"You are suggesting that Sario murdered Andreo?" How could Cabral be so calm?

"Eleyna." Giaberto was not calm, yet he spoke with authority. "Tell no one of these suspicions. If you can, go today and see if Andreo's Lord Limner portrait still hangs in the Grand Duke's study, and if it remains untouched. There are powerful protections painted into that portrait, and it ought to be impossible for a Limner to harm another unless through that portrait."

"I will do as you ask, Zio." She found that her hands were trembling and that her back hurt horribly, but she could not shift her position lest she break the spell that linked her to Agustin. "Is it possible for a Limner to paint a person into a painting?"

Agustin's gasp she recognized. The other two made incomprehensible sounds.

"That I should be talking about such matters in front of an unGifted limner and a woman!"

exclaimed Giaberto. "I have read nothing in the Folio that suggests Grijalvas have ever known of or attempted such a horrific deed."

"Then is it possible there was once a copy made of The First Mistress}"

"The portrait of Saavedra Grijalva?" asked Cabral. "I never heard of any copy being made, but I suppose such a copy might have been done before my birth. But I can assure you that the portrait hanging in the Galerria is the original."

It was wild stab in the dark, but she had to ask. He was almost eighty years old. "Wasn't that portrait in storage?"

She almost heard Cabral's smile. "Yes. Grand Duchess Mechella and I found it. That's why I know it is the same one."

"Do you remember where Saavedra stood?"

His reply took so long she thought she heard dust settling on the table. "Behind the table, I think. She was reading a book. Mennina, I haven't thought of that day in so many years." He gave a sharp laugh, bittersweet. "Women notice such peculiar things. The Grand Duchess thought Saavedra was pregnant. Isn't that an odd thing to recall after all these years?"

Behind the table. "Zio," she whispered. At last she found her voice. "If a person could not be captured within a painting, explain to me then how Saavedra now stands before the door? Why, if there is no other copy, does an inventory I found dating from 1216 describe her, as you say, standing behind the table, at night?"

"At night!" So eerie, to hear Cabral's shock in only his voice and never to see his face. "It was dawn. I remember that clearly enough. The candle had just been snuffed. Mechella commented on the artistry ..." His voice trailed off only to return with a kind of horrified astonishment. "I had forgotten this."

"Sario believes Saavedra is alive in that painting."

"Matra Dolcha!" swore Giaberto again.

"I have not been in the Galerria since 'Chella became too ill to walk with me there," whispered Cabral. 'Chella? Since when did a common limner speak so familiarly of a Grand Duchess?

"Merditto!" swore Giaberto. "Eleyna, we must get that painting to the Atelierro so the Viehos Fratos can examine it."

"How can she get a painting of that size through the barricades?" asked Agustin.

"We must see what Don Rohario can accomplish," said Cabral. "Giaberto is right. We must have that painting here."

Their blithe words alarmed her. "Sario would notice at once! You don't understand, he controls everyone here now."

Giaberto snorted. "We can take care of Sario Grijalva. Just get the painting to us, however it must be arranged. That is an order, Eleyna. Do you understand?"

"Yes." They were the ones who did not understand. They were blind to Sario's power and skill.

"That is enough for today, Agustin. You may talk with Eleyna tomorrow."

"Yes, but-" Agustin wanted reassurance.

She gave it. "Beatriz is well. As am I. You are well?"

"Yes, but-"

"Come," said Giaberto curtly. "We must now discuss how you came to devise this, without consulting any of the Viehos Fratos."

"Agustin? Agustin?" Silence met her words. The spell had been broken.

We can take care of Sario Grijalva.

Eleyna no longer believed they could. The Viehos Fratos had no idea how powerful Sario was.

She was the only one who truly saw him, the master at work, who understood his brilliance. She did not want them to destroy him, he who was everything she hoped to be as an artist. Yet what if Saavedra lived inside the portrait? What if that voice she had heard was Saavedra's voice: "Who are you, my sister? Can you not help me?" Only a Gifted Limner could free her, if it was true, and she had heard Sario declare to Saavedra's figure that he had no intention of freeing her . . . yet.

Eiha! It was impossible. It could not be true.

But for the sake of the woman in the painting, she could not take the chance. Somehow, she had to get The First Mistress to Palasso Grijalva without Sario knowing.

EIGHTY-THREE.

