The Dark Knight (20 page)

She tapped the wineskin. “Pour us some wine, Sandor, and we will talk.”

Sandor uncorked the skin and filled both cups. He offered one to his grandmother.

With a merry glint in her black eyes, she took it and toasted him. “
Te xav to biav.
May I dance at your wedding.”

Sipping his wine, Sandor gave her a rueful look. “I have already performed that ceremony,
puridai.
”

Towla nodded. “With the one you were sent to kill.”

Sandor almost choked. “Did your cards tell you that?” he asked, pointing to the worn deck that she shuffled as she spoke.

Towla turned up the Lovers card and laid it on the blanket between them. “Aye, though it did not take any special skill to see the truth of the matter. You went north to execute a
gadji.
Three weeks later, you return married to a
gadji.
’Twas not much time to find
two
women in the north, methinks.”

She turned up the Hermit card and laid it across the Lovers. “Besides that, you went on a journey to find your inner self. Methinks you have done so.”

He nodded
. “I have found great happiness with Tonia,” he confessed.

Towla cocked her head. “Pretty name. It has a nice feel on the tongue.”

Sandor thought of the other places that Tonia felt nice and his cheeks warmed.

His grandmother chuckled. “I see she pleases you. That pleases me.” She tapped the deck, then spread the cards faceup on the blanket. “Do you know where these
tarocchi
came from?”

Sandor pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. “I was told that they were given to you by a very rich man.” He shrugged. He had heard a story something like that when he was much younger. To him, it meant little. Grandmother and her cards were one and the same to him.

Towla took another sip of wine. “A rich man.” She chuckled. “Aye, he was the Duke of Milan once, a very long time ago.” Her expression grew soft as her mind slipped into the distant past. “I was barely sixteen and quite beautiful, they said.”

Sandor agreed. Even though the decades had incised wrinkles in her skin, and years of living outdoors had roughened her complexion, the fine bones of Towla’s face still held the hint of her great beauty.

“I had been married to your grandfather when I was fourteen and had already borne him a son. But my body was young and supple. I danced for the duke and his court. He liked my dancing. I saw much coin at my feet, so I danced into the night for him.”

“He was a kind man,” she continued. “Tall, like you, with very broad shoulders, also like you.”

Sandor felt
an odd tickling sensation at the back of his neck. He put down his cup and leaned closer to catch every word of Towla’s story.

“His eyes were the deepest turquoise I had ever seen,” she mused with a smile. “And his hair was the color of honey. He was very handsome to look upon. And when I danced my last dance for him, he invited me to his inner apartments where we supped together.”

“And where was Grandfather?”

“He was also very young, and the thrill of wagering on the cards filled his head that night—that and a good deal of thick red wine. He thought I had returned to camp with the others.”

“But you stayed with the duke.”

Nodding, she resumed her tale. “I had never eaten such rich food. A pie of larks’ tongues, roasted venison in a wine sauce, plump olives and pastries made of nuts and honey.” She sighed at the remembrance. “I confess that my stomach was not used to such fine fare, and it gave me grief later, but ah! Such a feast!”

Sandor moistened his lips. “And then?” Did she, a married woman, actually bed with a
gadjo?

Towla skimmed her fingers over the cards. “Then he opened his chest and took out these. Take one, Sandor.” She gave him the Fool card. “Even after all these years, they still feel magnificent.”

Sandor gingerly picked up the Fool and ran his finger along the still-gilt edge. Towla had never before allowed anyone touch her cards, saying that the good luck would rub off.

She smiled. “Real vellum and painted with rare inks made from powdered jewels, methinks. The colors have not faded over time.”

Sandor replaced
the Fool with the others. “And so you told the duke’s fortune?”

“Aye, though not all of it.” Towla sighed. “I saw his death from the plague in the coming year, but I could not tell him that. Why make such a kind man sad? I told him only the good things in the cards. He would learn the bad in time.” Her voice trailed away.

Though he was itching to know what happened next, Sandor sipped his wine and said nothing. Good manners dictated his silence. His grandmother would resume her story when she was ready.

“Aye, Sandor, we spent the whole night together in his large gilded bed that was shaped like a swan. Most wondrous! In the early morning, he kissed me farewell and he gave me three things—a bag heavy with ducats and these cards that I have cherished since that night.”

Sandor held his breath. He sensed there was something more to come.

“The duke’s third gift was your mother.”

S
andor expelled his breath in a rush. “So my mother was half
gadji?
”

Old Towla
nodded. “Your grandfather never even suspected that his favorite child was not his blood. I prayed when she was born that she would not inherit the duke’s eyes or light-colored hair.”

“Her hair was black as a raven, as I remember,” said Sandor, conjuring up a dim memory of his long-dead mother. “And I was the one who received the
gadjo’s
eyes.” Then he stared at his grandmother. “
Puridai,
I do not understand how you could betray your husband—even for a bag of gold.” The mere thought of Tonia lying in another man’s arms set his blood boiling.

Towla sighed again. “Your grandfather was not a cruel man—merely an absent one. Even when we made love, his mind was elsewhere—on his horses, on his gambling, on his schemes against the
gadje.
I was only the one who washed his clothes, made his bread and bore his children—nothing more. The duke was…so very tender to me. Kind. Loving, if only for a night.” She smiled to herself. “But that one night was enough for me.”

