The Golden Key (104 page)

“No Grand Duke has ever … interfered with … with the Fratos. …”

“And the Ecclesia would love a chance to discredit the Grijalvas.”

“Eccles … no … won’t go … that far. …”

Sario paused. “Arriano?”

“Mmm?” he answered dreamily.

“Lift your right foot from the floor.”

It was done.

“Set it down again, tapping lightly three times.”

It was done.

“Grazzo do’Matra—ei do’Acuyib,” Sario whispered. Then, in a voice of gentle command, “Arriano, I mean you only good. I will make you Lord Limner.”

“But … Mequel …” Thick black brows quirked in a frown over a formidable Grijalva nose. None of Rafeyo’s handsomeness or charm, or that dazzling smile.
Regretto
, he sighed to himself.

“After Mequel dies, of course. You want to be Lord Limner, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes.” His face smoothed into an idiot’s grin.

“Everything I do will accomplish that. And you’ll help me, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you will.” Sario brought from under the table the array of paints he’d spent all day preparing. The portrait he would produce with Arriano’s saliva and sweat and blood would not be the finest. It didn’t matter. No one would ever see it except him. Not even its subject.

As he began the quiet chant that settled his mind, the ancient Tza’ab phrases rolling liquidly from his tongue, he allowed himself a final lamentation. Not for Arriano, but because Arriano was not Rafeyo. Vast talent, good looks, family connections, healthy lineage—none of his requirements was fulfilled in Arriano.

Except for the only requirement that now mattered. Arriano was
here.

  FIFTY-SIX  

Rafeyo
was never seen again.

His mother believed he still lived. Everyone else believed him dead. Lord Limner Mequel said nothing one way or the other, but allowed the Limners and Grand Duke Cossimio—and Don Arrigo—to assume Rafeyo dead by Mequel’s own magic, justice done for the murder of Premio Frato Dioniso. Frankly, Mequel didn’t even worry about Rafeyo, for whether he still lived or had truly died, he was ruined, helpless, and mercifully gone.

Of the painting of Corasson, nothing was said. It was taken by Zevierin and Leilias to the estate and presented to Mechella. She placed it in the very spot Rafeyo’s old drawing had occupied. If admirers asked the name of the talented Limner, she replied that it had been an anonymous gift. She never knew what it had been meant to accomplish. She never learned that when the roof was retiled that summer, some of the old tiles were found to be singed brittle and black. Cabral, Leilias, and Zevierin considered such knowledge dangerous to her peace. They would protect her, and when Zevierin grew swiftly old, as Limners inevitably did, they would find another young and loyal Limner to take his place. With luck, one of Leilias’ sons would have the Grijalva Gift.

During a shattering private hour with his father’s Lord Limner, Arrigo learned that the Countess do’Alva had decided, with her husband’s consent and indeed his encouragement, to emulate Garlo’s middle son and enter a Sanctia. The place she chose was the wealthiest in Casteya, and in it she would devote herself to good works and religion. Her desire to do so was quite genuine, Mequel said amiably. Arrigo, too angry to notice that the expression in the Lord Limner’s eyes did not match his tone of voice, made threats. Having anticipated this, Mequel told him as much of the truth as Cossimio knew: Tazia and Rafeyo had conspired to use Grijalva magic against Mechella, and in pursuit of this goal Rafeyo had murdered Premio Dioniso. The Sanctia was Tazia’s refuge from punishment; death was Rafeyo’s. Arrigo, after a stunned instant in which Mequel read guilt in his eyes (and decided to be blind to it), began to protest: no real evidence, Tazia innocent of the murder, surely she had explained—

“Of course,” said Mequel, smooth as silk. “There is always an explanation. There is also—always—truth. Your particular truth, Arrigo, is that you will never see Tazia again. You will be a good and dutiful son to your father, a generous and thoughtful husband to your wife, and a loving and devoted father to your three children. How you populate your bed is your own business, except for two other truths. You will father no child, and you will bed no Grijalva. These are your truths, Arrigo. Always.”

Serenissa Grijalva, hearing strange rumors in the women’s quarters of the Palasso, proved herself more wise than ambitious by marrying the son of the Niapalese wine merchant who’d courted her in secret these two years. She went home with him that winter, bore five daughters as beautiful as she, and never looked on a do’Verrada male or set foot in Meya Suerta again.

Tazia remained at the Sanctia for a year and a half. She kept mostly to her cell, and had only one visitor: young Arriano Grijalva, who had been her son’s friend. He came to the Sanctia shortly before Fuega Vesperra in 1268. She died most unexpectedly in her sleep during Penitenssia that year, aged only forty-four. Her death, attributed to natural causes, went unnoticed by nearly everyone—though it greatly puzzled Mequel, whose painting had rendered her merely compliant.

Lissina, Baroness do’Dregez, died in 1286 at the colossal age of ninety-two, mourned by all. Her
Will
was powerfully binding, for Zevierin survived her, and at a solemn ceremony Grand Duke Alessio III invested his aunt Lizia’s daughter Riobira do’Casteya with the titles, styles, dignities, rights, and properties of Dregez. The Viehos Fratos were livid, and hid it badly. Zevierin ended up painting the official portrait.

