A barbed smile invited debate. Jianna did not let herself rise to the bait. Her air of composure remained carefully intact as she observed, "I see you've no proof at all against my father. He's a famous, wealthy man. Few Faerlonnish fared so well after the wars, and many resent his good fortune. I care nothing for the lying accusations of the envious."

"Now, there's true filial devotion. Thoroughly misplaced, but admirable all the same. You boys might profit by so sterling an example."

"I mean to profit," said Onartino.

"Good lad. Let us conclude, then. Despite the seeming totality of his triumph, I am pleased to report that the traitor Aureste did not go entirely unpunished. His betrothed at that time, the Lady Sonnetia of House Steffa-evidently gifted with some sense-not only broke off her connection with Aureste Belandor, but for good measure promptly accepted and wedded the young Magnifico Vinz Corvestri, scion of House Belandor's ancient enemy. A particularly pretty choice, that. I gather from my sources that the blow hit home and Aureste felt it deeply for a while. Unfortunately, such a man was not one to suffer at great length, and it was not more than two years later that he consoled himself with the Lady Zavilla of House Gorni, who presented him with a great fortune and an heiress before considerately removing herself. It is rumored that the neglect and undisguised contempt of her husband greatly hastened the Lady Zavilla's death, and this I can well believe."

"How dare you?" Jianna felt the color burn her cheeks. Aware that an angry reaction would only please her tormentor, she strove to hold her temper and failed. The fear-fueled indignation came boiling out of her. "How dare you speak that way of my parents? You know nothing of them. You and your people are nothing but outlaws sneaking around out here in the middle of nowhere. You're a liar and that son of yours is an animal, a murderer, and a coward."

"Stay where you are, Onartino." Yvenza halted her son before he moved. Her attention returned to the prisoner, of whom she inquired lazily, "Well, maidenlady, where are your manners? Is that any way to address your future mother-in-law, or your husband-to-be?"

For an instant Jianna doubted her ears. Confused, she studied the other's face, which communicated nothing beyond pleasurable amusement. At last she answered, "I've already told you that I don't know the rules of this game."

"Perhaps because you've not yet heard the end of the tale. Listen and you'll learn everything you need to know. To finish, then-the years have passed, the innocent have suffered, while a villain enjoys the rewards of his crime. But there's a force of justice at work in the universe-this I firmly believe. Justice may be suppressed or circumvented for a while, but not forever. Your arrival, little niece, alters the situation at last. The schism dividing House Belandor is about to mend, and justice will be served. Is that not a rosy prospect?" The question must have been rhetorical, for she continued without pause.

"A union of House Belandor's sundered halves will heal ancient wounds. The marriage of Aureste Belandor's daughter to the Magnifico Onarto's oldest son serves this purpose splendidly. Upon Aureste's death or departure, his son-in-law will succeed to the title of magnifico. Thereafter, Onartino's issue will inherit. Who could ask for a simpler or more elegant solution to so vexing a family dilemma? Warms my heart just to think of it. Am I wrong to assume that your pleasure equals my own? Come, niece, tell me your thoughts." This time she seemed to expect a reply. There was none, and her voice lashed. "Speak up."

Jianna started as if struck and spoke without thought. "You're criminal lunatics, and my father will give you all that you deserve."

"We are in full agreement upon that last point."

"He'll see that you're sorry for all that you've done. He'll-he'll string you up by the thumbs. For a start."

"Excellent," Yvenza encouraged. "And?"

"He'll punish you for making false claim to the Belandor name."

"False claim, when we, unlike you, are of the primary original stock? Amusing. And?"

"And you'll be sorry for killing my aunt Flonoria, my maid, my driver, and the guards. You'll regret your attack on our House; my father will see to that. You've made a big mistake, and if I were you I'd run away while I could."

"Now, that's what I call an honest reply." Yvenza nodded, entertained. "And I appreciate candor, if not impudence. No matter. Under our guidance you will very soon learn to govern your tongue."

"I hope I won't be here long enough to learn anything."

"Ah, Onartino." Yvenza favored her firstborn with a fond smile. "She will make you a delightfully spirited little wife, but you'll have your work cut out for you. I only hope you'll rise to the challenge."

