"I don't think so. I've smiled at him a couple of times and he pretended he didn't see me."

"No pretense about it. He's extraordinarily nearsighted."

"And I did try asking him a question one morning and he sort of-barked at me. I thought he might be rabid, so I shaved off."

"You should never have approached him in the morning, when his aches are at their worst. He's no good until noon or thereabouts. Midafternoon would be best. Ask him about his left knee, then look interested while he tells you. That will put him in a good humor."

"You sound as if you speak from experience."

"Much experience. Some of my most vivid memories of childhood involve unsuccessful attempts to wheedle favors out of Deedro. It took me years to perfect the technique, but you should find it easy."

"It doesn't sound easy. So-you've known this Deedro charmer since childhood. You grew up near Ironheart?"

"I grew up within Ironheart. Didn't I ever mention that?"

Are you in earnest? When do you ever mention anything about yourself? "Not that I recall," she returned nonchalantly. "But how did you come to live here? You aren't kin to Yvenza and her people, are you? Nor a foster son, exactly. Nor are you a-a-"

"A servant?" he prompted.

She nodded.

"Many would regard me as such, but I choose to think otherwise."

"Explain the riddle."

"Maidenlady, I won't weary you with tedious reminiscence."

"Come, you've piqued my interest," she encouraged with an easy air designed to mask blazing curiosity. "Speak on."

"Very well. I should tell you then that I am the sole son of that Dr. Strazinz Rione who was personal physician to the Magnifico Onarto Belandor, years ago in Vitrisi. My father was much favored by the magnifico, who lodged our family-my father, my mother, myself-within his own palace. My very earliest recollections, so distant that I can scarcely distinguish them from dreams, are of that vast and glittering place."

"Belandor House? You once lived at Belandor House?" Jianna exclaimed, astonished and almost inclined to disbelieve.

"So I was told. I remember, just barely, a great vaulted ceiling, unimaginably lofty, with a vast round skylight of colored glass. This skylight bore the image of the sun, his face wreathed in flame, worked in a score or more varying shades of golden glass. Even the greyest daylight, filtering through that glass, took on the tint of the sun, and it seemed as if the lords of that palace possessed the power to rule the elements."

"You're describing the skylight above the central stairway. That is Belandor House! You really were there!"

"Or else someone told me. But I think I remember. In any event, I wasn't there for very long. The great change occurred, driving the Magnifico Onarto, his family, and a clutch of his retainers out of the city and into the wilderness. I don't remember much of that. It happened at night in the winter, I think. It was dark and quiet, swift and secret. My mother carried me. I remember cold air on my face. I remember shaking, because the arms that held me were shaking, with cold or fear or both. I remember being inside a carriage with strange sounds and an odd odor; scorching wool, I think. Someone must have heated the bricks for the footwarmers too hot. Then there's a long gap; I don't know how long. I next remember being here at Ironheart, much smaller and less grand a place than the magnifico's palace in the city, but still the same in some respects. My father continued on as personal physician to Onarto Belandor and all his family, and we Riones still resided within the magnifico's own household.

"Then the Magnifico Onarto died," Rione continued. "I've no picture of his face in my mind, but I still recall the sense of shock and outrage permeating all the household. Even at that age, I understood that some great tragedy had befallen us. Yet my own juvenile existence altered very little. The widowed Magnifica Yvenza assumed leadership of the household, a position to which she was well suited by nature. My father continued on as physician to the family of his dead patron, and we all lived comfortably enough beneath the roof of Ironheart.

"Some two or three years passed, and my father began to instruct me. I learned the function of his surgical instruments, the names and properties of the various medicinal plants that he used. He even permitted me to observe his exchanges with certain patients, and all of this I relished. It ended early, though. One fine day in spring, Strazinz set forth in search of some essential root or leaf, and committed the error of venturing too near the VitrOrezzi Bond, where he ran afoul of a band of Taerleezi horsemen. No witness has ever reported the details of that encounter, but it seems more than likely that the soldiers mistook my father for a Faerlonnish insurgent. They cut him down where he stood and left his corpse lying at the side of the road."

