Retribution (13 page)

B
efore I had time to catch
my breath, footsteps came running down the hall, the door was
thrown wide. I nearly leapt out of bed in fright.

“Mama!” Jana shouted, wild-eyed and tearful.
“Mama, Niall went away! He wasn’t at dinner, and his horse isn’t in
the stable!” She came to a stop beside the bed, feet planted, arms
akimbo, awaiting my explanation.

At least she hadn’t shared my awful vision.
“Niall’s not really gone,” I said, taking the first step on the
long, tortuous road of parental lies. “He’ll come back.”
What if
he changed his mind?
No need to upset Jana before being
sure.

Jana stared at my face in its mask of terror.
It didn’t take a gifted genius to know something was seriously
wrong. “But where did he go?”

“He’s visiting his mother and father,” I
said. Jana would most readily accept a plausible, familiar
destination. “They haven’t seen him since last summer. Think how
much they must miss him.”

“But he didn’t say good-by.” There was that
tearful sound in her voice I had hoped never to hear again once we
were home.

“Good-by is forever,” I said, hating myself.
“He’d only say good-by if he wasn’t planning to come back. You’ll
see. He’ll be back before harvest season is over, just time enough
to have a decent visit with his family.”

Jana scowled, her fierce little hawk-like
face resembling Dominic’s more than ever, tears of sorrow replaced
by possessive anger. “Niall is Papa’s companion. He’s part of
our
family.” She would have gone after Niall herself,
brought him back by force, if it were within her power.

There was a welcome interruption. Isobel, Val
tugging eagerly on her hand, strode through the open door with
something of her old purposefulness. Magali’s retelling of my story
had begun to have an effect. “Forgive me, Lady Amalie, if I’ve
disturbed you,” Isobel said in her warm highland burr, “but the
young lord’s been asking and asking for you, and I thought it would
calm him—”

“Very wise,” I said.

Val tore his hand out of Isobel’s and ran to
the bed. He shouldered his big and dangerous sister aside manfully,
climbed up and claimed his rightful place in my lap. “You can read
to me now,” he said as he settled in, a potentate conferring a
great favor.

“If your mama is well enough,” Isobel
said.

At my assurance that Val’s plan was
agreeable, Isobel squared up to an unavoidable confrontation. “My
lady, I– I want to say that I’m thankful for what you did for us,
for me and Katrina, and I can guess some of what you’ve been
through. It shouldn’t have taken Magali’s scolding to make me say
it.” She looked at me, hoping I could read her thoughts and that I
knew my lines to play out the rest of the scene.

Apologizing to Isobel was easy. I wasn’t even
sure if she heard my short speech, although she seemed to accept it
graciously. After the first embarrassment on both sides had passed,
Isobel took on a distracted air, a strange smile on her face that
transformed her strong features into an ethereal mask. “I saw how
you tried to protect Val when we were ambushed,” I said in
conclusion, “and how you were injured. Margrave Aranyi and I won’t
forget such loyalty.”

Isobel flushed. “You mustn’t let it worry
you,” she said. “It’s easier for widows. Nobody will shame me with
it.”

Like Magali, Isobel seemed fixated on the
idea of rape. It was as if she had heard the word “insulted” in
place of “injured.” “No,” I said, “I meant the fracture.” I pointed
to Isobel’s wrist that had been broken when she attempted to
prevent Reynaldo from taking Val.

Isobel merely nodded and held out her healed
arm as if she had forgotten all about it. “Oh, my lady, that’s all
right. Naomi mended it as soon as we got back.” She dared to meet
my eyes, confidence returning to her husky voice as she prepared to
ask a favor. “Magali said you offered to heal Pav—” she shut her
lips on the name. “The wounded guard. Naomi’s still sleeping, and
he’s in pain.”

Now I saw the truth. Isobel, widowed for more
than seven years, had succumbed to the pretty face and appealing
vulnerability of the wounded man. She must be ten years older than
the young guard; I hoped he would return her affections when he was
in more of a position to choose.

