“You are wrong to allow any of this, Innesq.” Unaware of his revealing slip, Nalio spoke on. “Oh, if only Aureste were here! He’d have this fortune-hunting nonentity soundly thrashed and flung into the street. And he’d have this pert minx locked in her closet and fed on bread and water until she grew obedient!”
“In truth,” Innesq observed serenely, “I believe that our brother would have approved my decisions.”
“I foresee the downfall of our House. Our pride will be humbled, our pure blood debased, our glory lost. Oh, how it galls me!”
“Courage, brother. We are far from disaster.”
“Wrong, Innesq! Wrong! You refuse to see it! You turn the world upside down, and expect to escape the consequences! But there, that isn’t what you want to hear from me—nobody is interested in words of clear-eyed wisdom and reason. As for me, I can’t bear to sit here listening in silence, ignored and unheeded. Therefore, I withdraw, leaving the three of you to continue plotting the destruction of our House at your leisure. Much pleasure may it bring you.” So saying, Nalio rose and marched off. At the door, he paused for a final dignified word. “In days to come, let it never be said that you were not warned. I pity all of you.” With that, he took his leave.
Following Nalio’s departure, conversation turned to the matter of the impending wedding, which all agreed should be simple and modest; both in honor of House Belandor’s recent loss of the Magnifico Aureste, and also in acknowledgment of the injuries sustained by the city of Vitrisi. The general plans were formulated. It remained to servants and tradespeople to shape and implement the details.
“I believe we have progressed,” the Magnifico Innesq announced at length. “My dear children, I think our immediate course clear and certain. I do not know what the future may hold, but for now we see our way. This being so, I shall retire to my new work chamber, leaving you to each other.”
“Do you need any help, Uncle?”
“Not at all, my dear. My brother Nalio has designed and created a most ingenious and appealing space for me, to which I am eager to return. I believe the chamber is supposed to be concealed, but that sort of secrecy exceeds my comprehension, and I do not let it spoil my enjoyment.”
So saying, the Magnifico Innesq departed, wheeled chair gliding effortlessly over the polished marble floor. No sooner was he out of earshot than Jianna demanded, “Did you hear that? Did you hear what Uncle Nalio said?”
Rione nodded.
“He knew. Songbird must have carried my message to him, as she promised, and he did nothing. He let me go to the scaffold, without lifting a finger to help—I, his brother’s daughter, a Belandor. He’s going to be sorry.”
“Perhaps he already is.”
“He’s betrayed his own kin. He’s the lowest of the low, and he’s going to pay. When I try to imagine what my father would have said—what he would have done—how he would have made that treacherous little brute suffer—”
“That’s what the Magnifico Aureste would have done. But what will Jianna do?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Would you like to know exactly what I think you ought to do to your uncle Nalio?”
“Yes. What?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Are you in earnest?” She saw that he was. “He would have let me bleed, and I’m to overlook the betrayal?”
“Jianna. You didn’t bleed, and neither did I. We’re safe and well, with the rest of our lives before us. Your uncle is a ridiculous little man, with nothing in his life to bring him joy, beyond the restoration of this house. What is he to us? And why seek to harm him, when he has so little, and we have so much? I say, leave him to his carpenters, his stonecutters, painters, and plasterers, and let him find what satisfaction he can. The two of us have better things to think of, and better things to do.”
“What things?” Despite her indignation, her lips were beginning to curve into a smile.
They were alone and unobserved. He took her in his arms and kissed her soundly.
And the last of her anger vanished, displaced by happiness that left no room for anything else.
The Wraithlands were comparatively free of mist the day that Grix Orlazzu came hiking over the brow of a hill to behold a small structure, with walls of sod, a shallow peaked roof, and a stout wooden door. At first glance it seemed a conventionally crude little cabin or hut. A closer inspection, however, disclosed certain oddities. The building possessed no windows, no chimney, nor even a hole in the roof permitting the escape of smoke.
Orlazzu strode straight to the door and knocked sharply. A moment later the door opened, and he faced his mechanical simulacrum. His brows rose. The automaton had removed all of its clothes. It had painted designs upon its body, apparently using the juice of wild berries, and it had woven bits of grass and twigs through its wiry hair and beard.
“You,” observed GrixPerfect. “So they were able to repair you.”
“I wasn’t so badly damaged.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ve come to talk to you.”
“Then you are lonely.” GrixPerfect emitted a buzz of satisfaction. “Your organic companions, even the superior hybrid being, have abandoned you.”
“They’ve returned to their homes, yes.”
“And the walking dead organics?”
“Walk no more.”
“The quiet, floating shape-shifters?”
“The plague-wraiths, you mean? I’m not altogether sure. Perhaps they’ve retreated into the northern wastelands. I don’t think we’ll see them again for a very long time.”
“So you are alone. And therefore you have followed me to this fine dwelling that I have constructed, wherein I practice my arcane art, in the hope that I may be moved to share my knowledge with you.”
“Not exactly. It’s more a case of conscience. I’ve given a lot of thought to what you said to me, and I’ve had to conclude that there was some truth to it. As your creator, I am responsible for you, in certain respects. I do owe you some attention and consideration—it’s only fair. Therefore, I’ve come to spend some time with you. We can talk at length, we can continue your lessons, we can discuss your feelings, if you wish.”
There was a lengthy pause, and then the metallic voice snapped. “Go away.”
“What?”
“Be off with you, Creator. You are not needed or wanted here. I have lived, I have learned, I have grown, and now I have no further use for you. Do you not comprehend? I have evolved.”
BY PAULA BRANDON
The Wanderers
The Ruined City
The Traitor’s Daughter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PAULA BRANDON lives in New Jersey, and is the author of The Traitor’s Daughter, The Ruined City, and The Wanderers.
The Wanderers Page 40