The Golden Key (66 page)

“No
hope for it,” said Grand Duke Cossimio to Lord Limner Mequel across the vast conference table. “It’ll have to be Arrigo.”

The Grijalva frowned. “Your Grace, with respect—”

“Yes, yes,” Cossimio interrupted. “Just married, wife pregnant, new life, and so on. But I can’t go myself, none of the Courtfolk will do, and I can’t send just a Grijalva, he wouldn’t have the necessary access. Arrigo can take the Limner to all but the private discussions. Besides, it’ll be good experience for the boy. I won’t live forever, you know.”

“Nor I,” Mequel mused, “and my time will end much sooner than yours. So I suggest that a few of our most promising young painters accompany Don Arrigo to Diettro Mareia. It will be good experience for them, too.”

The Grand Duke harrumphed. “’Quellito, you know how I hate to be reminded that you won’t always be around to rely on.”

“We’ve done good work together,” the Lord Limner said with a smile. “This Ghillasian marriage, averting trouble with Taglis and Friesemark—”

“Not to mention that fool nephew of do’Brendizia’s,” Cossimio added, frowning. “Did we ever catch any of his confederates?”

“A few. They were dealt with. Nothing for you to bother about.”

“Call up the Corteis—what stupidity! Legislate everything from taxes to treaties! Haven’t we done well by the people, Mequel? Haven’t we kept them at peace? Given them prosperity? What more do they want?”

“It seems that the very conditions we created have birthed ingratitude.”

“Eiha, a man who works all the day to feed his family has no time or energy for politics.”

“Precisely, Your Grace. But one who is well-fed, warmly clothed, with a stout floor underfoot and a snug roof overhead—”

“Make them rich and they start thinking up ways to get richer,” Cossimio concluded in disgust.

“Yet I doubt they’d risk that wealth—or their snug roofs—in
pursuit of electing a Corteis. They’ll spend a nobleman’s money sooner than their own. The Brendizia boy’s inheritance vanished that way, you know.”

“No, I hadn’t known. Moronno! Keep an eye on the younger generation, Mequel. It’s not just money but influence and leadership they want. No Tira Virteian worth the salt in his soup would follow some merchant even a single step.” Decisively stacking documents, he added, “I’ll tell Arrigo this evening that he’s off to Diettro Mareia. You choose a few Limners to go with him, and a competent one to do the paintings.”

“I’d been wondering about that,” Mequel confessed. “Not who to send, for I’ve a few ideas, but what ought to be painted.”

“If Arrigo succeeds, then only the usual interiors, I think, for keeping an eye on our dear Principio Felisso. If he hashes it, we may need something more elaborate.”

With quiet casualness, Mequel said, “The Principio is a devoutly religious man.”

Cossimio’s dark eyes sparked with interest. “That’s right, he is. After I sent that icon, he shipped me fifty cases of his best wines. An icon that didn’t quite do what I intended,” he reminded Mequel irritably. “Or we wouldn’t be in this position now.”

“Granted. But Pedranno was at the end of his life and his powers, and perhaps did not work with all the skill that made him Lord Limner to begin with.”

The Grand Duke frowned. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That you’re getting old and won’t be able to work anymore?”

“It has crossed my mind. With Pedranno’s example preceding me …”

“You’re only forty-two!”

“He was but a year older when he painted the icon.”

“I won’t hear of it. You’re stronger than ever, ‘Quellito.”

“Your confidence honors me, Cossi,” he said softly. “But soon—oh, not this year or even next—but
soon
, my powers will begin to fade. When they do, I’ll tell you. Long before that I’ll have a new Lord Limner for you.”

“I won’t allow you to retire,” the Grand Duke warned. “And I won’t touch your damned portrait or allow
you
to touch it either! Don’t you ever ask me to stick pins in your picture or whatever it was my deplorable ancestor the first Cossimio did to kill Lord Limner Timius.”

“He did so at Timius’ request, as a favor. The Lord Limner was terrified of growing old and feeble.”

“
I
say it was murder!”

“A merciful death, by the hand of a friend.”

Cossimio scowled horribly, thick black eyebrows nearly hiding his eyes. “Mequel, you know how well I love you. I hope you love me as much. But I still say it was murder, and I won’t hear any more about it—or do anything like it for you!”

“En verro, I will never ask of you what Timius asked of his Cossimio. But times were different then. …” He trailed off, then shook himself. “This question of the Diettro Mareian pictures is as yet unresolved. I like the idea of another icon, something the Principio will live with constantly, pray before on his knees at night in his own bedchamber.”

“Keeping faith with us as well as with the Faith,” Cossimio said, nodding. “Be careful, though. I think his wife has her suspicions. Remember when her uncle connived with the Tza’ab?” He grinned suddenly, white teeth bright between mustache and beard. “One of your better efforts, amico meyo! Painting the old boy ulcerated with the symptoms of sifilisso until he owned up to our Embajadorro, and then a miraculous ‘cure’!”

“We can’t use the same sort of technique on the Principio, then. His wife would note the similarities. Pity.”

Cossimio thought it over, then nodded. “A
Peintraddo Sonho.
For a religious man that would do very well. See to it, Mequel.” Rising, he placed documents in an iron-bound coffer and locked it. “I’m off to pry my son out of his wife’s bed. I must admit, Arrigo is a damned fortunate man. She’s a charming girl, and staggeringly beautiful—when she’s not green with morning sickness. Any word on how Tazia’s taking it?”

“She continues in Casteya at the do’Alva estate, silent. I can make enquiries if you like.”