"I'll rise," said Onartino.

"I believe you will. Maidenlady," Yvenza confided with a congratulatory air, "I think your husband-to-be likes you. He's a stout lad, as you've no doubt gathered, and you'll suffer no tedium in your marriage."

"Marriage? You keep speaking of that." Jianna struggled to conceal her rising dread. "It's a joke of some kind, I suppose."

"Is there not a certain school of philosophy that regards all human existence as a joke of some kind?"

"I don't understand your games. Speak plainly if you can, and tell me your intentions."

"I've already done so. My intention, little maidenlady, is to marry you to my oldest son. Is that plain enough for your understanding?"

"No, for it makes no sense at all." Jianna tried to speak very reasonably. "I know you're only amusing yourself, because you must know how impossible that is."

"How so?" Yvenza's brows rose. "You and Onartino are both young, healthy, of the best blood, and unattached. It's a perfect match."

"You cannot be in earnest."

"You'll discover otherwise."

"I'm already betrothed. My father has chosen a-"

"You will alter your plans. It's sudden, I know, but spontaneity possesses its own particular charm."

"You can't seriously imagine that I'd ever agree to such a thing."

"You'll agree to far more than that before we're done."

"Not in a lifetime."

"Oh, it won't take nearly that long. It would seem that you regard a respectable marriage to my poor son as the proverbial fate worse than death, but this is shortsighted. A moment's reflection will persuade you that far more unpleasant possibilities abound. You aren't convinced? Consider, then. As the legal wife of Onartino Belandor, heir to the family title, you will enjoy position, the prospect of wealth, and the legitimacy of your children. As his convenience, you are entitled to none of these benefits."

"His what?" Jianna inquired in simple disbelief.

"His convenience. You're unfamiliar with the expression? Your education has been neglected. It means-"

"I know what it means, but I don't understand what you're saying."

"I suspect that you understand well enough, but let's make certain. Know that your life has changed forever. Onartino has claimed you, and you are now his property to do with as he pleases. If you plan to argue the point on moral or legal grounds, I advise you to spare your lungs. Fortunately for you, my boy is the soul of integrity, and he is willing to make you his wife. For this he deserves your thanks. Should he encounter ingratitude, opposition, and obstinacy, however, he'll be forced to make the best of a bad situation, and who could blame him? He'll take what good he can have of you, and you'll suffer every indignity of matrimony while enjoying none of the advantages.

"One such advantage includes security. You are still young, but it's never too early for a woman to recognize the inconstancy of men, even so excellent a specimen as my Onartino. As a child, he tired quickly of his playthings. Once he wearied, he'd pass the unwanted item on to his younger brother, Trecchio, who'd entertain himself for a while before tossing the toy-by this time, usually much the worse for wear-out into the courtyard, where it would be snapped up by the guards, the stableboys, the spitboys, and others of that ilk, to be used by each in turn. When diversion palled or the mechanism broke, whichever came first, the plaything was discarded once and for all, and what befell the remains thereafter I can hardly begin to guess. Are you following all of this, maidenlady?"

"You're trying to frighten me." Jianna strove hard to make herself believe it. She took a deep breath. Her mouth had gone dry again, but her voice still sounded all right. "Perhaps you enjoy frightening people. But none of what you suggest is possible. I am a magnifico's daughter. That, if nothing else, makes me someone too valuable to subject to-to-the monstrous treatment that you suggest."

"Ah, but Aureste's daughter warrants special attention."

"We are strangers, and I've never done you or yours any harm."

"Nor did my husband do your father any harm."

"Even if all that you claim is true, it happened long before I was born."

"Unjust world, isn't it?"

"You're a civilized human being. You're a woman, and surely would never inflict such atrocities on another woman."