He paused, but Jianna said nothing, afraid of breaking the magical spell cast by camaraderie and firelight that had for once loosened his tongue.

"My father's murder occurred toward the end of my mother's pregnancy with her second child," Rione resumed. "The shock of the loss perhaps in part accounted for my sister's premature birth and the resulting complications. My mother lingered for a few days following delivery. Sometimes she knew me, but much of the time she was unconscious or delirious. Many of those hours and days I spent searching through my father's supplies in search of the right infusion or powder, the perfect remedy that would restore her. As a child I could not find it, and neither could anyone else. By the order of the magnifica, my mother received the best care that Ironheart could offer, but nothing could save her. She died and was buried not far from the Magnifico Onarto-yet another mark of Yvenza's esteem. It was generally supposed that the baby Celisse would soon follow her mother, but to the surprise of all, my sister thrived.

"What then was the magnifica to do with us? Two orphaned children, no kin to her, and arguably no responsibility of hers. Onartino-who is just of my age, and was at that time old enough to express an opinion-believed that I should be set to work in the kitchen and that my infant sister should be placed in a wicker basket and left at some cottager's door. No doubt there were many who agreed with him. Fortunately for us, the Magnifica Yvenza did not. Life at Ironheart is not luxurious, but the magnifica saw to it that Celisse and I received the same care, guidance, education, and privileges accorded her own sons. More than that, she took a personal interest in our progress, lavished time and attention upon us, and in short proved the most benevolent of guardians. Many's the time that Celisse or I fell prey to some childish malady and she brewed the restorative draughts with her own hands. Often she took pains to see that we received the toys or trifles that we most desired-a penknife or fishing hook for me, and much the same for Celisse, for even as an infant my sister never valued dolls, or sweets, or anything commonly regarded as girlish. And more than once, when Onartino and I quarreled, the magnifica ruled in my favor over her own natural son."

"Strange," Jianna mused. "Not what I'd expect."

"Ah, you don't know her, you've only seen the worst of her. She is capable of great generosity. Celisse and I aren't the only recipients."

"Nissi?"

"Sheltered here since infancy, although the magnifica has every reason to resent her existence."

"Why does Yvenza keep her, then?"

"Perhaps because her husband would have wished it, or perhaps she pities the girl. Or both. The magnifica is rarely disposed to justify her decisions."

"I've noticed that."

"She was more than good to my family throughout the course of my childhood," Rione continued. "And when I was on the verge of leaving childhood behind me, she bestowed the greatest of gifts. Had she handed me over to serve as an assistant to some cobbler or cartwright, most would have counted me fortunate. But she did much more. She'd noted my natural interest in my father's profession, she knew what I longed for, and she gave it to me. At her own expense she sent me off to the College of Medicine at the Zerinius in Vitrisi, where I studied for four years. My tuition, room and board, incidental expenses-she paid them all, while repeatedly dismissing or refusing my offers of eventual repayment. I did well enough at the Zerinius to win a position as under-practitioner at the Hospital Avorno, where I continued studying for another two years. During this time I received a small stipend, enough to live on. Upon conclusion of my term at Avorno, I was deemed qualified under Vitrisian law to practice independently, and so I have done ever since.

"A home, a childhood free from want, an education, my profession-all these things are the magnifica's gifts. She has given me more than I can hope to repay in a dozen lifetimes while asking nothing in return beyond my loyalty. That loyalty is hers, along with my gratitude. Do you understand me, Jianna?"

Jianna's eyes widened a little. He had never before addressed her by name. His gaze was clear and very steady.

"I am telling you all of this because you deserve an explanation of some kind. My loyalty is owed to the Magnifica Yvenza," Rione said distinctly. "I may often disagree with her, but I will never betray her."

