"I am not making this up!"

"And who is this father of yours that stirs up such commotion?"

"My father is the Magnifico Aureste Belandor, of Vitrisi. I am Jianna Belandor."

He did not change expression, but it seemed to her that his eyes darkened at the sound of the name.

"I hope," he observed slowly, "that this is fantasy or theater. You allow a lively imagination free rein, perhaps?"

"I do not. And I'm not delirious, either. I am Jianna Belandor, daughter of the Magnifico Aureste. Why are you looking at me like that? I hope you're not another of those bigots filled with prejudice against my father?"

"Maidenlady, I fear that you'll find an entire world populated with just such bigots."

"Then ignorance is everywhere, and it's so unjust. My father is a fine man, a kind and warm and generous man. The world doesn't know him."

"Possibly the world knows him better than you realize. But I will confess, his daughter's loyalty speaks well for the magnifico."

"You're beginning to believe what I tell you, then?"

"I'd prefer not to believe, but you are persuasive, and your story possesses its own logic. If you are truly Aureste Belandor's daughter, then the treatment you claim to have received at Ironheart becomes understandable. It is possible."

"It's more than possible, it's fact," Jianna declared. "You say that you know those people. If so, then you must have a good idea what they're capable of doing to me. My life is over if you don't help me to get away from them. Please, please, take me back to Vitrisi!" She gazed up at him with enormous pleading eyes. His face was still, but instinct told her that she was making progress.

"There are other considerations," he observed at last.

His objection, whatever it might be, could surely be overcome. Jianna looked up at him. Her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears, which she made no effort to suppress. She did not let a sound escape her, but stood bravely and piteously silent, tears coursing down her cheeks. This tactic almost never failed to conquer her father.

And it seemed that Dr. Falaste was similarly susceptible, for his face softened and he looked young again, if somewhat troubled.

"Maidenlady-" he attempted.

She turned aside as if ashamed of her tears, but in reality offering him a good view of her pretty profile. She let her shoulders shake a little with silent suppressed sobs. Aureste could rarely resist silent suppressed sobs. She glimpsed the physician's face out of the corner of her eye and saw uncertainty there. Good. In her imagination she approached the gates of Belandor House, with Dr. Falaste at her side. She would introduce the doctor to her father. Falaste would instantly perceive the magnifico's essential goodness. Aureste in turn would immediately recognize the physician's talent and intelligence. With the magnifico's assistance, Falaste would remain in Vitrisi to establish a fashionable, highly profitable practice. He would be a frequent guest at Belandor House, and she would see much of him. There was something so agreeable in this mental exercise that her lips almost started to curve into a smile. She compressed them firmly and stole another glance at him.

He seemed lost in frowning cogitation, and she took the opportunity to study him: face long but not excessively so, complexion pale but not unhealthily so, straight features, stubborn chin, an indefinably scholarly look. Hair presently invisible beneath the rain hood. Medium stature. Probably slender in build, under that voluminous rain cloak. A fine, intelligent, and thoughtful face. Its owner was sure to help her.

Falaste's head jerked slightly, as if he had reached a decision. Confidently Jianna awaited his reply.

"I'll help you to shelter," he told her.

"In Vitrisi," she prompted, a little confused.

"No. That's not possible. But I'll bring you to some cottage or campsite, where you'll find assistance and a place to rest safely until you're fit to travel."

"No, that isn't what I want." Her surprise equaled her disappointment. She had been quite certain, moments earlier, that he would succumb. "If you won't take me back to the city, then at least bring me to some inn or posting house along the VitrOrezzi Bond."

"The nearest is a good day and a half from here."

"Well? Can you not spare the time to assist me?" She had not yet given up hope. Perhaps he could be shamed into compliance. "Are you not a gentleman?"

"Maidenlady, if you are truly Aureste Belandor's daughter, be certain that I offend family, friends, and allies by offering you the smallest aid, even so much as a bandage for your ankle. Nevertheless, I will conduct you to the nearest cottage, where I'll exert such influence as I own to gain you admittance."

"Oh," she exclaimed, "you might just as well throw a rope around my neck and drag me back to Ironheart behind your horse!"

"Good idea." A flat new voice entered the discussion.

