by Melanie Rawn
“I had it all redone,” said Gizella. “I hope you like it. Here’s your bedroom, with bath and dressing room between it and Arrigo’s. A private sitting room and office for each of you—”
“Office?” Mechella sat on the huge bed, all hung with blue and green with silver stitching, and flooded with white lace.
“You’ll have a secretary to manage your engagements, which will include official duties, charities, and various social functions. But you needn’t worry about that now—or indeed until after your baby is born. Everyone will understand if you keep to yourself until then.”
“But I want to do it all! I’m Arrigo’s wife now, I know I have responsibilities, and I’m looking forward to them.”
“I’m sure you are, and I’m sure your training was the very finest. But here in Tira Virte—eiha, pregnancy excuses one from all that. It’s a very holy time in a woman’s life, ‘Chella. Like the Blessed Mother, all her strength goes into nurturing her child.”
“Yes—yes, of course, I only meant—”
“I know, dolcha meya.” Gizella patted her hand. “But don’t worry one instant about anything at all. Everyone will expect you not to be very visible for a while.”
“I hope my baby is a boy,” Mechella said fervently. “I want so much to be everything Arrigo wants—and everything you and the Grand Duke and all the people expect—”
“Carrida mennina! You heard Cossi. Just be yourself. He and I love you already, and it’s certain Arrigo adores you! I had only to see his face to know it. I nearly wept there in the Imagos to see him so happy, and I have you to thank for it.”
“Your Grace—”
“Gizella if you must, ‘Zella if you like—” She giggled suddenly, like a little girl. “’Zella and ‘Chella! How dreadful!”
The Grand Duchess’ laughter was infectious. “At least it’s accidental! There’s a family in southern Ghillas named deLosia, and they named their three daughters Rosia, Tamosia, and—”
“Zosia!” Gizella guessed, crowing as Mechella nodded. “Let’s hope the poor things get married as soon as possible!”
“Rosia did, just before I left—” Laughing so hard she could barely get the words out, she finished, “—to Baron deProssia!”
When both women had caught their breath, Gizella said, “Why do people do such things to innocent children? Bad enough to pass along a family trait like huge ears or a cast in one eye, but—really!”
“What do the Grijalvas pass along to their children? What did the Grand Duke mean about them?”
“Nothing very important or interesting. They’re clever painters, some better than others. For instance, the one you met at Aute-Ghillas, Dioniso—he’s said to be brilliant at portraits but terrible at landscapes. Lord Limner Mequel—you’ll meet him soon, he’s a wonderful man and he’ll paint your baby’s Birth—he can sketch a rose with a pencil on any old scrap of paper, and you’d vow you could smell its fragrance! Almost all the Grijalvas are talented, but each has a special gift, just as the rest of us do.”
“I see. I thought perhaps the reference was to Tazia Grijalva. Arrigo’s Mistress.”
Gizella blinked several times. “What? Her? Surely you’re not concerned over something that was over long ago?”
“Thank you for not denying that he was … involved with her,” Mechella said with simple dignity. “No, I’m not worried. I’m only curious. Will—will she be at Court?”
Gizella shrugged. “The Grijalvas and the do’Verradas have an arrangement stretching back hundreds of years. There used to be a family called Serrano, a very long time ago, which competed with the Grijalvas. But the Grijalvas are so obviously the superior artists that the Serranos faded away. Anyway, this arrangement is a political one, with the Grijalvas supplying not only the Lord Limners for Tira Virte, but also a nice, pleasant, pretty young woman to—”
“I know,” Mechella said. “My brother Enrei told me ail about it. And it does seem very sensible.”
“Yes, it is, and it’s worked out very well for all concerned. Why, Cossi’s former Mistress, Lissina, and I are very good friends. Delightful woman, you’ll like her, too. Are you tired? Would you like to talk about this later?”
“If you’ve time, I’d prefer to hear it now.”
“Eiha, as you wish.” She tilted her head to one side, a little smile on her face. “When I first came here from Granidia, a new young bride like you, Lissina helped me through the maze of protocol among the Courtfolk with all the sweetness of a sister. You’re young and beautiful, Arrigo chose you as his wife, and you’re the mother of his child. No mere Mistress can compete, I assure you from personal experience!”