“No, no. Let the woman have her dignity—and her rich new husband! Arrigo seems to have forgotten all about her. I recall being just as callous about Lissina when first I wed ‘Zella.”

Mequel smiled. “Not callous. Merely in love.”

“Still am!” The Grand Duke laughed. “Arrigo looks to be repeating my good fortune. It would please me if Mechella and Tazia could become friends, but that’s up to them, I suppose.
By the way, do you think we could use Mechella to sound out the wives and sisters of potential traitors in the nobility?”

“She was raised at a royal court, she must understand how to use social occasions for political purposes. But she shouldn’t be asked to work for us until after the baby is born, I think.”

Cossimio nodded vigorously. “Only then can we be truly certain of her. I’ll have no repetition of Duchess Elseva—loyal to the do’Elleons, her father’s spy for the first years of her marriage—dreadful woman.”

“The births of her sons changed her mind.”

“Exactly. Nothing like her own flesh as Heir to interest a mother in a country’s future. And speaking of futures, consider it a Grand Ducal Edict to live at least another twenty years.” He placed a large hand on Mequel’s shoulder. “I need you too much.”

The Lord Limner bowed his head submissively, a little smile playing around his lips. “I’ll try, Your Grace. But how will you punish me if I fail?”

“That’s not funny, ‘Quellito.”

Has Sario shared what he knows? Are any of the Viehos Fratos aware of what he can do? It would give such power to the Grijalvas, this mastery of true magic—the Serranos would be left in the dirt, Tira Virte would defeat anyone who dared challenge us—but he would be careful what he told, and they, knowing, even more careful of how it was used—Matra, such power—we Grijalvas could become Dukes if we chose
—

Eiha, not with our chi’patro blood. Not with the Ecclesials opposing us. They barely tolerate our existence. If we were to attempt anything political
—

He would never give up the deepest secrets. Never. And even if others knew, could any of them paint me from this prison
? Would
they, knowing I am here by Sario’s hand? How much do they fear him
?

Merciful Mother, You who bore a Child, who but You would dare have mercy on me
?

“
Must
you go?”

“My father needs me.” Arrigo didn’t add “
At long last!
”; it was not something he wished to admit to his bride of scarcely six
months. He went on sorting the clothes his servant had laid out for inspection, throwing rejects onto a chair. Uniform of the Shagarra Regiment, yes; uniform of the Sea Guards, no—the redoubtable sailors of Diettro Mareia would laugh themselves silly at Tira Virte’s pretensions to a navy. But the uniform reminded him of one reason why the journey must be undertaken now. “I hate leaving you, ‘Chella, but I have to get there and back before the sea becomes too rough.”

Eyes round with fear, Mechella clasped both hands beneath her chin. “The sea—oh, Arrigo, I hadn’t even thought—couldn’t you go overland?”

“And take five weeks about it—each way!—instead of only one?” He smiled over his shoulder at her. She curled in a deep chair, silk-and-lace bedrobe frothing around her body and framing her pale face. “Travel by sea is perfectly safe until the Nov’viva storms, and I’ll be home before that.”

“Home,” she said glumly, “to a bloated, hideous cow.”

He crossed to her and took her fisted hands in his, kissing each whitened knuckle. “Home to my beautiful, adorable wife.” Kneeling beside her, he pressed one hand to her belly. “I fancy I can feel him. He gets bigger and you get lovelier every day. By the time I get back, you’ll be so dazzling no one will look at you without—”

“—without wondering how anyone so fat can even walk!” Giggling, she leaned over to kiss him. They were in his half of their shared apartments, and tonight they would share his bed—passionately, for when he returned her pregnancy would be too far advanced for lovemaking. Her kisses began to kindle his desire for her, and once again he marveled that they had not spent a single night apart since their marriage. He’d never suspected he would become so besotted by this girl, so infatuated with her long body and her golden hair—so unlike Tazia! Suddenly he wondered what it would be like not to have Mechella beside him all those nights in beautiful, romantic Diettro Mareia. When this anticipated lack of her enflamed him further, he got reluctantly to his feet, for he must finish the packing.

“Promise you’ll be sweet to me, Arrigo, when I look like a cow about to have twins.”

“Even if it looks like triplets,” he teased, and she laughed again. “The last person who called me ‘sweet’ was my mother, when I was about five years old.”

“Oh, but you look just like a little boy in the mornings, with your hair all rumply and your eyes all soft with sleep.”

“With not
enough
sleep! And whose fault is that?”

“I can’t help it that I love you so much—” Her guileless blue eyes took on a sly glint. “—or that you’re such a wonderful lover. Whose fault is
that
?”

“Yours. You inspire me. Which do you think, the gray coat or the can?”

“The tan. It puts little gold sparkles in your eyes—or is that my fault, too?”

“Stop looking at me that way or I’ll never get this finished. And it all has to be ready by morning. I leave tomorrow night.”

The playful gleam vanished from her iris-blue eyes. “So soon? Oh, Arrigo!”

“There’ll be plenty for you to do. You won’t miss me too much.”

“I’ll miss you terribly! Don’t be angry with me, but it frightens me, being here without you. All these people—your mother has been so kind, and I’m very grateful, but without you here to guide me I’ll feel so alone!”

“Everyone loves you, ‘Chella. Remember what my father said? Just be yourself, and no one will be able to resist you.”

“But it won’t be the same as being at your side. What am I to do if they ignore me once you’re gone? I’m still so unsure about protocol, and manners. I pronounce things wrong no matter how hard try. What if I do something that’s not right?”

“Don’t work yourself into a state, carrida, it’s bad for the baby. You are Princess Mechella of Ghillas. No one will ignore you. And whatever you do
becomes
right.”