Her head was bent, her eyes fixed on the flowers. She could not see Rione, but felt her skin heat under the pressure of his gaze. The soft moonlight set her off to best advantage, and she knew it. For a few moments, she let him watch, then turned to look up into his eyes. She was not conscious that her own eyes, her face, and every line of her body offered a wordless invitation.
He pulled her to him, almost violently. Their lips met, and she forgot about everything else. She had no sense of time, nor any coherent thought, nor awareness beyond sensation and emotion that shook her to the core.
Their lips parted at last, but they stood pressed close, wrapped in each other’s arms. Jianna’s heart was pounding, her voice breathless as she managed to ask, “What shall we do?”
“If we marry,” he returned, likewise breathless, “you lose everything. Family, fortune, rank, title, friends, safety—everything.”
“Everything except what I value the most.”
“What of your father’s affection?”
“That won’t be lost, not ever.”
“You’re certain?”
She nodded.
“Then, Jianna Belandor—Noro Penzia—my dear love—will you have me for your husband?”
“You and none other.”
Her eyes misted. Her throat closed up, and she had no more words, but it didn’t matter. He kissed her again, and no more words were needed.
The days sped by. Upon conclusion of their third week in residence, Jianna and Rione came back to Mornita’s Movables in the dark of the evening to find a folded sheet of heavy paper thrust under the front door. Rione bent and picked it up. His brows rose, and he handed it to her.
Surprised, she examined the paper. It was sealed in wax. On the outside was written in flowing script: JIANNA. She glanced at Rione, half astonished, half alarmed. He shrugged slightly, disclaiming knowledge. She broke the seal, unfolded the message and read:
My dear—
Come home.
—Innesq
“They’re back!” Jianna exclaimed. “It’s from my uncle Innesq. No wonder he could find me, that’s nothing for him. Look!”
Rione complied. A frown creased his brow. “Well. This is what you’ve waited for. But we’ve a long walk to the Clouds, and it’s already dark. Can you contain yourself until the morning?”
“Early morning!”
“Very well.”
“Why are you looking so grim all of a sudden?”
“I am not at all grim.”
“Oh yes you are. What is it? Don’t tell me that you still won’t deign to set foot over the Belandor threshold, or shake my father’s hand? That’s what you said once, but it was long ago, and everything’s changed now.”
“I can’t say I’m eager to confront the Magnifico Aureste, but I’ll do it.” He smiled at her. “As you say, everything’s changed.”
“Oh, believe me, it won’t be so bad. Once he spends a little time talking to you, he’ll see your intelligence, talent, and determination, and he respects such qualities. He wasn’t always a magnifico, you know! And my uncle Innesq is wonderful; he’ll be on our side, and he can always talk sense to Father.”
They made an early start in the morning. Jianna had taken such pains as she could with her appearance, plaiting her dark hair neatly into a single long braid, and carefully brushing her clothing. But nothing could disguise the shabby reality of patched, threadbare garments, and down-at-heel shoes. No matter. Unlike Uncle Nalio, her father was hardly apt to trouble himself about her appearance. He would only care that she was safe and well.
The walk to Summit Street was lengthy, but Jianna was well used to walking, and the weather was beautiful. The shroud of smoke blanketing Vitrisi for so long had nearly dispersed. The air was clear and mild, the sky a pure shade of unsullied blue not seen for many a day. The Scarlet Gluttons were returning to the streets, and their strident calls mingled with the babble of human voices restored to ordinary levels of volume, for the full-face masks were gone. The plague had vanished, and the majority of citizens had tossed their vizards aside, glad to feel the sun and fresh air upon their bare faces.
The return to normality was far from complete, however. The stockades and tall plank fences once walling off quarantined neighborhoods had been dismantled, their component timbers still stacked in great heaps here and there. Red X’s were being scoured away or painted over on doorways and window shutters all over the city; the work was still in progress. Buildings everywhere had been damaged or destroyed by wild wind, by seismic tremors, and in some cases by the resultant fires. There were gaping cracks to repair if possible; countless bricks, stones, tiles, boards, and shingles to replace; an infinity of windows to reglaze. In many cases entire walls had buckled, or roofs had collapsed. With these, no repair was possible; there could only be full demolition, and disposal of the debris. The heaped-up wreckage bulked along every street, its removal doubtless a project of months’ duration. The ceaseless pounding of hammers, tapping of chisels, and grinding of saws filled the air. Despite all the damage and destruction, the atmosphere vibrated with energy, optimism, and a sense of renewal. Vitrisi was on the mend.