Mechella stared at her hands. “But—but if she still wants him—”
“Mistresses know that once the Heir marries, their time is over,” Gizella said firmly. “For the sake of their own standing in the world, they don’t make a fuss or do anything silly. And every do’Verrada is tender of his bride’s feelings. Cossimio told me he’d send Lissina from Court, but I told him not to be absurd, we’d already become friends and she was about to marry the Baron do’Dregez so she’d be here anyhow, and why make a fuss? I knew he loved me.”
“Gizella … I don’t think I’m as good and kind a person as you are. I don’t want the Grijalva woman anywhere near me—or Arrigo.”
“Perfectly understandable, but I think you’ll find your worry is all for nothing. Tazia knows her duty and her place. Now, be easy in your mind about all of it, carrida, and let me send your maid in to help you out of those stifling clothes. I’ll wake you in time for dinner. Afterward we show ourselves at the balcony during the procession through the streets. It’s very pretty—torches blazing, people singing and dancing—” She giggled again. “My first Providenssia here, Lissina and I borrowed our maids’ dresses and sneaked out to mingle with the crowds. How we danced, and with such handsome young men! And, do you know, one of them turned out to be Cossi!”
“En verreio?” Mechella laughed.
“En verro,” Gizella corrected, smiling. “He and I were both very young, and months of uninterrupted Court life had us both longing for escape. We hadn’t let on to each other, you see, for fear of causing disappointment. The very next day he took me to Chasseriallo, our hunting lodge, and all autumn we lived alone together with only a single servant! You were raised at a much grander court than this, so you’re used to all the duties and pressures, but there may come a time when you need Chasseriallo. It belongs to Arrigo now, and he loves it and takes any excuse to visit. So you bear that in mind, carrida.” She got up from the bed, smoothed her skirts, and began taking pins from her upswept dark hair. “I’ll send in your maid now.”
“I—I haven’t one.”
“What?”
“Aunt Permilla said I must become Tira Virteian in all things. And I agree with her,” she said determinedly. “I’d be very grateful if you’d help me choose my servants—and advise me about clothes and correct my accent and—”
Gizella sighed. “Lissina did all those things for me. Except the accent, of course—I was born in Castello Granidia! But Lissina is unique, and I suppose we mustn’t expect the same from Tazia. I would never have allowed her to become Arrigo’s Mistress if there was anything wrong with her character, but she’s no Lissina.”
The maid’s name was Otonna. She was a broad-faced, cheerful girl, immediately likable, extremely efficient. When she had come, unlaced Mechella’s bodice, wrapped her in a silken bedrobe, and departed, the new Dona lay back on the lacy bed and reflected on her introduction to her new family, her new home, her new people. If it all bore a delicate patina of joy and wonder due to the love she bore Arrigo and the promise of bearing a son, there was yet a dark blemish of rust: Tazia Grijalva. She was no Lissina, warmly welcoming to her former lover’s bride; and Mechella was no Gizella, bred and born in the country, accustomed to its traditions.
Still … she was young, Arrigo did love her, and she carried his child. What barren, agi
ng, cast-off Mistress could possibly compete?
THIRTY-SEVEN
“No hope for it,” said Grand Duke Cossimio to Lord Limner Mequel across the vast conference table. “It’ll have to be Arrigo.”
The Grijalva frowned. “Your Grace, with respect—”
“Yes, yes,” Cossimio interrupted. “Just married, wife pregnant, new life, and so on. But I can’t go myself, none of the Courtfolk will do, and I can’t send just a Grijalva, he wouldn’t have the necessary access. Arrigo can take the Limner to all but the private discussions. Besides, it’ll be good experience for the boy. I won’t live forever, you know.”
“Nor I,” Mequel mused, “and my time will end much sooner than yours. So I suggest that a few of our most promising young painters accompany Don Arrigo to Diettro Mareia. It will be good experience for them, too.”
The Grand Duke harrumphed. “’Quellito, you know how I hate to be reminded that you won’t always be around to rely on.”
“We’ve done good work together,” the Lord Limner said with a smile. “This Ghillasian marriage, averting trouble with Taglis and Friesemark—”
“Not to mention that fool nephew of do’Brendizia’s,” Cossimio added, frowning. “Did we ever catch any of his confederates?”