She heard him too well. His meaning was unmistakable and the finality of it unassailable. There could be no answer and no appeal. A sense of intolerable helplessness froze her mind. Her eyes tingled with incipient tears, and for a moment she came close to hating him. A groan from the tub spared her the necessity of reply. Trecchio was astir again, and the purple waves were sloshing.

"Ready?" Rione rose to his feet and extended a hand to assist her.

She nodded. Ignoring the hand, she stood up. In silence she resumed her post beside the tub. The water had faded again. Trecchio was writhing and muttering, but most of his strength was gone and his opposition to Rione's ministrations seemed all but perfunctory. The doctor toiled on, Jianna assisted, and the fresh energy born of the brief respite gradually faded, but her sense of impotent misery persisted.

There would be no help from him. He might pity her, even like her, but his first allegiance lay elsewhere and always would. There was no rescue in sight and virtually no hope.

I'll find a way out on my own, then. I'm not helpless. I don't choose to be helpless.

But choice had little to do with it.

The repetitive mechanical rhythm of work dulled the edge of desperation. Her back and arms were aching again, and the discomfort offered an almost welcome distraction. Her clothes were wet, her shoes were soaked again, and these small things helped to exclude wretched thoughts. Conversation with Rione was minimal; there was nothing left to say. She dimly noted the passing of the hours, and at length looked up from her labors to behold a patch of the courtyard greyly visible through the kitchen window. Dawn was breaking.

"It's done," said Rione.

Jianna glanced at him unwillingly. She had hardly allowed her eyes to rest on him throughout the preceding hours. He was pale, his eyes shadowed with fatigue, dark hair disheveled. His hands, always so scrupulously clean, were deeply stained with purple. A similarly deep purple, almost black bruise marked his cheek. She winced at the sight and sympathy undermined anger, which wouldn't do; she did not want to lose the anger.

"His convalescence will be long and painful, but he'll keep his hand," the doctor explained.

"It's a triumph of your skill, then. You are truly a brilliant physician." Jianna felt her face color. The tribute had slipped out of its own volition. She did not wish to flatter and please him; he had made it clear that he was no true friend of hers. She saw the response to her praise in his face and instantly lowered her eyes to the bath, where Trecchio wallowed in deep slumber. The ulcers on his hand, arm, and shoulder yawned wide, but the ashen craters and desiccated flakes of the afternoon had vanished. The wounds were angry, but now essentially ordinary in appearance and presumably treatable by ordinary means. Trecchio's face was profoundly still, smoothed empty of everything other than possibility.

Like a baby, Jianna thought, and the simile struck her as strange, for she had never regarded him as anything beyond large, repellent, stupid, and dangerous.

He was scarcely dangerous now and, for this moment at least, she could wish him a complete recovery.

"Do we take him out, dry him off, and bandage him up now?" she asked.

"Not quite yet. I'll give the infusion a little longer to do its work. In the meantime, I want you to rest. You've more than earned it. You've been toiling valiantly throughout the night and you must be exhausted."

Valiantly. That and his look of concern kindled an internal glow that she deliberately extinguished. Concern? He had none for her, not in any way that really mattered. Favoring him with a curt nod, she turned with a switch of damp skirts, marched back to the hearth, and seated herself. For a little while longer she watched him tend his patient; disappointed and resentful though she was, it seemed that she could not refrain from watching him. But soon her eyelids drooped, her eyes closed, and her chin sank. The warmth of the fire softened her bones and her brain. There was no resistance left in her, and she sank without a struggle.

When she woke she knew at once that she had slept for hours, curled up on the hearth like a scullery maid. The sunlight angling in through the windows was strong and bright. A few kitchen servants drudged at their accustomed tasks. The morning was well advanced. The big rusty bathtub and its occupant had vanished. The puddles were gone, and the floor was dry. Dr. Rione was nowhere in evidence. All of this she absorbed almost unconsciously, for her attention fixed on the trio looming above her. The Magnifica Yvenza stood flanked by two of the larger household servants. Probably the pressure of their regard had awakened her. Serviceably clad in her customary plain gown, the magnifica appeared well rested and untroubled; indeed, her expression was positively benign. Jianna blinked and sat up, absently brushing fine ashes from her face. Nameless dread fluttered her belly. Every instinct screamed a warning.