Jianna's heart missed a beat. She wheeled to discover Onartino Belandor standing a few paces behind her. In the midst of the debate and the downpour, she had failed to notice his approach, and in that moment it seemed unbelievable that she had sensed nothing, because he was so extraordinarily large, looming there as huge and impervious as a rain-soaked colossus. The cold terror and hot hatred flared inside her and every nerve urged flight. She started to rise and the flash of pain from her ankle reminded her that she could barely walk, much less run. A rush of defeat and sick despair all but overwhelmed her. For a moment her eyes shut. Then she drew a deep breath, picked up her staff, and with its support stood up straight to face her hunter.

Onartino snapped his fingers sharply. "Heel," he commanded.

Her eyes widened a little in disbelief. She did not stir.

"Not trained yet?" Onartino inquired. "We'll fix that." One of his pockets yielded a small rawhide quirt. He gave it a flick, and the braided lash answered with a pert pop. Educational aid in hand, he started for her.

This time, she sensed, he truly meant to hurt her, and there was nothing she could do to elude him or to hold him off. Without conscious volition, she threw a glance of anguished appeal into the eyes of Dr. Falaste. His response was all that could be desired.

Without apparent haste he stepped in front of her, blocking Onartino's way. "Softly," he suggested in pleasant tones.

"Keep out of it, Rione," Onartino advised, finally acknowledging the other's presence.

Rione? The name was familiar. She had heard it spoken more than once, not long ago. At Ironheart? Yes. The memory clicked into place. Of course. Rione was that mysterious genius whose praises were sung in the infirmary. Why had he lied to her about his name? Or perhaps he hadn't lied. Maybe Falaste was simply his given name. All of this shot through her mind in a fraction of a second.

"Glad to keep out of it," Falaste or Rione or Falaste Rione returned in his uniquely calming voice, "so long as it's understood that there will be no violence here."

"Just a little instruction," Onartino assured him.

"With a whip? I think not."

"You think all the time, boy, and it doesn't amount to much. It never did. Step aside."

"Put the whip away. You'll not be using it on this girl."

"Do you know who and what she is?"

"She told me her father's name."

"Did she remember to mention that she belongs to me?"

"If I'm not mistaken, the institution of human slavery has been abolished."

"The institution of human marriage hasn't."

"You claim that she's your wife?"

"As soon as the East Reach Traveler turns up to make it legal. Me, I see no reason to wait, but Mother wants it done up in pink ribbons."

The doctor hesitated, then turned to Jianna and asked, "Is this true?"

She looked into his clear eyes and somehow never even thought of lying. "There's some truth in it. The fact is that they abducted me and then used threats and terror to force my consent. I did agree to wed this-this person here, but much against my will, and only to avoid immediate injury and dishonor."

"There, she confesses, she's plighted her skinny little troth. Still questioning my rights?" Onartino demanded.

"This is Magnifica Yvenza's desire?" the doctor inquired.

"Her plan. She's set on the match. You know how she is."

"I do. I see the evidence of her mind at work."

"You mean to cross her?"

The doctor answered with an infinitesimal shake of the head.

"Then you can go on ahead and tell them that I'm whipping my little bride back home to Ironheart. Run along, boy."

"Wait!" Jianna felt the stirring of incipient panic. "Don't go! Dr. Falaste, you can't let him take me back to that place. For pity's sake, help me!"

"Maidenlady, I've already violated loyalties for your sake. I can do nothing more."

"I thought you were a kind man, a decent man. Was I wrong? Look at Onartino Belandor standing there with his whip. Do you know what will happen if you leave me alone with him?"

"By your own admission, he is your betrothed. What passes between the two of you is a matter of family."

"He's not my betrothed; I was already promised to someone else. I was on my way to Orezzia to be wed when they attacked my carriage. This man and his people aren't family, they're just kidnappers. If you leave me in his hands, he'll kill me or worse."

"I don't mean to kill her," Onartino observed with the faintest hint of enjoyment. "Not before she's tasted the joys of motherhood, anyway. You're in the way here, Rione. Run along home."

"Please," Jianna whispered, eyes fixed on the doctor's face.

He glanced at her so briefly and indifferently that it seemed as if her plea had gone unheard, then informed Onartino, "I'll accompany you and the girl back to Ironheart."

"I told you to get out of this."

"We've two hours or more of walking before us," the doctor observed serenely. "Best waste no more time. Put the whip away. You've no use for it today."

"Sure about that?" Onartino stared down at the doctor, who stood some inches shorter than himself.

"Quite sure, as I know you're no fool, appearances occasionally notwithstanding."

