The accusation left Rohario speechless.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” interposed the Lord Limner, “but I interviewed Eleyna’s parents myself. They had nothing but praise for Don Rohario’s performance, and you can be sure they would criticize any obstacle put in the way of such an alliance. They said Don Rohario was courtly, polite, and presented the offer with every grace and flourish. Any girl might have been flattered. Alas, there is some bad blood on her mother’s side. Although she is well-connected on her father’s side, on her mother’s she is related to Tazia Grijalva. I will say no more on that subject!”

“She doesn’t
want
to be Edoard’s Mistress?” Renayo looked up, startled.

“She is … headstrong, Your Grace. Her grandmother spoiled her with an idea that she could devote her life to painting. Be assured she will accept her duty.”

The Grand Duke looked genuinely puzzled. “I saw a miniature of her. She’s a handsome enough girl. This is a fine opportunity. Edoard seemed quite taken with her, and I want him to have what he wants
now.
”

In other words, Renayo wanted him out of the way of the new Grand Duchess.

“I assure you, Your Grace. Her parents will talk sense into her. Don Edoard need have no worries on that score.”

Traded off as if she were a fine mare at the mercado! Thinking of the rebellious Eleyna Grijalva made Rohario wonder about the rebellious apprentices. Were they, too, pawns in a game over which they had no power?

“Very well.” Renayo pushed the portrait sketches to one side and
squinted more closely at the harbor study. “Arrange for Edoard and the young woman to stay at Chasseriallo for a few days. They can consummate the Marria do’Fantome there. Don Rohario can accompany them. Some country air would be good for his injuries and would allow him additional leisure to seek out a new pursuit in life.”

The sarcasm dripping from his father’s voice was not lost on Rohario, but he was by now almost inured to it. Far worse was the prospect of enduring Edoard’s company for that long and having to watch the Mistress resign herself to Edoard’s attentions. But women often said
No
first, in order to increase the reward once they did give in. Rohario remembered Eleyna less as a discrete placement of eyes and mouth and chin and more as a whirlwind of furious energy. He would keep out of her way.

The Grand Duke traced over the harbor sketch with a perfectly manicured forefinger. “Until this young Limner can work in a more precise manner, he will not paint any official documents.” Renayo unrolled the first
Treaty
—a finished sketch, Andreo’s work—and the corners of his mouth played up as he studied it. He smiled so rarely these days. “This will do very well.” Without looking up he added, as an afterthought: “You may go, Rohario.”

Rohario gave him a stiff bow, nodded at the Lord Limner, and backed out of the room. He knew his father’s style. He was being banished. But he paused before he shut the door. This wasn’t right! He should go back in and demand to find out what was going on in the city!

Through the crack, Rohario heard his father speak again. “I don’t know what to do about the succession, Andreo. Ghillas is finally ours for the taking, if what our spies say is true. But my children are all fools. Edoard can think only about horses, women, and wine. Benetto is a simpleton. Timarra is afraid of her own shadow and plain to boot. And Rohario—eiha! He’s a useless fop. He flits from interest to interest like a butterfly, all pretty colors and no substance. I allowed him to study painting only because Zio Cabral insisted, though it’s no fit pursuit for a lord. But after four years he gives it up overnight! For no reason! Matra Dolcha, Andreo. How can I trust any of them with the knowledge I must in time pass on to my successor? Not one of them is worthy of the throne of Tira Virte, much less that of Tira Virte and Ghillas together.”