“What is his name—Pavel?” I asked, picking it
out easily from the forefront of her worried thoughts. “Of course I
will help him.” That was a rash promise, I realized, unable to so
much as unsheathe my dagger after my recent fright. “It’s just that
my gift, as you saw, has been distorted by– by everything.” I tried
to think of something useful to offer instead. “Maybe I can make up
an herbal drink.”

Isobel shook her head and held up a hand.
“No, my lady. The cook already did that. Naomi showed her what to
use.” Nobody liked the thought of me in the kitchen with its open
fireplaces and utensils that seem equally suitable for the dungeon.
“He’s comfortable for now. But if you should feel better tomorrow…”
Isobel left the plea unfinished.

She had taken a great chance admitting this
attachment to an Ormonde man, having sworn, when she accepted the
position here, not to marry anyone who would take her from Aranyi
until the children were old enough to do without a nursemaid. But I
had not expected her to remain celibate, and she had said nothing
now of marriage. Besides, at the time, I had assumed I would have
only the one child. Technically, the term for Isobel’s promise
could be said to have expired over six months ago, when Jana turned
five.

I agreed to check on the guard in the morning
and Isobel left in a happier mood.

Jana had joined her brother on the bed during
the course of the conversation, leaning against me in the crook of
my arm. I had dreamed of a moment like this when we were held
captive, at peace with my two children at my side, but I knew it
wouldn’t last. In a minute or less there would be pushing and
shoving, name-calling and, probably, tears. “Story time,” I said,
acting on Val’s suggestion. I should have declared the date a minor
holiday, the one time that both Jana and Val agreed on
something.

I let Jana choose the book. For all her
physicality she was becoming a good reader. Like most ‘Graven
girls, she would receive no formal education other than seminary
training for her gift. She must learn to manage a household in time
for her arranged marriage, and literacy beyond the level of
overseeing the domestic accounts was unnecessary. But my children
could not avoid exposure to reading and writing. I had read stories
to them from the moment they could listen to the words, and Jana
had learned the alphabet by following along. She had recently
reached the exciting stage where the words were coming together for
her—a form of magic she didn’t need
crypta
to practice.

What with Dominic’s extensive collection and
eclectic tastes, and the off-world imports he allowed me, Aranyi
Fortress had a wider assortment of reading material than most
houses. The printers in Eclipsia City even published a few
children’s books for the sons of ‘Graven and gentry families.

Val, of course, was too young to read by
himself, but all written words pleased him—too much sometimes.
There were some stories he could happily have heard a hundred times
at one sitting.

Jana found what she wanted and clambered back
up beside me. I looked unhappily at the cover.
Andres the
Bastard
was a classic Eclipsian fable involving a dark-haired
hero who, after a series of violent picaresque adventures,
discovers that he is gifted, that his father was ‘Graven and that
he is the heir to a mythical realm. The book had been Dominic’s
when he was a boy. Now it was one of Jana’s favorites. She
identified with the hero’s original disinherited status and was
thrilled each time she read of his eventual installation as lord of
his own land. It was not the sort of story I was in the mood for,
nor did I think it a perfect choice after our all too real
experiences.

“Let’s read something else,” I said. “Maybe
something in Terran for a change.” Jana found most of the Terran
stories we could get rather dull, but at least they were edited for
inappropriate violence.

“No,” Jana said. “I like this one.” Sensing
that I was resisting, she opened the book to the beginning and
began reading it aloud, more from memory than by recognizing the
words. “ ‘Andres was a bastard. His mother was dead and he had no
father. He lived in the forest with his uncle and aunt.’ ”

“What’s a bastard?” Val asked.

Jana glared at her brother. “Shut up,” she
said. “You’re too little to understand.”

“No, I’m not!” Val yelled. “What’s a
bastard?” He would keep it up, of course, until he got an
answer.

“Someone whose mother isn’t married,” I said,
trying to keep it simple.

“Oh,” Val said. He made one of his
frighteningly precocious leaps of logic, remembering a recent
example. “Struan. Struan’s a bastard.” He smiled up at me,
expecting the usual praise for his brilliance.

At the mention of her half-brother’s name
Jana went wild, slamming the book shut and raising it like a battle
ax to smash on Val’s head, then flailing her arms when I blocked
her attack. I had been ready for her this time, keeping Val safely
on my other side, holding Jana off with my free arm. It wouldn’t be
long before she was too strong for me.

