The Traitor's Daughter (31 page)

“No.” She produced a strangled sob.

“Come with me.” He led her from the room, shutting the door behind them. They stood on the landing at the head of the cramped stairway, and for once they were alone. “Now tell me what happened.”

Wasting no time upon further protest, she launched into her prepared tale. “Yesterday evening I met up with—with Onartino on the stairs. I think he might have been waiting for me. He blocked my way. I tried to get around him, but he put his hands on me. There was a sort of scuffle and I fell down. Only a couple of steps, it wasn’t much, but my ankle has been sore since then.” She darted a covert glance at the doctor, noting with pleasure the sudden grimness of his expression.

“He pushed you down the stairs?” demanded Rione, jaw hard.

“He pushed or I fell, it isn’t clear. Does it matter? It won’t be the last time, will it? I can look forward to a lifetime of the same.”

“Not necessarily. You are a resourceful young woman. Once married, you’ll learn how to live with your husband.”

“I already know how to live with Onartino. I must surrender without reservation, accept without complaint all torments that he chooses to inflict, and then perhaps he’ll refrain from maiming or killing me. Sound familiar? It should. Not long ago you reproached me for suggesting that Faerlonne should submit without resistance to the dominance of Taerleez. Don’t the principles that you apply to nations hold true for individuals?” Inwardly she congratulated herself on the brilliance of this analogy.

“Maidenlady, you speak of personal matters, Belandor family matters. I am an outsider and must not venture an opinion.”

“Oh, please don’t take refuge behind propriety! You have eyes and ears, you haven’t missed what’s plain before you. You have an opinion. Why be afraid to express it?”

“It is a matter of obligation.”

She studied his still face as if it were a puzzle to be solved. “Have you no concern at all for me, then? I’m not simply Aureste Belandor’s daughter. I’m Jianna, a person whom you’ve come to know. Don’t you care at all what happens to me?”

“I wish nothing but good for you. But come, your situation isn’t that desperate. True, the circumstances are distressing, but you aren’t much different from any other young maidenlady of high birth contemplating an arranged marriage not to her fancy. Once it’s done, you’ll come to terms with your new life.”

“Oh, that’s untrue, and you
know
it’s untrue!” She took a step toward him and stared straight into his eyes. “You’re not honest with me or with yourself when you say such things, and I thought you were better than that. This isn’t an ordinary marriage. I’m being handed over like a Sishmindri into the power of a brute and a murderer who hates me for my father’s sake. He’ll enjoy breaking and destroying me; it will be his pleasure. He makes no secret of that, and you can’t pretend that you haven’t seen it!”

“I’ve seen that you’re much in his thoughts. Anything for good or ill might come of that.”

“Only ill. He’ll hurt me, he’ll defile me, he’ll use me to fulfill his mother’s ends, and finally, when I’ve served my purpose, he’ll kill me. There’s my future, Falaste. Does it mean nothing at all to you?”

He was silent for so long that she thought he would not answer, but at last he spoke as if the words emerged against his will. “Maidenlady, what do you want of me?”

“Your help,” she returned, ablaze with sudden hope. “Please, please, you must help me, or my life is over. I’ll die in this prison if you don’t help me!”

“To get away, you mean.”

“Yes. You’ll be leaving soon. Take me with you. Save me, Falaste. You’re the only one in the world who can.” Instinct prompted her to place a timid hand upon his arm, to gaze up at him wide-eyed. Instinct told her, too, that he was scarcely impervious to her appeal. Excitement surged through her. He was going to yield, he
wanted
to yield; she could feel it.

“You must not ask me,” Rione told her.

The reply took her by surprise. She stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded, but rallied quickly to reply, “But I do ask. I implore you. I’ll beg if needs be. Help me!”

“Impossible.” He spoke with visible regret. “I’m sorry.”

“But no, it isn’t impossible, not impossible at all!” Her excitement was rising and she made little effort to control it. Perhaps she might sway him with sheer intensity of emotion. “They mew me up every night, but they don’t bother to post a guard; they know I can’t get out. All you need do is wait until the dead of night, then come up and unbar my door. That will be easy, you’re able to move around this place freely.”

“Yes. The magnifica trusts me insofar as she trusts anyone. And then?”

“In the morning, when they find me gone, the hunt begins. They’ll scour the woods, but probably not before they’ve searched the house from top to bottom. You offer to join in the search. They’ll welcome your assistance. Make certain that you are the only one to search the subcellar, though, because that’s where I’ll be hiding. Then, a few days later, when they’re starting to believe that I’ve gotten clean away and their efforts to find me are falling off, you announce your departure. The night before you leave, come down to the subcellar, help me out into the courtyard and over the wall. I’ll wait in the woods. In the morning, you make your farewells and depart. Then you’ll double back, meet me secretly, and escort me on to Vitrisi, with no one at Ironheart ever to know or even suspect that you helped me—that you saved my life.”

“Quite good.” He nodded. “Remind me to call upon your talents should I ever need to plan an escape. Despite your undeniable cunning, however, you’ve neglected certain details. For example, the magnifica would know at once who unbarred your door.”

“Bah, she could be persuaded that I bribed one of the servants.”

“Not as easily accomplished as you seem to imagine, but that’s not the only difficulty. You speak quite casually of concealing yourself in the subcellar for a period of several days. During that time, what would you do for food and water?”