Their path took them across the Clean Zone that surrounded the Cityheart, and there they halted in surprise. For the battalion of Taerleezi soldiers surrounding the complex had dwindled to a compact, heavily armed squad stationed before the main gate, and an unfamiliar flag flew from the staff topping the highest tower.
“What’s that?” Jianna pointed.
“Never seen it before,” Rione admitted.
“That’s for the Faerlonnish Governing Congress of Vitrisi,” some nearby eavesdropper informed them. “That’s their spanking-new flag.”
“Faerlonnish Governing—what did you say?” Jianna turned to face the speaker—a monkey-faced young man with bold brown eyes that looked her up and down, an impudent grin, and a sharp city accent. Despite the impudence, it was a distinct pleasure to address words to a citizen in the street without confronting a leather mask and blank, insectile eyepieces.
“Faerlonnish Governing Congress of Vitrisi. Or, if you like it old-fashioned, the resistance.” The grin widened. “They’re still holed up in there, with the hostages. Only now, they’re trying to act all proper and legitimate.”
“You mean they’re actually trying to claim authority as some sort of independent Faerlonnish or Vitrisian governing body?” Rione inquired.
“That’s the idea.”
“But it’s madness!” Jianna exclaimed. “How can they expect for one moment to get away with that? The Taers won’t put up with it!”
“Could be the Taers won’t have much choice,” returned the stranger. “You see many Taer soldiers hanging around? Funny, I don’t see that many. That gang over there by the gate is mostly ornamental.”
“Where are the rest of them?”
“In the lime, plenty of ’em, just where they should be. Look, our boys have been picking off Taers for weeks, all over town. And wouldn’t you know, on the night of the big noise, hundreds or maybe thousands of soldiers are killed, and I don’t mean by falling chimney pots. It wasn’t a plan, because nobody expected it. Our boys just seen the opportunity and ran with it. I’ve heard that near half the Vitrisi garrison got wiped out that night. And best of all, they got the Big Man himself—General Uliole.” Monkey-face hooted a laugh. “So that pretty well cut the head off the Taers in Vitrisi. I can’t answer for Orezzia and the other cities, but I’m thinking they’re the same.”
“They might grant concessions for now, await the arrival of reinforcements from Taerleez, then reassert control,” Rione suggested.
“What reinforcements? Now, wasn’t Taerleez whacked just as bad as Faerlonne, with the quakes and wind? They’ve got too many problems of their own back at home to be spending their men and their money on a new Faerlonnish war. Then, of course, we’ve still got those hostages.”
“The resistance can’t hold the hostages forever,” Jianna opined.
“Ummm—not very honorable, surely?”
“Heh!”
“I’ve heard that the resistance people have Sishmindris in there with them,” Rione put in.
“True. And when this is all over, their reward for helping out is that they’re allowed to clear off and go back where they come from. Good riddance, I say. Me, I’ve never thought it was natural to have those frogs hopping all around, sticking their web fingers in human business. They don’t belong.”
“No, they don’t,” Rione agreed shortly.
“How in the world,” Jianna addressed Monkey-face in dawning admiration, “did you acquire so much information?”
“Mostly by spending my time right here, honeykitty.” The wicked dark eyes raked her again. “Best show in town.”
They resumed walking, and midmorning found them at the top of the White Incline, at the border of the Clouds. As they advanced along Summit Street, Jianna remembered the last time she had traveled this route with Falaste. They had separated at the front gate of the fire-ravaged Belandor House, and she had thought then that she would never see him again. Whereas now, they had pledged to spend the rest of their lives together. Her lips were curved in a smile as they neared her father’s palace.