"Would I not? Think again, little maidenlady. If ever I possessed the womanly softness to which you direct your misguided appeal, your father cut it out of me years ago. I am not only capable of inflicting cruelty upon Aureste Belandor's daughter, but so willing that I long for the opportunity, even at the cost of self-interest. Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see Aureste Belandor's eyes, his face in female form, his surrogate self fallen into my power at last. Thus I hope to find you steadfast in your defiance. I yearn to encounter a strong will in need of breaking. In short, niece, I'm prepared to throw you to the dogs and return what's left of you to your father in a sack. Still want to describe me as civilized?"

The woman had not raised her voice, but the mask had slipped and hatred flashed for a red instant. Jianna curbed the impulse to step backward. Madness, she thought. She clasped her hands to disguise their trembling.

"Nothing to say, maidenlady? You've been quite talkative, until now. Fatigued from your travels, no doubt. You'll want to see your resting place."

"I'll take her," said Onartino.

"No you won't. No games for you yet, my boy. I want her intact for now."

"Now, later-what difference does it make?" Onartino demanded. "It comes to the same end."

"Don't argue with me. Your brother will take her. Trecchio, you meddle with her and I'll set the dogs on you. Understand?" Apparently his wordless shrug failed to reassure her, for she added, "Nissi, you go along and keep an eye on him."

Trecchio advanced to grasp Jianna's arm above the elbow. She pulled back, and his grip tightened painfully. The breath hissed between her teeth and her fingers curled into claws. Then her gaze jumped to Yvenza's face. She saw the anticipation there, and the urge to rebel subsided. Trecchio would hurt her if she tried to fight him; she saw it in his mother's eyes. He led her from the room, and she went tamely. The girl Nissi trailed a couple of paces in their wake. Jianna found the silent, insubstantial presence oddly reassuring.

Along a gloomy corridor he steered her, to the head of a narrow, steep stairway, where he paused briefly to pluck a lighted candle from a wall sconce. Then down into dim smelly dankness, a basement or cellar of some kind. Puddles lay underfoot, mineral deposits palely crusted the moist walls, and a sharp reek of mildew permeated the atmosphere. Jianna's reluctant footsteps lagged and Trecchio yanked her arm sharply, causing her to stumble. The cool touch of a small white hand steadied her, and she turned her head to encounter Nissi's lambent, colorless gaze. Nissi instantly ducked her head and backed away.

Trecchio never slackened his pace, but marched his charge straight to an alcove containing a low, heavy wooden door, which yielded with a shriek of rusty hinges. His gesture encompassed the darkness beyond. "In," he said.

Jianna swallowed her protests. With a lift of the chin she advanced, only to halt on the threshold as if her feet possessed their own will. A jerk of Trecchio's arm slung her forward into shadow. She staggered, then spun to face the doorway.

"I need a light-" she began.

The door slammed shut and the blackness caught her in its jaws. A vast weight seemed to crush her, and she gasped for breath. Tried to scream and, as if in a nightmare, produced nothing beyond an impotent mew. Heard the bar drop into place even as she sprang for the door; wrestled wildly with the unyielding latch, then gave it up and sank to her knees, racked with sobs.

It was inconceivable. She was not supposed to be here. She was supposed to be at the Glass Eye Inn, making ready to dine in the interesting common room. After dinner she was supposed to giggle and gossip with Reeni. She was supposed to sleep in a soft, clean bed and in the morning travel on to Orezzia, where her noble prospective in-laws waited to welcome her to the great house of which she would one day be mistress. That was the future ordained by her father.

Her tears slowly dwindled. She rubbed her eyes and raised her head. Contrary to her initial impression, her prison was not entirely dark. A very small window-little more than a peephole, but fortified with heavy iron grillwork-admitted a current of chilly fresh air and a thin stream of moonlight by which she imperfectly descried her surroundings. She knelt beside the door on the stone floor of a chamber some six or seven feet square. Probably a storage closet, furnished with a narrow cot, a water jug, a bucket, and nothing more. No table or chair, no light, no fireplace, and the place was miserably cold; she was already starting to shiver. Rising to her feet, she stepped to the bed and found there a single woolen blanket. She wrapped herself in the musty-smelling folds, went to the tiny window, and peered out at moonlit dirt. The closet was partially subterranean, its sole window placed at ground level. She glimpsed a stretch of courtyard, presently empty; a section of some anonymous outbuilding; a patch of starry sky; nothing that told her much.

