Read Online The Traitor's Daughter by Paula Brandon - Free Book Online
Authors: Paula Brandon
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to recover.”
“No need, Aunt,” Jianna replied, red-faced with suppressed hilarity. “I’m well, truly. There’s nothing wrong with my womanly parts that a little fresh air won’t cure.” Raising the nearest window shade, she leaned her head out to draw deep drafts of autumn mist down into her lungs while allowing free play to her facial expressions. Presently the giggles subsided and she took stock of her surroundings. The rutted road, still firm at this time of the year, wound through a jaggedly hilled, heavily treed wilderness that displayed no sign of human habitation. Sodden brown drifts of dead leaves sprawled over the ground, and countless bare branches arched black against a somber sky.
Gloomy. Desolate. Drab. Hard to believe that Vitrisi, with all its life and color, lay but a day and a half behind her. Home, along with everything dear and familiar, seemed infinitely distant. Orezzia, with its promise of vast change, was as yet unreal. There she would soon be a wife, unquestionably an adult, with a new name and a new life. She would no longer be Jianna Belandor, daughter of the Magnifico Aureste, but Jianna Tribari, wife of a noble Orezzian family’s oldest son and heir. There would be a great household of which she would one day be mistress. There would be a husband, family, retainers, husband, Sishmindri, visitors, husband, hangers-on, husband, fresh surroundings, strange ways, husband … a prospect at once alarming and alluring. Marriage, of course, was designed to unite great Houses, great fortunes, great political factions. The personal preferences of the participants, particularly the bride, counted for next to nothing. In most cases. But the daughter of Aureste Belandor was special. For her, things would be different.
Her happiness meant everything to her father. He had chosen carefully for her, and his judgment could be trusted. He had promised her contentment and she expected no less. With any luck, however, there could be more than that. Practical reality notwithstanding, there was such a thing as love in the world; even, occasionally, between husband and wife. Perhaps she would be one of fortune’s rare favorites. Perhaps the betrothed awaiting her in Orezzia would be someone wonderful. She would not make the mistake of spinning romantic dreams; she was not that foolish. And yet wedded happiness was no impossibility, not for her; she was, after all, the daughter of the Magnifico Aureste.
Jianna strained her vision as if expecting the face of her future to take shape out of the fog, but saw nothing beyond hills, trees, and the dark forms of the six mounted bodyguards surrounding the carriage. It never occurred to her to hail the guards. They never had anything to say beyond Yes, maidenlady; No, maidenlady; According to the magnifico’s commands, maidenlady . Really, they weren’t much better than Sishmindris. After a while the scene palled and she leaned back in her seat.
She must have daydreamed longer than she knew, for Aunt Flonoria had fallen asleep, her substantial form lax against the cushions. But Reeni was wide awake, busy fingers embroidering a fanciful letter J in gold thread upon one of her mistress’ handkerchiefs.
“Put that aside,” Jianna commanded in a low tone respectful of her aunt’s slumbers.
Reeni complied at once. Her look of guarded attentiveness suggested uneasiness, perhaps expectation of a well-deserved rebuke.
“I want to speak to you.”
“Yes, maidenlady.”
“I want to ask you—” Jianna paused uncomfortably.
“Yes, maidenlady?”
“Do any of your friends—the girls of your own class and age—do they ever talk about being married?”
“All the time, maidenlady. Sometimes it seems they don’t talk of aught else.”
“Well, and what do they say?”
“Oh, it’s always who am I going to marry, and when am I going to marry, and how many children will I have, and how many of ’em will be sons , and I want to find a palm reader to tell
“No need, Aunt,” Jianna replied, red-faced with suppressed hilarity. “I’m well, truly. There’s nothing wrong with my womanly parts that a little fresh air won’t cure.” Raising the nearest window shade, she leaned her head out to draw deep drafts of autumn mist down into her lungs while allowing free play to her facial expressions. Presently the giggles subsided and she took stock of her surroundings. The rutted road, still firm at this time of the year, wound through a jaggedly hilled, heavily treed wilderness that displayed no sign of human habitation. Sodden brown drifts of dead leaves sprawled over the ground, and countless bare branches arched black against a somber sky.
Gloomy. Desolate. Drab. Hard to believe that Vitrisi, with all its life and color, lay but a day and a half behind her. Home, along with everything dear and familiar, seemed infinitely distant. Orezzia, with its promise of vast change, was as yet unreal. There she would soon be a wife, unquestionably an adult, with a new name and a new life. She would no longer be Jianna Belandor, daughter of the Magnifico Aureste, but Jianna Tribari, wife of a noble Orezzian family’s oldest son and heir. There would be a great household of which she would one day be mistress. There would be a husband, family, retainers, husband, Sishmindri, visitors, husband, hangers-on, husband, fresh surroundings, strange ways, husband … a prospect at once alarming and alluring. Marriage, of course, was designed to unite great Houses, great fortunes, great political factions. The personal preferences of the participants, particularly the bride, counted for next to nothing. In most cases. But the daughter of Aureste Belandor was special. For her, things would be different.
Her happiness meant everything to her father. He had chosen carefully for her, and his judgment could be trusted. He had promised her contentment and she expected no less. With any luck, however, there could be more than that. Practical reality notwithstanding, there was such a thing as love in the world; even, occasionally, between husband and wife. Perhaps she would be one of fortune’s rare favorites. Perhaps the betrothed awaiting her in Orezzia would be someone wonderful. She would not make the mistake of spinning romantic dreams; she was not that foolish. And yet wedded happiness was no impossibility, not for her; she was, after all, the daughter of the Magnifico Aureste.
Jianna strained her vision as if expecting the face of her future to take shape out of the fog, but saw nothing beyond hills, trees, and the dark forms of the six mounted bodyguards surrounding the carriage. It never occurred to her to hail the guards. They never had anything to say beyond Yes, maidenlady; No, maidenlady; According to the magnifico’s commands, maidenlady . Really, they weren’t much better than Sishmindris. After a while the scene palled and she leaned back in her seat.
She must have daydreamed longer than she knew, for Aunt Flonoria had fallen asleep, her substantial form lax against the cushions. But Reeni was wide awake, busy fingers embroidering a fanciful letter J in gold thread upon one of her mistress’ handkerchiefs.
“Put that aside,” Jianna commanded in a low tone respectful of her aunt’s slumbers.
Reeni complied at once. Her look of guarded attentiveness suggested uneasiness, perhaps expectation of a well-deserved rebuke.
“I want to speak to you.”
“Yes, maidenlady.”
“I want to ask you—” Jianna paused uncomfortably.
“Yes, maidenlady?”
“Do any of your friends—the girls of your own class and age—do they ever talk about being married?”
“All the time, maidenlady. Sometimes it seems they don’t talk of aught else.”
“Well, and what do they say?”
“Oh, it’s always who am I going to marry, and when am I going to marry, and how many children will I have, and how many of ’em will be sons , and I want to find a palm reader to tell
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