There it was, straight ahead, visible through the elaborately wrought gates of gilded iron, and she saw at a glance that Uncle Nalio was making real progress with the restoration. The central section of the building, with its grand entrance and its soaring tower, had been rebuilt and was, if anything, more beautiful and imposing than ever. Moreover, the new construction was strong and substantial as it was handsome, else it would never have withstood the recent quakes. Much remained to be done, but like the city itself, Belandor House was on the mend. Nalio was doing a fine job. She should be more tolerant of her uncle, Jianna decided. Perhaps treat him with more respect, or at least the appearance thereof. She could try.
Her heartbeat quickened a little as they approached the sentry at the gate. Last time, they had encountered incredulity and insolence, when the two of them had appeared far more prosperous and respectable than they did today. This time, it would probably be worse.
Allowing no hint of her misgivings to show on her face, she addressed the sentry with assured civility.
“Good morning. I am the Maidenlady Jianna Belandor, in the company of Dr. Falaste Rione. Please admit us, and inform the magnifico of our arrival.”
To her surprise, he threw wide the gate at once.
“Welcome, maidenlady.” He ushered them through with a deep bow. “You’re expected. The magnifico has left orders to admit you any hour of the day or night.”
She thanked him with an approving nod, and they made their way along the curving drive to the new, splendid portico, with its graceful arched roof and soaring stone columns, their capitals fantastically carven. She paused at the new door of polished dark wood, oddly unsure whether to walk in, as if she still lived here, or use the knocker. The decision was taken out of her hands when the door opened. A footman liveried in slate and silver stood on the threshold, and a small jolt of surprise shot through her. Throughout her lifetime, Sishmindris had always attended the front entry at Belandor House.
Nevertheless, this footman was very tall and straight, very correct and dignified, yet somehow deferential at the same time. The sight of a human face at the door, as opposed to an unreadable amphibian countenance, wasn’t such a bad change at all, she decided.
“I am the Maidenlady Jianna Belandor,” she informed him. “Please announce my arrival to the magnifico.”
“Please enter, maidenlady.”
The footman ushered them into a lofty hall with windows two stories high, and a floor of colored marble pieces laid out in intricate tessellations; another testament to Uncle Nalio’s creative zeal.
“The Magnifico Innesq awaits you in his study. Maidenlady, and sir, this way, if you please.”
The Magnifico Innesq. It was then that she knew. The world and her life paused for a moment. But she must have continued to follow the footman across the great hallway, up some stairs, and along a gallery, through a new and very altered Belandor House that she no longer recognized, for the next thing she knew, they had arrived at a closed door, upon which the footman tapped discreetly.
“Come,” invited a well-known voice from within.
Her heart remembered to resume beating, and her lungs remembered to draw breath. The footman opened the door and she went through into a book-lined room, with Rione beside her. Uncle Innesq sat in his wheeled chair beside the fireplace. He looked much the same as ever, albeit perhaps a bit older and a bit wearier. His resemblance to Aureste had never before struck her so powerfully. Mingled joy and grief lanced through her. She ran to him, embraced him, kissed his brow, and in so doing, wet his face with her tears.
“Father is gone.” The words barely emerged.
“Oh, my dear, lovely child. I am so very sorry. I had hoped to break the news to you as gently as may be. Yes, it is true—your father, my beloved brother Aureste, died in the Wraithlands. He loved you and set his thoughts upon you to the very end. The last conversation I had with him, he spoke of meeting you in a dream. His dream was so vivid, he felt that it must have been real, and asked me if it could be so. You filled his mind and his heart.”
“But it was real. I dreamed the same dream, the night before the great storm and quake. That wind and shaking—they had something to do with your expedition, didn’t they?” She awaited his wordless confirmation before adding, “We dreamed the same night, and we did meet.”
“Then you were both most fortunate.”
She could not reply. Her shoulders shook, and the sobs strangled her words. The tears could not be contained, and she did not try. For a time grief filled her to the brim, but gradually the paroxysm subsided and she became aware of Falaste’s arm around her, his comforting voice in her ear, and her uncle’s hand clasping one of her own.