“A few. They were dealt with. Nothing for you to bother about.”
“Call up the Corteis—what stupidity! Legislate everything from taxes to treaties! Haven’t we done well by the people, Mequel? Haven’t we kept them at peace? Given them prosperity? What more do they want?”
“It seems that the very conditions we created have birthed ingratitude.”
“Eiha, a man who works all the day to feed his family has no time or energy for politics.”
“Precisely, Your Grace. But one who is well-fed, warmly clothed, with a stout floor underfoot and a snug roof overhead—”
“Make them rich and they start thinking up ways to get richer,” Cossimio concluded in disgust.
“Yet I doubt they’d risk that wealth—or their snug roofs—in pursuit of electing a Corteis. They’ll spend a nobleman’s money sooner than their own. The Brendizia boy’s inheritance vanished that way, you know.”
“No, I hadn’t known. Moronno! Keep an eye on the younger generation, Mequel. It’s not just money but influence and leadership they want. No Tira Virteian worth the salt in his soup would follow some merchant even a single step.” Decisively stacking documents, he added, “I’ll tell Arrigo this evening that he’s off to Diettro Mareia. You choose a few Limners to go with him, and a competent one to do the paintings.”
“I’d been wondering about that,” Mequel confessed. “Not who to send, for I’ve a few ideas, but what ought to be painted.”
“If Arrigo succeeds, then only the usual interiors, I think, for keeping an eye on our dear Principio Felisso. If he hashes it, we may need something more elaborate.”
With quiet casualness, Mequel said, “The Principio is a devoutly religious man.”
Cossimio’s dark eyes sparked with interest. “That’s right, he is. After I sent that icon, he shipped me fifty cases of his best wines. An icon that didn’t quite do what I intended,” he reminded Mequel irritably. “Or we wouldn’t be in this position now.”
“Granted. But Pedranno was at the end of his life and his powers, and perhaps did not work with all the skill that made him Lord Limner to begin with.”
The Grand Duke frowned. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That you’re getting old and won’t be able to work anymore?”
“It has crossed my mind. With Pedranno’s example preceding me …”
“You’re only forty-two!”
“He was but a year older when he painted the icon.”
“I won’t hear of it. You’re stronger than ever, ‘Quellito.”
“Your confidence honors me, Cossi,” he said softly. “But soon—oh, not this year or even next—but soon, my powers will begin to fade. When they do, I’ll tell you. Long before that I’ll have a new Lord Limner for you.”
“I won’t allow you to retire,” the Grand Duke warned. “And I won’t touch your damned portrait or allow you to touch it either! Don’t you ever ask me to stick pins in your picture or whatever it was my deplorable ancestor the first Cossimio did to kill Lord Limner Timius.”
“He did so at Timius’ request, as a favor. The Lord Limner was terrified of growing old and feeble.”
“I say it was murder!”
“A merciful death, by the hand of a friend.”
Cossimio scowled horribly, thick black eyebrows nearly hiding his eyes. “Mequel, you know how well I love you. I hope you love me as much. But I still say it was murder, and I won’t hear any more about it—or do anything like it for you!”
“En verro, I will never ask of you what Timius asked of his Cossimio. But times were different then. …” He trailed off, then shook himself. “This question of the Diettro Mareian pictures is as yet unresolved. I like the idea of another icon, something the Principio will live with constantly, pray before on his knees at night in his own bedchamber.”
“Keeping faith with us as well as with the Faith,” Cossimio said, nodding. “Be careful, though. I think his wife has her suspicions. Remember when her uncle connived with the Tza’ab?” He grinned suddenly, white teeth bright between mustache and beard. “One of your better efforts, amico meyo! Painting the old boy ulcerated with the symptoms of sifilisso until he owned up to our Embajadorro, and then a miraculous ‘cure’!”
“We can’t use the same sort of technique on the Principio, then. His wife would note the similarities. Pity.”
Cossimio thought it over, then nodded. “A Peintraddo Sonho. For a religious man that would do very well. See to it, Mequel.” Rising, he placed documents in an iron-bound coffer and locked it. “I’m off to pry my son out of his wife’s bed. I must admit, Arrigo is a damned fortunate man. She’s a charming girl, and staggeringly beautiful—when she’s not green with morning sickness. Any word on how Tazia’s taking it?”
