The Grand Design (Tyrants & Kings 2)

by John Marco

  ‘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. ‘Goodbye.’

  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 li
ke 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 Dragons Beak

  Amiral 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.’

  Nicabar’s chest swelled with pride. It wasn’t the fate of Liss to rule the waves. That was his destiny alone. The Lissens were pretenders. They thought their island gave them claim to the world’s waters. They were wrong. So was Prakna. The thought of his nemesis made the admiral grin. Prakna was a sad, pathetic man. A good sailor, to be sure, but outclassed. Someday, Nicabar determined, he would prove that. Biagio would owe him for so much loyalty, and Nicabar wanted only one thing in payment.

  Liss.

  ‘Ah, but that must wait,’ whispered Nicabar. He gave his ship an affectionate pat, then pulled on his glove, blowing into his hand to warm it. His first duty was to deal with Vorto in Dragon’s Beak.

  Not an unpleasant task at all.

  Twenty-Eight

  The Festival of Sethkin

  On a day bright with sunlight, the great festival of Sethkin began in the center of Nar City near the Cathedral of the Martyrs. As was customary, Archbishop Herrith opened the festival with a rousing speech. It was the one day of the year when the Holy Father walked amongst his flock unguarded, as though he were one of them and was concerned with their lives. Colorful banners and long, flowing streamers capped the streets, and religious icons brooded over the avenues, tall and baleful. Musicians played and street vendors loudly hawked their wares. The air was filled with foreign smells, while animals and magicians entertained the crowds. Along the sidewalks, Naren noblemen sat with their families, enjoying the procession and the clean air, for it was at the bishop’s holy order that the foundries were closed today, so that their belching smokestacks didn’t ruin the festivities.

  Throughout High Street, regal princes from around the Empire shouldered up to unwed maids, bragging about their wealth, and deep-pocketed merchants lavished their mistresses with dresses and trinkets from the shops, all of which were open and greedy for the tide of money washing through the city. Sethkin was more than just a religious day. It was Nar’s great holiday from itself, when the nobles came down from their towers and mingled with the poor, and no one was excluded from the festivities.

  On Herrith’s decree, the doors to his orphanage had been flung wide. High Street was choked with parentless children, their faces glowing with excitement. The cathedral’s many acolytes moved through the crowds, keeping a watchful eye on the brood and doing their best to remind the citizenry of the day’s holy meaning. Kren was a time for fasting and reflection, a stretch of penance that culminated in Eestrii, the highest holy day of the Naren church. For the next month, believers were expected to be prayerful, to attend services regularly and to give their most generous offerings to the church. Most importantly, they were to beg God for His infinite mercy, and to forgive them for their sins. Herrith knew Nar had many sinners. He wasn’t among them, but even he needed to be humble in the sight of Heaven. Heaven’s vision was particularly keen
during Kren.

  Tomorrow they would all begin their spartan march toward Eestrii, but today they were free to frolic in the good things God had given them, and the Black City had turned out in force. Menageries from Doria had taken center stage in High Street, an awe-inspiring assortment of animals that left both children and adults slack-jawed. There were tusked elephants and tawny lions, dogs that danced and monkeys that laughed. Trainers and keepers spoke to the crowd, explaining about their strange pets and offering the children rides on the elephants. And while they directed their magnificent beasts, minstrel music played and merchants showed off their finery, and High Street wasn’t commonplace anymore. Its yearly transformation had occurred, turning it from a busy, jaded thoroughfare into a little glimpse of paradise.

  Archbishop Herrith walked happily through the crowd, giving out smiles to the curious Narens begging to touch the hem of his garment. Lorla Lon was with him, holding his right hand. With her left hand she held a frozen confection, a lump of fruit-flavored sugar on a stick that Herrith had purchased for her. She licked at it covetously, slurping with enjoyment, and the sight of the Dorian menagerie had captivated her. Herrith had already stuffed himself with pastries from the bake shop. Now his stomach was stretched, satisfied. Since taking Biagio’s drug, his appetite had come roaring back. It wasn’t a problem for him to ingest a dozen of the bakery’s best.

  Herrith led Lorla to a bench on the sidewalk. A man and his family had been sitting there, but when they saw the Holy Father they quickly vacated so the bishop and his ward could sit. A pair of acolytes who’d been trailing Herrith took up positions on either side of the bench. On this day, Herrith wasn’t supposed to be guarded, but his cowled priests never took such chances. These two had long dirks beneath their robes. Lorla sat down on the bench first, her little legs dangling over the edge. Impatiently she craned her neck to see the parade of animals. Garbed in the blue dress Herrith had brought her for the occasion, she looked like an angel or one of Nar’s beautiful, privileged young women. Herrith sat down beside her, tucking his long robes beneath his knees. The crowds, noticing the Holy Father, parted a little so he could see better.