“I’m sorry.” She could speak again. “I didn’t mean to give way. Uncle, I haven’t even greeted you. It’s so good to see you again, and you’re looking well. You are well, aren’t you? Please say you are.”
“Yes, yes, certainly. I have been back home for three days now. Once the five of us had rested and recuperated, we were free to spend our energy as lavishly as we might desire, and most of us chose to employ arcane means to speed us to our respective homes. Pridisso set forth for Taerleez. Young Vinzille and his mother returned to Corvestri Mansion. Nissi has come back with me to Belandor House, where I have offered her a home with us. She is our kinswoman, you know.”
“Nissi, the quiet girl from Ironheart?”
“She is a child of immense talent. Here, in this house that my brother Nalio restores to beauty, she will have a place of peace and safety wherein to cultivate her gifts. Her potential for good or ill is all but immeasurable. Of the five of us, only Grix Orlazzu chose to remain in the wild, alone as he has spent most of his life.”
Falaste’s arm was warm around her. She met her uncle’s eyes and it was surprisingly easy to say, “Uncle Innesq, I have not yet presented my betrothed, Dr. Falaste Rione.”
“Ah.” Innesq nodded, displaying neither surprise nor censure. “I have heard very good things of this young physician. You are welcome here, Dr. Rione.”
“I thank you, Magnifico.” Rione inclined his head gravely.
If her uncle had heard very good things of Falaste Rione, then he must inevitably have heard some not so very good things as well. Did he know that he addressed a condemned criminal, a fugitive from the very scaffold? Two of them, in fact. She threw him a glance, half questioning, half frightened.
“There is nothing to fear, my dear,” Innesq assured her, correctly interpreting the look. “I know of your predicament, and there is no further cause for concern. The city is in vast disarray, and quite possibly in process of lasting change. In the days to come, the recent decisions of the Taerleezi authorities are likely
to prove invalid and unenforceable, if they are remembered at all. Should difficulties arise, however, then the power of the Belandor name and fortune will dispel them. Should these remedies fail, then my own particular arts will serve. You and Dr. Rione are safe.”
“Thank you, Uncle Innesq,” she whispered, eyes refilling with tears.
“Are you ready, my dear, to hear the story of your father’s last days and deeds? Or is it too soon?”
“It isn’t too soon. I want to hear. Would you tell us of the entire journey?”
“It is a long tale. Make yourselves comfortable, and I shall begin.”
A couple of deep chairs flanked the fireplace. Jianna and Rione seated themselves close enough to reach out and clasp hands, if they wished. Innesq started to speak, and it was indeed a long story, but his memory was so retentive, his descriptions so vivid and detailed, that nobody ever needed to interrupt with questions. Time passed unnoticed—Jianna could hardly have guessed how much time. Nobody thought of food or drink. The real world receded. Her uncle’s voice filled her mind and carried her away. She was off traveling the Wraithlands with the arcanists. She was marveling at the plague-wraiths, she was walking beneath stone trees, fighting rogue Sishmindris and Wanderers, sustaining loss and disaster, rescuing an injured arcanist from a trap. And finally, at the end, she was present at her father’s death.
Innesq could not describe it exactly, for he had not witnessed his brother’s fall. His mind had been elsewhere, caught up in communion with the Source. It had only been possible to base a reconstruction upon an examination of the grim evidence, eked out by the few observations of Sonnetia Corvestri, the only individual to witness Aureste’s exit from Grix Orlazzu’s shelter. Evidently a group of Wanderers, governed by the will of the Overmind, had succeeded in breaking through the stone wall of the shelter’s entry shaft. Once inside, they would have found the preoccupied arcanists altogether defenseless. Intent on thwarting the invasion, Aureste had snatched up Orlazzu’s flask of liquid lightning, together with a heavy iron bar, and ventured forth to face them. The fact that he had taken the bar as well as the explosive suggested his will to fight. Aureste being Aureste, he had very probably hoped to beat them off without losing his own life. No doubt he had tried, but at some point he had chosen to detonate the liquid lightning, destroying every Wanderer in the vicinity, along with himself.
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