“She continues in Casteya at the do’Alva estate, silent. I can make enquiries if you like.”
“No, no. Let the woman have her dignity—and her rich new husband! Arrigo seems to have forgotten all about her. I recall being just as callous about Lissina when first I wed ‘Zella.”
Mequel smiled. “Not callous. Merely in love.”
“Still am!” The Grand Duke laughed. “Arrigo looks to be repeating my good fortune. It would please me if Mechella and Tazia could become friends, but that’s up to them, I suppose. By the way, do you think we could use Mechella to sound out the wives and sisters of potential traitors in the nobility?”
“She was raised at a royal court, she must understand how to use social occasions for political purposes. But she shouldn’t be asked to work for us until after the baby is born, I think.”
Cossimio nodded vigorously. “Only then can we be truly certain of her. I’ll have no repetition of Duchess Elseva—loyal to the do’Elleons, her father’s spy for the first years of her marriage—dreadful woman.”
“The births of her sons changed her mind.”
“Exactly. Nothing like her own flesh as Heir to interest a mother in a country’s future. And speaking of futures, consider it a Grand Ducal Edict to live at least another twenty years.” He placed a large hand on Mequel’s shoulder. “I need you too much.”
The Lord Limner bowed his head submissively, a little smile playing around his lips. “I’ll try, Your Grace. But how will you punish me if I fail?”
“That’s not funny, ‘Quellito.”
Has Sario shared what he knows? Are any of the Viehos Fratos aware of what he can do? It would give such power to the Grijalvas, this mastery of true magic—the Serranos would be left in the dirt, Tira Virte would defeat anyone who dared challenge us—but he would be careful what he told, and they, knowing, even more careful of how it was used—Matra, such power—we Grijalvas could become Dukes if we chose—
Eiha, not with our chi�
��patro blood. Not with the Ecclesials opposing us. They barely tolerate our existence. If we were to attempt anything political—
He would never give up the deepest secrets. Never. And even if others knew, could any of them paint me from this prison? Would they, knowing I am here by Sario’s hand? How much do they fear him?
Merciful Mother, You who bore a Child, who but You would dare have mercy on me?
“Must you go?”
“My father needs me.” Arrigo didn’t add “At long last!”; it was not something he wished to admit to his bride of scarcely six months. He went on sorting the clothes his servant had laid out for inspection, throwing rejects onto a chair. Uniform of the Shagarra Regiment, yes; uniform of the Sea Guards, no—the redoubtable sailors of Diettro Mareia would laugh themselves silly at Tira Virte’s pretensions to a navy. But the uniform reminded him of one reason why the journey must be undertaken now. “I hate leaving you, ‘Chella, but I have to get there and back before the sea becomes too rough.”
Eyes round with fear, Mechella clasped both hands beneath her chin. “The sea—oh, Arrigo, I hadn’t even thought—couldn’t you go overland?”
“And take five weeks about it—each way!—instead of only one?” He smiled over his shoulder at her. She curled in a deep chair, silk-and-lace bedrobe frothing around her body and framing her pale face. “Travel by sea is perfectly safe until the Nov’viva storms, and I’ll be home before that.”
“Home,” she said glumly, “to a bloated, hideous cow.”
He crossed to her and took her fisted hands in his, kissing each whitened knuckle. “Home to my beautiful, adorable wife.” Kneeling beside her, he pressed one hand to her belly. “I fancy I can feel him. He gets bigger and you get lovelier every day. By the time I get back, you’ll be so dazzling no one will look at you without—”
“—without wondering how anyone so fat can even walk!” Giggling, she leaned over to kiss him. They were in his half of their shared apartments, and tonight they would share his bed—passionately, for when he returned her pregnancy would be too far advanced for lovemaking. Her kisses began to kindle his desire for her, and once again he marveled that they had not spent a single night apart since their marriage. He’d never suspected he would become so besotted by this girl, so infatuated with her long body and her golden hair—so unlike Tazia! Suddenly he wondered what it would be like not to have Mechella beside him all those nights in beautiful, romantic Diettro Mareia. When this anticipated lack of her enflamed him further, he got reluctantly to his feet, for he must finish the packing.