The Golden Key (103 page)

Leilias—for once the good Grijalva girl—departed immediately to obey. Zevierin held back from offering Mequel any assistance; the Lord Limner acknowledged his tact with a wry smile as he took the younger man’s arm.

“She
is
a good lady, make no mistake in it,” Mequel murmured as they slowly descended the stairs. “You are fortunate, both as a Limner and as a man.”

“I know,” Zevierin said softly.

“A piece of advice, Frato meyo. Never think of the years remaining to you. They do not yet exist. And may never exist—after
all, crossing a busy avenida can be fatal. You have this day, and you have her love.”

“I—I understand, Lord Limner.”

“Eiha, understand this, too—that the children she gives you are indeed her gifts to
you.
Any moronno can sire a child. It requires a true man to be a father.”

By the time they reached the ground floor, Leilias was ready for them. She led them to a small antechamber, poured wine, made sure Mequel’s chair was well-pillowed, and sat down with every evident intent of staying. Although Limner concerns were the concern of no woman, not even a Grijalva woman, this directly involved Mechella.

“So,” Mequel said. “Were I reporting to the Grand Duke, I would summarize as follows. We have a painting of Corasson with more—and more vicious—magic than I have ever seen. We have a new paintbrush on the floor, crushed, the bristles burned. We have the dead body of Premio Frato Dioniso and the living body of the Countess do’Alva. And we have no sign of Rafeyo anywhere.”

“Not a pleasant sum, no matter how one adds it,” Leilias murmured.

“First,” Mequel continued after a sip of wine, “and at once most and least important, the Countess. She is found in a place forbidden to women, on the one night of the year when the Palasso is utterly deserted. Her presence is unimportant to the painting and to the corpse. But she is vital in one respect: she was found by a Limner who followed her here, and in this way we discovered all.” He smiled slightly at Leilias. “I think we shall conveniently forget your part in this, if you don’t mind too much. I’d like to avoid the tedious inquiries that must follow any breach of our little masculine sanctuary.”

“I was never here,” she agreed. “After I told Zevierin to follow Tazia, I was separated from him in the crowds.”

“’Cordo. So Tazia is observed dragging Dioniso’s body. For all we know, she intended shoving him down the nearest middens shaft. This is an ancient part of the Palasso and the primitive plumbing is still accessible. But we can be fairly sure she was taking him to his bed, where he would be discovered tomorrow as if he’d died there. Plausible, at his age.” He paused for more wine. “However, we know he did not die in his bed. We know almost certainly
why
he died. He learned what Rafeyo was up to. We also know
how
he died.”

“His
Peintraddo Chieva
,” Zevierin said, nodding. “It’s not in the
Crechetta, it’s not in Rafeyo’s atelierro, or Dioniso’s. It’s not anywhere we’ve thought to look.”

“Did Rafeyo take it with him when he fled?”

“Probably.” Mequel shrugged. “I don’t much care. Possibly we may find an empty frame somewhere with the canvas rudely sliced out of it. I don’t know. What interests me is why he had it in the first place.”

Zevierin sat forward, elbows on his knees. “It would mean he knew its uses long before he should have known. It also means—”

“—that he deliberately lured Dioniso to his atelierro to kill him!” Leilias exclaimed.

“It appears so,” said Mequel. “I’d like to know how Rafeyo got the
Chieva
out of the Crechetta, for none but senior Fratos would have the key. But considering all else I’m not surprised he accomplished it. A clever young man, this Rafeyo.” He sighed. “Tazia’s son.”

“He did it all on purpose,” Leilias breathed, awed and horrified in equal measure. “The same night he burned Corasson with the painting, he’d kill the Premio who taught him such things—so not just the evidence of the crime but the only witness to his knowledge would be gone!”

Mequel cocked an eyebrow at Zevierin. “Does Mechella
also
know everything about us? Eiha, don’t answer. I’d rather she knew. Safer that way. Don’t look so worried, Zevierin. There’ll be no inquiry. A Lord Limner must be practical, which, on occasion, means forgetful.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” was Zevierin’s humble reply.