The First Provisional Assembly of the Corteis had gone on for fifteen days now. Rohario had made one speech, recorded in the minutes as "Do Not Act Rashly." But he had helped to convince the assembly that it was better to negotiate than to attack.

"We are not barbarians. We do not murder children in the name of liberty." Or some such words. "The Grand Duke will answer violence with violence. There will be death on both sides- ".

"A small price to pay for freedom!" shouted Ruis, who had made himself spokesman for a set of unruly young men.

Rohario no longer had trouble speaking to crowds. Indeed, he had a talent for it. "Do you have a young sister, as I do, Maesso?" he had responded. "Perhaps you would like to put her in the front lines? If there must be fighting, then I believe it is better to have a written set of principles on which the Corteis agrees to govern itself before the fighting begins, rather than after, so that every man here has agreed to those principles before we begin squabbling over the gains. In this way you can win over those men who might otherwise fear they would lose everything their families have worked so many generations for to the anger of the mob."

His speech had been only one in a long string of speeches made by various men. But it was naive to think he had not influenced the wealthier scions of Meya Suerta society, for a number of them began at once to agitate for a truce.

Twenty days after Penitenssia, they had a truce. Now they argued over the principles to be included in the document by which they meant to legitimize the Corteis-with or without the Grand Duke's imprimature.

Sperranssia had come and gone. No young men had wandered the streets singing for kisses.

Barricades stood in the avenidas. The mercado remained open, but traffic into and out of the city was restricted. Wagons were allowed onto the Palasso grounds, but they were searched for contraband. Grand Duke Renayo did not act. He had not even spoken publicly since Rohario's disastrous interview with him the day after Nov'viva. Some said he had put his trust in the Ecclesia and, indeed, representatives of the Premia Sancta and Premio Sancto attended faithfully each day of meetings in the guild hall commandeered by the Provisional Corteis.

Rohario did not understand why his father did not take drastic action. Renayo was not a patient man, although he was always pragmatic. But certainly with Meya Suerta in such uproar he could not send the bulk of his army to restore both order and Princess Alazais-and one of his sons__to the throne of Ghillas. Yet neither would he want to expend his substance here in the city when there was so much at stake abroad.

In ten days it would be Mirraflores Moon. Rohario listened to each tedious hour of debate. As long as they were talking, they were not fighting. More than anything he did not want beautiful Meya Suerta to be ruined in the kind of violent brawl that had wracked Aute-Ghillas. He did not want his beloved Galerria looted and burned.

If the world must change, let it change through the pen, not with the sword.

And yet, as the proceedings-and the document that would embody the principles agreed upon in the proceedings-were recorded, he noted that the bulk of the recording was done in words. Not in paintings. The Contracts and Deeds and Marriages that were the staple of Meya Suerta's commerce had a fixed language, long agreed upon, one every merchant and educated man and woman could understand. But this was new. There was no language in pictures that covered it. Eiha! What did this forebode for families such as the Grijalvas, whose fortune had been made in painting?

"We, the elected representatives of the Corteis, will meet as a body equal in authority to the conselhos."

This passed by acclamation.

"The members of the Corteis will he elected without regard to orders or privileges or inherited rights."

"The Corteis shall have the right to investigate wrongs done by the Grand Duke or his officers to individuals or groups of individuals, of whatever rank, in defiance of the law, and to demand that justice be done."

"No taxes can be imposed without the consent of the Corteis."

Rohario penned a quick note and sent it forward to Maesso Velasco, who still acted as unofficial Premio Oratorrio. I am leaving the assembly for the afternoon in order to join those of our comrades engaged in a thorough search of the records in the Palasso Justissia.

His movements were watched, of course. Interest in him was intense. He had a constant escort of young journeymen, cronies of Ruis. They were men of about the same age as he, and although they disliked his title and privilege, they now treated him with grudging respect. Accustomed to the language of paintings, they did not have the patience to read through the volumes of tiny crabbed writing that were the records of the earlier Corteis. Four hundred years ago the Corteis had met on a regular basis in Tira Virte. At the time, Duke Renayo I had needed them to help govern the new-made country of Tira Virte. Their power had subsequently waned; one hundred years ago Arrigo II had banned it outright. The old Corteis had not been very powerful. But Rohario had discovered that it was not new, for instance, for the Corteis to abrogate to itself the right to control taxation and to accord its members privileges reserved for the nobility. These archives had been locked away, unavailable to anyone except the Grand Duke's conselhos. Until now.