"Awake at last, little maidenlady?" Yvenza inquired genially. "I trust you've slept well."

Jianna nodded and rose to her feet. The long rest had restored her vigor. She was ready and willing to run, but her path to the exit was blocked. Her mind whirred. Yvenza's air of guileless amiability somehow suggested impending doom, and only one possible cause suggested itself.

"Trecchio?" she forced herself to inquire. He must have died despite all their care, and now his grief-maddened mother desired vengeance.

"Idiot Boy is doing well," Yvenza replied. "Far better than his stupidity deserves. He'll recover and retain his hand, thanks to my Falaste."

Her Falaste.

"I am glad," Jianna murmured.

"Are you indeed? Now there's a pretty expression of sisterly affection."

Sisterly? Jianna could think of nothing to say.

"My dear child, I believe that I can divine your true feelings. During the term of your residence among us, you've come to regard my younger son as a brother, in much the same manner that you have come to view me as a foster mother. Tell me, is it not so?"

"Who could resist the charm of Ironheart and its inhabitants?" Jianna returned with a burlesque sweetness designed to mask mounting apprehension. Her tormentor was about to say or do something dreadful; she could sense imminent devastation.

"Ah, spirited as ever, I see. What an addition to our household you are. You know that I've regarded you as my daughter in all but name since the very evening of your arrival, do you not?" Without awaiting reply to a query clearly rhetorical, Yvenza continued, "Now at last, following so long and weary a delay, I'm delighted to inform you that the final difficulty has been resolved, and your full membership in our little family is about to become a legal reality."

Jianna felt the blood drain from her face. She said nothing.

"What, no questions? I will assume then that you understand me. Yes, I see by your face that you do. And not so much as a single witticism? Well, at times the heart is too full for speech. My own powers of communication remain unimpaired, and therefore I'll confirm what you've already realized. The East Reach Traveler has finally arrived, within the last half hour. He is ready, willing, and legitimately empowered to perform the marriage ceremony. Indeed, it would have been done already, were Onartino anywhere to be found. It seems that my lusty lad departed at dawn upon one of his hunting expeditions. No fear, however-he'll be back by sunset if not before, and then we'll proceed. Therefore rejoice, maidenlady-this is your wedding day."

TWELVE.

What would Father do? The perennial question flashed across her mind, but this time there was no answer. No stratagem, no evasion, argument, threat, bribe, or plea would serve her. There was no room left for maneuvering, and Aureste Belandor himself would be powerless to escape the trap.

The thought was wholly unnerving, and for a moment Jianna gave way to uncharacteristic panic. Without thought or reason she made a dash for the nearest doorway, the exit out into the courtyard. One of the servants caught her before she had taken two steps. His hand closed on her upper arm, jerking her to a halt. Still driven entirely by instinct, she wheeled and raked his cheek with her fingernails. Her captor yelped but did not let go. Immediately the second servant caught her wrist. She brought her heel down hard on his instep, but the attack went unnoticed, neutralized by a pair of thick work boots.

"That was rude," Yvenza observed with a smile. "And silly. I believe it's the first time I've ever seen you display true stupidity. Probably it won't be the last."

"I'll never marry your filthy swine of a son!" Jianna yelled, too furious and terrified to govern her own tongue. "You can drag me to the magistrate, but I'll never speak the words, and without the words there's no marriage!"

"Quite right." Yvenza nodded without abandoning her air of tranquil amusement. "But we discussed this issue, as I recall, upon the evening of your arrival. Allow me to refresh your memory, in simple terms that you can't fail to understand. This night you lodge with Onartino. Whether you go to him as his lawful wife or as his whore-and thereafter, anybody's whore-is entirely up to you. But go to his bed you will."

"I'll kill myself before I let him touch me."

"I think not. Suicide is an expression of despair, and a creature of your temperament never loses hope."