“Store them beforehand.”

“Provided you’ve time and opportunity. Blankets and candles?”

“Do without.”

“Alone in the dark and cold of the subcellar, with the rats and insects to steal your food, and the stench of the cesspit always in your nostrils—you think you could endure it?”

“If I must. But it wouldn’t have to be as bad as that—not if you’d place a blanket and candles down there sometime during the next couple of days. You could do it easily.”

“And why in the world would I do all this and risk so much for you?”

“Perhaps because you don’t want to see me tortured and destroyed. Am I wrong?” She was standing so near him that she could discern the striations of color in his eyes, true blue alternating with slate. His face was unrevealing, but for a moment she felt as if she could read his mind. He wanted to remain detached and impersonal, but his resolve was crumbling and about to crash in ruins. She had him. She knew it. Triumph shot across her mind and flared for a moment in her eyes.

And he caught it. His expression altered.

She knew at once that her face had betrayed her and instantly lowered her eyes.

“Look at me,” Rione commanded.

Unwillingly she obeyed. He was studying her, his penetrating gaze seeming to plumb the depths of her mind, and it was all she could do to sustain the scrutiny without visibly squirming. She tried to think of something to say. Nothing occurred to her.

“Well, maidenlady.” He broke the comfortless silence at last, his voice soothing and unruffled as always. “You’ve ambitious plans, but you can scarcely hope to carry them out if you’re unable to walk properly.”

The abrupt change of subject took her aback, setting off internal alarm bells.

“My ankle’s not so bad,” she assured him quickly. “By this time tomorrow it will probably be all better.”

“I shouldn’t wonder. Better let me have a look, though.”

“Oh.” She cast about for some means of putting him off, but found none. “Thank you.”

He knelt and there was nothing for it but to draw her skirt back a few inches, exposing to view a slim ankle quite free of swelling. He did not trouble to draw the flimsy shoe from her foot, but took her ankle in both his hands and pressed experimentally. His hands were warm, his touch light and sure. Her nerves jumped, and she drew a sharp breath.

“That hurts?” Rione inquired.

“No.” She remembered to grimace. “It’s all right.”

“And this?” He squeezed her instep.

She flinched emphatically.

“Maidenlady?”

“That hurt some,” she lied. “But not badly.”

“And this?” He pressed.

“Just a little.” She decided to stiffen. “It’s nothing.”

“I agree,” replied Rione.

“What?” This time her start was spontaneous.

“I said I agree. It’s nothing. There’s no swelling, no loss of flexibility, no apparent inflammation, no appropriate response. Your ankle isn’t bothering you in the least, is it?”

“It’s much better than it was.” She swallowed.
Caught
. “I’ve been telling you that all along, haven’t I?”

“You’ve been telling me much. The story about last night’s meeting with Onartino, for example. That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“It’s no lie that he’s waylaid me in this house. It’s certainly no lie that he’s shoved me, hit me, and threatened me.”

“But not last night.”

No room to maneuver. “Not last night.”

“And he’s never pushed you down the stairs, has he? Last night or at any other time?”

“Not yet, but it’s something he’s certainly
capable
of doing.”

“This weak equivocation only cheapens you. I begin to see why they keep reminding me that you are your father’s daughter. You seem to share his famed penchant for deceit and manipulation.”

His remote expression alarmed her. She had blundered badly in lying to him. Unless she could make it right, he would never assist her. Moreover, he would think ill of her ever after, a prospect she found remarkably disturbing. Perfectly genuine tears filled her eyes and she blurted, “I’m sorry, Falaste! I never
meant
to deceive or manipulate, I didn’t
intend—
”

“The artificial limp, the well-crafted lies—they were purely accidental?”

“No, I mean I didn’t
think
of it as deceiving you, I only thought about somehow persuading you to help me, that’s all I wanted, and still do, because I need your help desperately. I’m doomed without it. There’s no falsehood in that.” Her voice broke and the tears streamed freely down her face.

For a while he stood looking at her, and she had no idea what was going on behind his eyes. When finally he spoke, his tone was kind and impersonal, as if he addressed a distraught serving maid. “Take such time as you need to compose yourself, maidenlady. You may come back to work when you are calm.”

She gazed at him piteously. Ignoring the mute plea, he stepped back into the infirmary and the door shut firmly behind him.

ELEVEN

Early evening, and the lamps glowed warmly in the magnifico’s study at Corvestri Mansion. Two men faced each other across the polished expanse of the desktop. One was nondescript to the verge of invisibility. The other was utterly miserable.

“Your wife’s maidservant has been back to Belandor House,” announced Lousewort. “Around noon today. Did you know that?”

Vinz Corvestri hesitated, uncertain. He had not known that, but a frank avowal of ignorance would underscore his lack of mastery in his own household, a weakness he preferred to conceal from his resistance contact. And it wouldn’t even be true, because he
had
known, or suspected, in a way; or rather, he was not in the least surprised. Some part of him had been waiting for it.

“This time, did your agents manage to discover what she actually does there?” Vinz liked his own reply, which seemed pleasingly assertive.

“You’re in a better position than anyone else to find out,” Lousewort parried. “But our lads have managed to secure one other bit of information that may be of some interest to you.”

Vinz could not bring himself to voice the expected query. He sensed deeply that he did not want to know.