Balked from hitting, Jana had to content
herself with shouting. “Struan’s
natural-born!
” she
screamed. “
Natural-born!
Papa
acknowledged
him.” She
studied Val’s face to see if she was getting through, and thought
of a perfect contrast. “
Reynaldo’s
a bastard. His father was
only a bandit.”

Val was unfazed by Jana’s shouts so long as
he was not at risk physically. “Reynaldo’s a bastard,” he said.
“Reynaldo’s a bastard.”

Hearing the name was making me feel sick and
uneasy. “Hush, both of you,” I said with unusual force, bringing
instant obedience. “It’s better not to speak of him like that.
After Papa and I have finished our revenge we won’t ever have to
speak of him or even think of him again.”

Jana understood more than my words. “That’s
why you call him ‘shithead,’ ” she said.

“Reynaldo’s a shithead,” Val said.
“Reynaldo’s a shithead.” He stopped, confused. “What’s a
shithead?”

I groaned. “That’s a word that nobody should
use. Nobody.” I looked sternly from Jana to Val. “Do you
understand?”

“You use it,” Jana said. “I heard you, when—”
She didn’t know how to say it, had no words for the night when I
showed a side of me no one had ever seen before.

“When I was angry and upset,” I said. “Yes.
But I was wrong. I did things that night that were wrong. That’s
why I’ve had to apologize to Magali and to Isobel, and I’ll have to
ask everybody in the house to forgive me.” I was speaking to Jana.
For this abomination, Val really was too young to understand.

“Why?” Val asked. “Why can’t I say
shithead?”

“Because,” I said, wishing there was a better
answer to give than “it’s just wrong” or “because I say so.” The
little statue of me and Jana gave me an idea. “Because words like
that are an offense to the gods.”

Miraculously, this meaningless answer worked.
The children were silenced, awed by the power of the supernatural.
I retrieved the book from the foot of the bed, decided reading it
was better than letting the children continue their own
discussions. “ ‘One day, when Andres was fifteen, a mysterious
visitor came to the house. He was a tall man with green eyes, and
he brought Andres a dagger of forged steel with a piece of cut
glass on the handle.’ ” If it comforted my daughter to hear the
familiar tale, why should I object to it?

The book was long for a children’s story, in
chapters, and with only a few illustrations. Halfway through,
Isobel came as promised to fetch Val away for his bath. He went
willingly; I suspected Val was never going to develop Jana’s
emotional attachment to
Andres
.

As I continued reading, I remembered an
upcoming scene in which Andres encounters brigands assaulting a
lady on a lonely trail. Once again I was reminded too closely of
recent events and tried to avoid the episode, but Jana caught me.
“No, Mama,” she said. “You skipped it. Andres rescues the girl.”
Her voice rose with excitement. “He rescues her, just like Papa and
Niall rescued us!”

She reached to turn back the page I had
deliberately bypassed. There was an illustration of a blandly
pretty girl, red-haired and silver-eyed, obviously ‘Gravina,
struggling in the arms of a swaggering, mustachioed attacker. Jana
looked at the picture then studied the text. “What does ‘defile’
mean?” she asked. Until now she had accepted the unfamiliar word
and the sordid scene as just another one of Andres’ many
adventures.

There was no escape. “Literally,” I said,
mealy-mouthed, “it means to make someone dirty. But here it means
to rape, a man forcing a woman to have sex with him.” Dominic had
always insisted that we never lie to the children about these
things.
And if I did lie, she’d probably ask Dominic later
anyway
.

“Oh,” Jana said, “I know about that. That’s
what people do when they make babies. I’m never going to have
babies.”

“Jana,” I said, “rape is not the same as
making love. After all, Papa and I had two babies, you and Val. And
you know Papa doesn’t rape me, or anybody.”
Until the shithead
entered our lives and changed everything
.

Jana shook her head, bewildered and scared,
sudden tears squeezing out of her eyes. “But you told me. You said
that people do that to make babies, the way animals do. You said
the man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina. I’m never going to
let a man do that. I’m not going to have babies.”