Rohario led his escort into the basement of the Palasso Justissia. The smell of smoke still pervaded the gloomy basement, a reminder of the fire that had gutted one wing of the Palasso a month ago. Here worked the gleaners, sanctos and notaries, gathering bit by bit knowledge of the words and duties and rights held by the old Corteis. They worked by the light of glass-shuttered lanterns set in rows along plank tables hauled down to this room. Rohario joined them. He pulled an old volume from the top of a stack of old volumes, leather cracked and aging, and opened it.

Sneezed at once as a cloud of dust rose off the pages. A polite young sancto handed him a handkerchief. Rohario thanked him and dusted off the book. At Palasso Verrada he would have had servants to do this for him. He sighed and began to read.

Due to the illness of Lord Limner Zaragosa Serrano, Duke Alejandro hereby appoints the aforesaid Sario Grijalva as Lord Limner, by the grace of il Matra ei Filho, by the power invested in him by the Ecclesia, and by the acclamation of the people of Tira Virte.

The date read 951. Sario Grijalva, the master who had painted the altar-piece and The First Mistress. Interested, Rohario read on through months of tedious economic business recorded on now-yellowed pages. He yawned. Turning a page, he found a loose piece of parchment stuck into the book. He pulled it out carefully.

It seemed to be recipe, but the words read like nonsense and the sides of the page were covered with tiny signs, unknown letters, wound together like the endless cracks and seams that riddle a parched stretch of earth. He turned the parchment over.

Here the same hand had written hastily, with many words crossed out or scrawled over, a decree. The writing was distinctive but curiously unpracticed, as if the hand was unused to forming sentences. Here and there the ink had blotched, but Rohario puzzled out the sense of it, and as he did so a rush of foreboding ran up his spine.

Let it be agreed that Palasso Grijalva and only Palasso Grijalva will supply the Heir with his Mistress, the one to whom he offers Mania do'Fantome. So shall it be established, by the decree of Duke Alejandro, by the Peintraddo painted by the brush of Sario Grijalva, for all time.

Matra Dolcha! Amazing to have stumbled across this, the foundation of that long and strange relationship between the do'Verradas and the Grijalvas. Yet who had concocted it, Lord Limner or Duke? Or both of them, together, the alliance of Duke and Limner? Oddly enough, he remembered Beatriz's words to Eleyna at Chasseriallo.

"It took no great intelligence to see the change in you between the day you told Mother you would never wed Felippo and the day you stood simpering beside him at your wedding . , . if I had insisted, then they would have painted me into compliance, as they did to you! Only men are Gifted, but it is the Grijalva women who produce Gifted sons, no matter who the father is."

He folded the parchment in half and tucked it inside his coat, then flipped back through the volume, seeking references to the Grijalvas before Sario Grijalva had been appointed Lord Limner by Duke Alejandro. The accusation sprang out at him from ten pages earlier, in crabbed writing added between the perfect scribal hand that had recorded the proceedings of a private session called by Duke Baltran, Alejandro's father.

Lord Limner Zaragosa has called for the Duke to revoke the Edict of Protection granted to the Grijalva familia on the basis of rumors of dark magics used by these aforesaid Grijalvas to elevate their position at court.

Matra Dolcha!

Footsteps echoed hollowly from the stairs outside. It was a welcome relief to look up from these dire warnings-until he saw the man who entered the chamber.

Maesso Azema walked the length of the room to stand beside Rohario's chair. "I am surprised to find you here, Don Rohario, engaged in such industrious activity. You are a scholar? I had not known the do'Verradas indulged in philosophical pursuits."

Because this slur offered no opportunity for a polite rejoinder, Rohario merely nodded curtly at Azema. He carefully closed the book and stuck it back into the pile, as if it no longer interested him.

"But since I have encountered you here, Don Rohario, perhaps we might speak privately.

Grazzo."

Not wanting to cause a scene, Rohario acquiesced. They walked out into the passageway and stood on the drafty stairs, alone. "You wonder why I come here, perhaps?" asked Azema. "I, too, am looking for records, Don Rohario. Pieces of a puzzle that may at last be put together to form a coherent picture."

Azema had a wild, triumphant gleam in his eye that made Rohario nervous, especially after what he had just read about Grijalva magic. Mennino moronno! To give credence to tales told by credulous men three hundred years dead! A cold draft rose up the stairwell. Rohario shifted to keep warm and waited for the old man to go on.