The day after that ceremony was marked by the first time in history that commoners were admitted to Galerria Verrada—by prior application only, investigated and confirmed by the young man newly assigned to the task, and for only five hours in the afternoon. Still, it was a fine beginning, and from now on there would be monthly public days when anyone granted a ticket could view the most splendid treasures of Tira Virte.

That evening, the widowed Grand Duchess Mechella took a private tour. She was more often seen in Meya Suerta since Grand Duke Arrigo Ill’s death of heart failure two years earlier, in 1284; her son had redecorated her suite and it pleased her to use it on occasion. She stayed out of his political troubles, never having had a taste for such things, and did not in fact come to the capital very often.
But she would not have missed the Galerria’s first public day for worlds. After all, it had been her idea.

Mechella smiled to see one of her Casteyan orphans at the main desk. He rose and greeted her warmly.

“A tremendous success, Your Grace—though we had a close call with a draper’s little boy and one of Grand Duchess Gizella’s scent-pillars! Maesso Cabral, a pleasure to see you. May I summon a curatorrio to guide you around?”

“I think we can manage,” Mechella assured him, glancing playfully over her shoulder at Cabral. “Are you enjoying your new work, Iverrio?”

“Very much, Your Grace. It was kind of you to think of me.”

“Eiha, you’ve organized Casteya for Count Maldonno these ten years, I felt I ought to have the benefit of your skills and education for a while! Go along home if you like, you needn’t wait. I have a key.”

“Grazzo millio, Your Grace—my wife didn’t expect me until midnight, after all the fuss today! Did I tell you the paintings you lent for this first exhibition collect the largest crowds?”

“That’s nice to hear.” Taking Cabral’s arm, she moved into the Galerria, whispering to him, “If you dare tell me how many years it’s been since we first saw these paintings together, I’ll refuse to believe you.”

He gave her a wink. “If I dare tell you that you’re even lovelier now than you were then, will you believe that?”

Laughing, arm-in-arm they strolled the length of the Galerria, commenting now and then on the pictures.

“Do you know,” she said, “as often as I’ve seen all these, I think I still see something new in them each time.” With a sidelong glance of blue eyes, she added, “Eiha, I had a very good teacher, after all.”

“It’s gratifying,” Cabral said at last, “that you’ve forgotten none of what I taught you.”

“Amoro meyo, I learned things much more important from you than how to look at a painting. Oh, there’s Teressa’s
Birth!
Was she ever that little? And I still like your copy better than the original—who painted it? I don’t recall.”

“Dioniso Grijalva, Your Grace,” said a voice down the expanse of tiled floor, and both Mechella and Cabral gave a start. “Forgive me,” the man said, coming into the circle of light spilling from the lustrosso high overhead. “I am recently returned from Diettro Mareia, and have not seen the Galerria in some years. I regret interrupting your private tour.”

“Not at all, Embajadorro,” Mechella said, identifying his rank by the sapphire-blue badge on his sleeve—now that caps and feathers had gone out of fashion, Alessio had gifted his most important Grijalvas with his own personal sigil. “And thank you for reminding me it was Dioniso who painted my daughter’s
Birth.
It’s been a very long time.”

“He had a rather sad end,” the Limner went on, fingering the Chieva do’Orro at his breast.

“Sad?” Cabral slanted a look at him that Mechella didn’t understand. “He died in his sleep, didn’t he?”

“Oh, of course. I’ve confused him with someone else.” He gave a little shrug of apology. “I see that Your Grace has lent the Galerria
The First Mistress.
She’s not been seen in here for many long years. It’s said she fascinates all who look upon her—much like Your Grace,” he added with a smile and the archaic lips-and-heart salute.

“Eiha, the Grijalva charm!” Mechella laughed. “I’m only a woman.
Saavedra
is a masterpiece. We were just about to visit her. Will you join us?”

They progressed to the far end of the Galerria, where Saavedra stood at her table with the huge book open before her, long fingers reaching to adjust the lamp. After a few moments’ silent contemplation, Mechella sighed.

“Now, hers
was
a sad end, I should think. Even though nobody knows what really happened to her.”

“An odd painting in some ways,” Cabral said. “The pose is somewhat awkward, and the things chosen to surround her—especially that book open on the table—are much out of the ordinary. But I don’t wonder everyone’s fascinated by her. Such poignant beauty, painted so sensitively.”

“You know,” Mechella mused, “I fancy there’s a smile beginning on her lips. It’s only a feeling, but—as if she’s just read something in that book that pleases her.”

The Grijalva nodded. “I understand, Your Grace. Lord Limner Sario’s genius was such that anyone he painted seemed alive within the frame.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly!” Mechella exclaimed. “Every line, every shadow is perfection. He was truly brilliant.”

“I am certain such praise from Your Grace would be profoundly gratifying to Sario,” Sario said.

That woman
, the bane of his recent existence, had not been content to meddle with the do’ Verrada family politics. No, she must go and give birth to a son who had no taste but for the display of his own wealth and who, together with his vulgar bride, felt impelled to remodel Palasso Verrada with the most ill-chosen fashions.