She turned from the window, rubbing her forehead. Her nose was stuffed from the recent crying, and her head ached dully. A touch of cool water on her face might help, if only that jug in the corner contained anything. It did. She dashed a little of the contents across her swollen eyes, then lifted the vessel to her lips and drank. Good. Cold and reasonably fresh. It was then that she realized for the first time that the closet contained no food. No matter. The mere thought of food sickened her. She felt as if she would never want to eat again. But she would want to eat again, common sense acknowledged; probably far sooner than she expected. And then what? Would her captors feed her, or did they mean to starve her into submission?

Her headache was gathering strength. She went to the cot, lay down, and shut her eyes, but with little hope of slumber. Fear and confusion whirled about her mind, while the intolerable images burned behind her tightly closed lids. Aunt Flonoria, and her astonished dead face. Reeni, hurt and disfigured before she was murdered. The driver, the guards ... Fresh tears scalded her cheeks.

There had to be a better image, one to drive the others away. Something shining, powerful, and benevolent to sustain her now. She blinked, and there it was-her father's face, so clear, perfect, and alive that she felt she could stretch forth her hand and touch him. Her hurried breathing eased then, for she knew beyond question that he would find her and save her. He would succeed because he always succeeded, and once he learned of her abduction, nothing would stop him.

She could almost pity the lunatics who had dared to lay hands on her.

"Father," she whispered into the night, "please hurry. Hurry. Hurry."

Hurry. They were taking an unconscionably long time about it all. The Magnifico Aureste stirred impatiently. His seat on the third-floor balcony of the Cityheart, formerly known as Palace Avorno, was comfortable and well situated, sheltered from the sharp chilly breeze yet affording a clear view of the straw-strewn scaffold set up in the Plaza of Proclamation below. The scaffold supported a block, beside which waited a masked headsman. The plaza was filled with spectators whose true mood was difficult to gauge. With a few conspicuous exceptions, there was little display of boisterous merriment. Similarly absent was any overt sign of the resentment or disapproval whose free expression would have sparked the wrath of the Taerleezi guards ranged about the scaffold. A good thing, too. But for the presence of those steel-edged guards, the angry tongues would be wagging, the fists and rocks would be whizzing. Certainly some of those rocks would fly high, even so high as the third-story balcony accommodating the unbeloved Governor Anzi Uffrigo, his lady wife, and a few favored friends, including a single handsomely attired Faerlonnish noble: the Magnifico Aureste Belandor.

Aureste cast a sidelong glance at the governor, whose gravely contemplative gaze anchored on the scene below. Uffrigo possessed a long, sensitive, melancholy countenance, with a fine thin nose and mournful melting eyes-the face of a poet or a mystic. Nothing there to suggest cruelty, lust, greed, or malice. Nothing at all to suggest the qualities that had won Governor Uffrigo the popular cognomen of the Viper.

"Tedious, eh?" inquired the governor in his light, melodic voice, without turning his head.

Apparently he had sensed the pressure of Aureste's regard. His instincts were as keen as his namesake's.

"They take their time," Aureste conceded with a humorous air.

"I trust the spectacle will justify the inconvenience." Uffrigo beamed his radiant, gentle smile. "They say this new headsman is an artist of matchless skill. We shall soon judge for ourselves. If he fails to please, I'll hand him over to his own successor."

"There is a pretty symmetry to that notion, Governor, and the possibility of limitless continuity. I envision a crimson progression from executioner to executioner, extending indefinitely into the future. Each heir to the title of Master Headsman is literally linked by blood to the progenitor of his line-inheritor of a proud tradition and member of a unique dynasty."

"Ah, Aureste." Uffrigo rippled a musical laugh. "If only more of your compatriots shared your drollery. So many of you Faerlonnish seem so lamentably dour."

So many had been given such good reason. But the Magnifico Aureste did not number among them, and he replied easily, "It is our national talent to discern the darkness impinging on every patch of sunlight, but a sanguine nature impairs my own vision. This is a serious disadvantage."

"You are such an amusing fellow, I don't know how we should do without you."