"I have no reason to love the do'Verradas. En verro, no reason to wish them well at all."

Was this meant to be a threat? "It is in your own interest, and the interest of all men of our station, to wish for prosperity, peace, and order in Tira Virte."

"Certainly, Don Rohario. But I remind you that I am an old man now and, as the saying goes, a dying man knows he will never have to pay his tailor's bill."

"I am sorry that your brother died, but it has nothing to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you, because you are a do'Verrada. But that is the point, is it not?

Are you truly a do'Verrada?"

This was too much! "You will be careful," said Rohario in a low, taut voice, "how you speak of my blessed mother."

"It is not your mother I am concerned with. It is your grandmother."

Rohario laughed outright. "Grand Duchess Mechella? Everyone knows she was a saint. I cannot imagine what you mean by these ravings."

Azema smiled. "It was a great scandal, greater than you can imagine, ninio meyo, what went on between Arrigo and Mechella and that Grijalva woman. Arrigo and Mechella had two children-Teressa and Alessio- before they separated permanently and lived after that time in separate households."

"Three children," Rohario straightened his cuffs, fingering the buttons. Better that than punching the old man. "I suppose you mean these insinuations to make me lose my temper and embarrass myself. I think not."

So calm Azema was. So sure of himself. "I do not forget your father. Let me tell you a story, and I suggest you listen well. The Countess do'Alva had become Arrigo's mistress again. Arrigo and Mechella had each their own picca aldeya, their own little village, as we used to say then.

They no longer spoke to or saw each other. Grand Duke Cossimio was distraught, but despite his wishes they did not reconcile. So you see, your father's siring can only have occurred in a single meeting of less than an hour, a supposed assignation that took place in a back room at a ball!

Even were Arrigo not so much a prude that I doubt me if he would unburden himself in such a situation no matter how beautiful the woman, I know from my experience on my estates that a bull must cover a cow more than once to ensure offspring."

"You are offensive, Maesso." Deliberately, Rohario used the common honorific, not the man's title.

Azema seemed impervious. Perhaps he truly was too old to care. "Renayo looks nothing like the do'Verradas. He resembles his mother, they all say. But none of his children resemble the do'Verradas either. A strange coincidence." "My mother and grandmother were Ghillasian!"

"So I investigated Mechella's picca aldeya, and whom did I find? Grijalvas-vas. They were everywhere, these Grijalvas."

"What are you suggesting?" Amazingly, his anger transformed into coldness, not into heat.

"I am suggesting, Don Rohario, that your father is not the son of Arrigo but rather the chi'patro child of a Grijalva limner."

Edoard would have struck him, at this point. But Rohario had a sick feeling that striking this old man would only-in some twisted fashion-fuel his fire. To imagine the name of his beloved grandmother Mechella- everyone had loved her!-being dragged through the mud when she was not even alive to speak on her own behalf!

Eiha! It made his stomach turn! It was all he could do not to spit at the old man. But he must stay calm. "The Grijalvas have lived under an Edict of Protection for hundreds of years. We have helped them as they have helped us. I see nothing suspicious in this." Others had, three hundred years ago. Some of the great baronial families had died out in the intervening years. Others no longer enjoyed intimacy with the Grand Dukes. What did the Grijalvas possess that they had stayed for so many generations the favorites of their do'Verrada rulers?

"Any woman," continued Azema, as if he had not heard Rohario's reply, "scorned by her husband and publically ridiculed by his Mistress, might find solace in the arms of a handsome young man who is constantly at her side. And there was such a young man in her household. His name was Cabral Grijalva."

Zio Cabral?

"You have no proof," said Rohario quietly, all the while wishing he had a sword and could run the merditto do'chiros through the heart. But what if Azema had already spread these vile accusations elsewhere?

"I have no proof," agreed Azema with that same repulsive smile. "But I don't need proof. I need only cast doubt, Don Rohario. I need only make people wonder, and you can be sure I have already begun to ask questions where others may hear me. Soon these questions will come to the notice of the Premio Sancto and the Premia Sancta. Once the Ecclesia is involved, proof will be in the hands of the Matra ei Filho. I suppose they will ask Renayo to swear the truth of his parentage on their rings. A small thing to ask, don't you agree?"