“En verro, our secrets seem not so secret anymore, with Dioniso revealing so much to Rafeyo. And who knows what Rafeyo told Tazia?”

Mequel sighed. “The point is that Leilias is right, and the murder was no crime of sudden desperation, but of careful planning.”

“He certainly planned what he’d do to Corasson!” Leilias rose to pour more wine for the men. “But did he know its effect on
him
?”

“Perhaps he thought only to start a few small fires at Corasson and let them progress on their own. Accidents of that kind happen frequently at Sancterria celebrations, with all those torches everywhere. Grazzo, mennina,” he said as she filled his glass.

“But he hates Mechella,” she told him. “He wouldn’t want just
to singe a few trees, he’d want to burn Corasson to the ground with her in it.”

“He wants my place,” Mequel said flatly. “Would his loathing for Mechella be stronger than his ambition? Perhaps he thought that only a
Peintraddo Chieva
could harm him, and because his is not yet painted, he is safe.”

“He
is
safe,” Zevierin said gloomily. “His paintbox is gone, and there’s a pile of sketches soaking in the sink down the hall from his atelierro.”

“So we are helpless to punish him,” Mequel rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Eiha, whatever he knows or doesn’t know, believes or doesn’t believe about magic, one thing is certain. Dioniso must have wanted very badly to be hailed as the man who educated the next Lord Limner.”

“An ambition that was his death,” Zevierin said.

“You could use the painting of Corasson,” Leilias suggested. “What’s done to it would happen there, but we’d know in advance—”

“—and be ready with buckets?” Mequel shook his head. “The painting is of a particular night—
this
night, with the moon and stars all in specific positions. We’d have to wait another year to use it. But you remind me that I want that painting kept safe so Rafeyo will never get at it again.”

“Or Tazia.” Leilias grimaced. “She’d burn it to ashes even if the agony killed her own son. Personally, I’d like to put it in Galerria Verrada, where Arrigo will have to look at it every time he walks through. But we’d better take it with us to Corasson.”

“Arrigo!” Zevierin almost choked on his wine. “I’d forgotten all about him! Do you think he knows anything about this?”

“Or
everything
,” Leilias added darkly.

“I prefer to believe he does not,” Mequel said slowly. “And I prefer to discover nothing that would convince me otherwise. He will be the next Grand Duke no matter his guilt or innocence.”

Leilias’s spine became a ramrod. “But if he knew—”

Her husband shook his head. “As many grudges as he has against Mechella, he would never wish her harmed.”

“How do you know?” she countered bitterly. “Have you forgotten what happened at that village near Dregez? It could have been his doing—to make himself out the hero to the people!”

“Something else that will not be investigated,” Mequel said firmly. “There’s a great deal of wisdom in the saying ‘Pluvio en laggo,’ you know.”

“That water may be in the lake, Lord Limner, but it takes only a few drops to poison the whole!”

“Bassda, Leilias.”

“The practicality of the Lord Limner extends not just to forget-fulness but to blindness!” Leilias glared at both men.

“Sometimes it does,” Mequel agreed blandly. “The subject of Arrigo leads us back to the Countess do’Alva. Naturally, as a noblewoman she enjoys certain legal privileges. And there is nothing we can prove, in any case. As a Grijalva, however, there are ways of dealing with her.”

All Leilias’s resentment vanished in a gleeful smile. “Tell! I can’t wait!”

“Leave that to me.”

“And Rafeyo?” Zevierin put in quickly before his wife could protest.

“Leave him to me as well.” Mequel pushed himself painfully to his feet. “People will be coming back inside soon, and Leilias should not be seen here. Zevierin, help me upstairs. Tomorrow morning, when the tragic news that Premio Dioniso died in his sleep is revealed, try to act surprised.”

Leilias caught her breath. “You mean Rafeyo’s going to get away with this? That nobody will learn the truth? What about the Grand Duke?”

“Cossimio will know what is suitable for him to know, tailored to fit his understanding. This is a matter for Limners, Leilias. You must see that.”

“No, my Lord, I do not!”