As always, it was difficult to know whether Uffrigo's approval carried an intentional barb. Swallowing his own flash of irritation, Aureste inclined his head smilingly.

"Yet I gather that we must now do without that pretty daughter of yours," the governor continued. "What is the child's name again? Jianna, is it?"

"Jianna, yes." Aureste's smile remained fixed in place. His daughter's mere name upon the governor's lips offended his ears, but by no external sign was his anger evident.

"A charming young creature. You've promised her to an Orezzian, I hear."

"You are well informed."

"So I endeavor to be. A pity she could not remain among us to delight all eyes here in Vitrisi, and I daresay she wept to depart her home. Ah, well. No doubt the match you've chosen for her offers many an advantage."

"Many," Aureste agreed, smiling on. Inwardly he wondered, once again, if the governor deliberately sought to bait him or touched raw nerves by sheer chance. He strongly suspected the former, for Uffrigo possessed a certain feline quality of playful cruelty. Irritating, but unimportant. In any event, a Faerlonnishman among the Taerleezi conquerors could hardly afford to take offense.

"The Orezzians are a warmhearted folk, devoid of prejudice, I'm told. They'll accept her without reservation," Uffrigo suggested.

Despite her father's infamy, he meant.

"Her countless delightful qualities are certain to purchase the child the warmest possible welcome," the governor continued cordially.

The massive dowry that she brings buys a measure of their tolerance.

"And she'll soon accustom herself to the unfamiliar habits and manners of her new family."

She'll always be an outsider in an Orezzian household.

"For all of that, my dear fellow, I daresay you will miss her?" the governor probed.

The fresh wave of anger that swept the Magnifico Aureste's mind was not easily mastered. This Taerleezi viper's interest in Jianna was a profanation of something immaculate. Across his mind flashed the image of a dagger slicing the offensive tongue from the governor's mouth. A pleasing concept. Face and voice were perfectly controlled as he replied with a light shrug, "It is not as if I had lost a son." Before the other could reply, he added, "Governor, I believe the festivities commence."

An open wagon flanked by mounted guards had reached the foot of the scaffold. Its passengers included a quartet of battered prisoners, their bruises black in the sunlight, their rags stirring in the hard breeze. One of the four doomed faces was known to the Magnifico Aureste. Without surprise he recognized the fugitive he had handed over to the Taerleezi authorities some weeks earlier. Faint satisfaction tingled across his mind.

The prisoners were conveyed from the wagon to the scaffold. The list of their crimes was read aloud-all four were convicted saboteurs, members of the resistance-and the executioner went to work.

Perhaps he might have been called an artist; a highly accomplished craftsman at the very least. The dexterity with which he divested each prisoner of hands, feet, and genitalia prior to the final decapitating stroke was wonderful to behold. Yet the Magnifico Aureste took little pleasure in the spectacle, which struck him as unattractive and uselessly prolonged. The offending parties were to be eliminated-an excellent objective. The bloody preliminaries were so much pointless embellishment.

The majority of spectators appeared not to share his sentiments. The acclamation greeting each precise stroke of the headsman's ax rang through the Plaza of Proclamation. The screaming voices offended his ears, seemed somehow even to offend his nose; the very atmosphere lay rank and heavy in his lungs.

Aureste drew a deep breath, and his nostrils twitched. An acrid reek all too perceptibly rode the breeze. Smoke, and plenty of it, tinged with the scent of charred meat. He looked up from the plaza to behold dark clouds of the stuff sweeping in from the east, and knew the source at once. In the slums known as the Spidery, great bonfires had been kindled to consume the victims of the plague. So swift had been the recent spread of the pestilence, and so luxuriant the proliferation of corpses, that the public pyres now blazed no less often than thrice weekly. Ordinarily the smoke drifted out to sea, but today the fickle breeze carried it straight to the Plaza of Proclamation.

His throat tickled. His lungs drank the airborne remnants of the nameless dead. Aureste coughed discreetly and wished himself far away.

"Note the power and precision. He is an artist as promised." Governor Uffrigo's soulful rapt gaze never strayed from the scaffold.