Jianna stiffened. To her surprise, Onartino replied with a mere twist of the lips, a small grimace of contemptuous amusement. In silence he returned the quirt to his pocket. He was not going to use the lash on her. He was not going to use anything on her. She swallowed a sob, her relief tempered by recognition of the reprieve's probable brevity.

"Maidenlady, you'll ride," the doctor declared.

"She'll walk," said Onartino.

"She's injured her ankle."

"She'll survive."

"She'll delay us if we're held to her best pace," the doctor observed easily. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to drag her by the hair."

"She deserves a lot worse than that, after what she did to Grumper," Onartino told him. "Fond of Grumper, aren't you, Rione? Well, I think she's killed him. He was guarding her. Somehow she got the better of him, beat the shit out of him. Probably used a rock. That's how she got away."

Jianna stared at him, dumbfounded. He met her gaze blandly.

"Grumper is dead?" The doctor was taken aback.

"I think so." Onartino shook his head. "Mother will be seeing red. That was her best hound."

"It's a lie!" Jianna found her voice. "I never struck the dog. Even if I wanted to, how could I? He'd have torn me apart if I'd tried it. If he was beaten, then somebody else did it."

"Who else had reason?" With a shrug of his heavy shoulders, Onartino addressed the doctor. "There you have it. Don't let the big eyes fool you. She's her father's daughter."

"I swear I never hurt Grumper." Jianna spoke urgently to the doctor, who was scrutinizing her face as if striving to read the mind and character behind it. For reasons that she could hardly define, it seemed essential to convince him. She did not want to watch the expression in his eyes transmute to hostility and disgust. "I wouldn't do such a cruel thing, I've never so much as slapped a Sishmindri. Please believe me."

"Maidenlady, I should like to believe you," he returned quite gently, "but I'm in no position to judge. Come, it's time to leave."

She gazed up at him, unable to comprehend how this man could offer kindness and assistance, then turn around and hand her over to her enemies. Passionate entreaty shone in her eyes. She saw compunction in his, but no yielding. In miserable silence she stood and limped a few paces to the horse. She could feel the weight of Onartino Belandor's regard as she went, but did not glance in his direction. The doctor boosted her into the saddle, then loosed the tether. For a wild moment she thought of clapping her heels to the horse's flanks and galloping away; but it was impossible, he held the reins firmly.

They moved off along the path, back the way that she had come, with the doctor leading the horse and Onartino bringing up the rear. Neither man could see her face. Jianna's shoulders slumped. She bowed her head and her tears flowed, invisible in the falling rain.

EIGHT.

"I will add another five hundred diostres if they can be transferred to my command within twenty-four hours," Aureste Belandor offered.

"Impossible," declared the Governor Uffrigo.

"A thousand, then."

"My dear fellow, ten thousand wouldn't suffice." Uffrigo beamed his gentle smile. "It is not a question of money."

"It is always a question of money."

"Upon my honor, I never knew you for such a cynic." The governor did not trouble to conceal his amusement. "It is enough to shake my faith in human nature, just listening to you."

"Governor, I haven't come here to fence. The matter is pressing. Name your price. I will pay it."

"Ah, you mean that, don't you? I recognize desperation when I see it." The radiance of the gubernatorial smile dimmed, giving way to limpid candor. "Then let us speak openly like the true, close friends that we are."

The two true, close friends sat in the governor's private sitting room situated on the second story of the Cityheart. Here the atmosphere was lusciously warm, and the classical simplicity of the architecture warred with the Taerleezi governor's appetite for magnificence. Uffrigo's taste ran to massive furnishings heavily crusted with gilt carving. The walls glittered with vast mirrors ornately framed, the ceilings glittered with chandeliers dripping crystal, the brocade draperies swathing the windows glittered with thick golden fringe. The marble floor was polished to a hard gleam, and the Taerleezi emblem gracing the central medallion of the deep carpet glinted with golden thread.

The governor and his visitor occupied vast overstuffed armchairs. Between them stood a low table freighted with expensive edibles-out-of-season fruits, aged cheese, new bread, and a jeweled assortment of glazed sweets-all laid out in insistent profusion, for Uffrigo was nothing if not hospitable. The governor-faultlessly groomed, attired in handsome robes of tawny velvet-sat comfortably at ease. Aureste Belandor-carelessly dressed, eyes shadowed, and face haggard with sleeplessness-recognized the strategic disadvantage of his own position and for once did not care.