Mequel’s mild eyes turned to black ice. “And what if it were to come out, and the law courts were involved, and everyone was forced to testify? Three things alone would sink us all: the threat to Corasson by magic, Dioniso’s death by magic, and the fathering of Mechella’s second son—which has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the stability of this country!”

Both young Grijalvas gaped at him. He snorted and thwacked the heel of his cane on the floorboards.

“The years have addled my joints, not my wits! Do you think I didn’t see through that little comedy Mechella played us at the Fuega Vesperra ball? Do you think Arrigo won’t bring that up in court, no matter if it paints him the fool? So what if he has no real proof? The people’s love for her might even survive it, but the mere suggestion of scandal would ruin the child—not only here but in
Ghillas, where royal bastards are utterly reviled! Tazia and her son will be punished, I promise you. But I will not have this nation further divided between Mechella’s partisans and Arrigo’s, and I will not destroy any chance of putting Don Renayo
Grijalva
on the throne of Ghillas!”

He coughed, and waved away Zevierin’s proffered wineglass. “No, no, I am only sickened by all this tragic folly, I’m in no danger of joining Dioniso. I will say one last thing, and then nothing more will ever be said about any of this. If it enters your minds to make this known, even with little rumors such as were painted in Granidia—” Mequel smiled grimly as they cast involuntary glances at each other. “—recall that I am Lord Limner and Premio Conselho of Tira Virte. As either, I have the power to ruin you. It is not a threat to regard lightly. I admire and value you both, but I assure you I will do the necessary—just as I have done the necessary for sixteen years to preserve the goodly order of this land. Zevierin, escort your wife back to your chambers. I have no need of you after all, I can find my own way to my bed. Dolcho nocto.”

“Arriano! You came!”

The young Limner slid into the dim attic room. “What are you doing here, Rafeyo? What is this place?” He sneezed. “Matra, it’s close as a wet wool blanket in here!”

“Are you alone? Did you tell anyone? Did anyone see you?” It was surprisingly easy to produce convincing panic; too easy. As Sario shut the door, he took several slow, steadying breaths. He must stay in control of himself. Everything depended on it.

“What do you take me for?” Arriano sounded hurt. “When a Limner—even if he’s still an estudo like you and me—sends a note Nommo Chieva do’Orro, you don’t even show anybody the envelope! Did you know that every Limner in Meya Suerta is looking for you? What’s all this about your killing Premio Dioniso?”

“I didn’t do it. I’m innocent.” It was true, in a manner of speaking. Rafeyo had not killed Dioniso. Sario had. “You have to believe me—Cabral and Zevierin did this, because of my mother—”

“Cabral’s at Corasson, and anyway he’s not a Limner. And do you seriously mean to paint Zevierin as a killer?”

“He’d do anything for Mechella, you know he would—even betray his oaths!
He
painted Corasson,
he
made it seem that I murdered Premio Dioniso—Matra ei Filho, I was Dioniso’s student,
just like you! I loved him, and now they’re saying I murdered him! You have to believe me—you have to help me!”

Arriano sat down on the single chair, folding his hands atop the table. “I do believe you. But why did you run away?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he challenged.

“Perhaps,” the younger man admitted grudgingly. “I have to tell you, Rafeyo, my advice is to return to the Palasso and let the Viehos Fratos handle this. They’ll find out if Zevierin is the guilty one. They always find out everything eventually.”

Bizarre to hear his own words quoted back at him. “Return? How do I know what lies Zevierin’s been telling about me? And his wife, Leilias—they’re Mechella’s creatures, I tell you, they—” He braced his fists on the table and hung his head. “Arriano, I have to leave Meya Suerta.”

“Are you mad? Here, drink some wine, calm your nerves.”

“I had some earlier—and threw up. You know I’ve no head for liquor.”

He could scarcely believe his luck as Arriano of his own volition tilted the open bottle over a dirty glass. “Eiha,
I
need a drink, even if you can’t stomach it.”

“I can’t return,” Sario repeated, counting off the seconds in his head. “It won’t be just the Fratos, it’ll be the Grand Duke looking into this. He worships Mechella, and Zevierin is her creature—Cossimio will never allow the truth to be revealed.”