"I'll kill him, then."

"Ah, there she is, the true daughter of Aureste Belandor. I thank you for the warning. I believe my son capable of self-defense, but in the interest of safety I'll relay your threat, which he may address as he sees fit. What a blazing night the two of you will enjoy, to be sure."

"We'll all of us enjoy a blazing night when I burn the roof above your head, you vile hag."

"Manners, daughter." Yvenza advanced a pace and slapped Jianna's face soundly. "I don't tolerate disrespect. In order to spare you further embarrassment, I am sending you to your chamber, where you may compose yourself and repair your appearance as best you can. Remove her," she directed the servants.

They obeyed at once, the two of them hustling Jianna out of the kitchen, along the corridors to the southwest turret, and up the stairs. She struggled and resisted every step of the way, mindless of the absurd futility. When they reached her room, they pushed her in, slammed the door, barred it from the outside, then hurried away, no doubt glad to be rid of her.

Still raging in the throes of desperation, Jianna snatched up the nearest breakable-the big earthenware water pitcher on the washstand-and hurled it against the closed door. The vessel shattered, its contents drenching the door and floor. Instantly she was down on her knees, sorting through the wreckage for a suitable shard. She found one quickly, a long triangular fragment with a sharp point. Earthenware was not strong, but how strong would it need to be to penetrate the soft skin of her throat? Just one resolute plunge, a momentary pain, and it would be done. And then she would be safe beyond the reach of Onartino and his rampant brutality; beyond the reach of Yvenza and her malevolence.

She raised the shard and pressed its point to her throat. Then she paused, terrified. The pain she knew she could endure. But the thought of nonexistence was insupportable, almost unimaginable. The world would go on and she would simply not be in it. She was eighteen years old, she had barely tasted life. It was too soon to go; she hadn't yet had her fair share.

And anyway-what if she cut her own throat and then her father, at the head of a rescue party, arrived at Ironheart an hour later? Or less than an hour later, but just in time for her to die pathetically and bloodily in his arms?

A creature of your temperament never loses hope. Yvenza had been right. She could not possibly kill herself, at least not yet. Jianna let fall the earthenware dagger and gave way to bitter tears, crying as she had cried her first night at Ironheart. Now, as then, her thoughts flew to her father. He had not come for her. He had failed her. You shall not be trapped in a marriage that you do not desire, he had assured her. Those had been his very words, he had promised, and what was that promise worth? The tears flowed faster. But even in the midst of her misery, she could not abandon all belief in Aureste Belandor's omnipotence. It was not too late for a miracle, and who was a master of miracles if not Aureste? He could still arrive in time to save her.

Hurry, she silently enjoined. Pleasepleaseplease. I need you here today.

"I'm leaving today," the Magnifico Aureste announced. "The Viper has finally delivered, in his own good time. As of noon I command a squadron of crack Taerleezi guards. That, in addition to the household sentries and the cannon fodder I've scraped off the floors of the local taverns, should suffice to settle affairs at the stronghouse."

"A single squadron, your household bodyguard, and tavern scrapings against a stronghouse?" Setting his nameless research aside, Innesq Belandor swiveled his wheeled chair to face his brother, who stood framed in the workroom doorway. "Is that enough to maintain a siege?"

"There will be no siege. The matter will be concluded quickly."

"You are counting upon arcane reinforcement, then. Aureste, I've tried to tell you-"

"I don't need arcane reinforcement. I've something less mystifying and more reliable-artillery."

"That is astonishing. Your favor with the governor extends so far, then?"

"No. His Excellency wouldn't dare place such weaponry in Faerlonnish hands, even mine, at any price. Another source supplied the two cannon."

"What other source?"

"Better for you that you do not know."

"I daresay. Hereafter you lose all right to reproach my supposedly dangerous arcane illegalities. Nothing I've ever done remotely rivals the magnitude of this offense. Aureste, you could be executed."

"In public, I trust. Joy will reign throughout Vitrisi."