She returned
her attention to the present. “I never told your mother that she was
poshrat,
a half-blood. I didn’t want her to feel ashamed or to be shunned by our family. She would have never gotten herself a good husband if anyone knew that she was part
gadje.
”

“Then my real grandfather was a duke?” Sandor whispered in awe.

Towla reached over her cards and patted his hand. “To the Rom, a
gadjo
is only a
gadjo,
no matter how noble he is, or how rich.”

For the next few minutes, they sat together, sharing the silence. With a sweet, sad smile on her lips, Towla relived her memories, while Sandor attempted to grasp all the implications of his grandmother’s startling revelation. No wonder he had always felt a little different from his cousins and friends! Somewhere deep in his soul was a yearning for permanence, a place to settle down. The eternal open road held no allure for him, though he would have died before admitting such a heresy to his family.

The more Sandor accepted his astonishing background, the more he understood himself. In sharing her great secret with him, his grandmother had soothed the sting of his banishment from the Rom. Now he knew for certain that his home and his destiny were where his heart lay—with Tonia in the north.

Towla gathered up her
tarocchi
and shuffled them again. Then she fanned the deck toward Sandor. “Choose three,” she commanded.

Sandor contemplated the cards—the beautiful cards that were his grandfather’s parting gift—knowing in his soul that this would be the last time that Towla would ever read his future.

He gave
her a sidelong glance. “Would you tell
me
if I am to die of the plague?” he asked in a half-teasing manner.

Lifting one gray brow, she returned his smile. “May I die if I lie.”

Sandor pointed to three cards. Towla laid them facedown on the blanket. Sandor touched the design of three golden coins that graced the cards’ backs. Several words, written in red ink on an ivory scroll, wove among the coins.

Towla tapped the middle card. “’Tis the duke’s family motto. The words are Latin and I cannot read it, but he told me that they meant ‘Love conquers all.’ I have never forgotten that. I whisper those words over the cards each time before I shuffle them. It has always brought good luck.”

Sandor stared at the scroll, burning into his memory the letters inscribed on it. “’Tis
my
family’s motto now.”

“Si kovel ajaw,”
said his grandmother. “This thing is so. You
are
the duke’s grandson.” She cocked her head. “Are you ready to see your fortune?”

His pulse quickening, Sandor nodded. Once again the first card was the Fool. Towla chuckled. The second card was again Death. Sandor grimaced but did not look away. The third was the Sun. His grandmother clapped her hands with satisfaction. “Good, good,” she muttered.

“Once again, you are Prosto, the Fool on the hill,” she told him. “You have taken the first step into the unknown, but you must go all the way to reach your journey’s end. Death does not frighten you so much this time?”

He gave her
a long look. “I have stared death in the face. I am ready.”

“Good, for there will be yet another change and another beginning…ah!” She rocked with silent laughter.

Sandor knotted his brows. “What do you see?” There was nothing at all amusing in the skeleton’s face.

“’Tis a new birth!” she chortled. “Mayhap one with turquoise eyes.”

Sandor had no idea why this was so funny. Instead of explaining herself, Towla moved to the third card.

“The Sun shines his warm rays upon you, my Fool. You are promised prosperity, joy, a great celebration, contentment and liberation once you have passed through the final trial.”

“I will have all that and more when I am reunited with my Tonia,” he replied.

“Aye,” she agreed. She gathered all the cards except one and returned them to her pouch. Then she handed the Fool to Sandor. “Take this one for luck. ’Tis you.”

Surprised, Sandor protested, “But your
tarocchi
is incomplete without it.”

She shook her head. “Nay,
tarno shushi,
’tis yours. You are the only Fool in this pack. ’Tis right that the card goes with you. Think of it as your legacy from your grandfather.” She touched the motto on the back. “Remember these words. They are yours now.”

In reply, he kissed the Latin inscription. “They are upon my lips and in my heart.” Then he carefully placed the card in the pouch that hung from his belt. “Thank you, my grandmother.”

She gave
him a heartfelt smile. “The light wanes. ’Tis time to begin your most important journey.”

Sandor lifted the tent flap and was surprised to discover how late the day had advanced. He glanced toward his uncle’s wagon but the
vardo
’s door was still shut. “Give Gheorghe my thanks for taking me into his family,
puridai.
I am sorry to have caused him such shame.”

Towla lifted the lid from a small black kettle that hung over her slow-burning fire next to her tent. She stirred the contents. The delicious aroma of hedgehog stew filled Sandor’s nostrils.

“Hotchiwitchi,”
he murmured, his mouth watering.

“Eat before you go,” she offered. “I made it especially for you. ’Twould be a shame to waste it.” She ladled out a large bowl full of the savory dish and handed it to him.

With several incoherent words of thanks and appreciation, he ate his favorite meal. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he could teach Tonia how to make this delicious concoction. While he ate, Towla slipped a few golden angels into his pouch. When Sandor protested, she crossed his lips with her finger and shook her head.

“’Tis a wedding present, to ‘give a push to the new wagon,’ as they say.”

When Sandor hugged his grandmother for the last time, his heart grew heavy within his chest. “I do not know if our paths will ever cross again,
sukar puridai,
” he murmured, kissing her forehead.

“In the spring in France, I will light a candle for you at Black Sara’s shrine. When you next go there, you will see it and know that I love you,” she said. Her black eyes misted.

“And
I love you,” he replied with heartfelt tenderness.

“As you love another, who has more need of you now than I. Go, Sandor Matskella, son of Milan. My blessing accompanies you.” She handed him a wrapped packet of bread and cheese that she had prepared while he ate.
Jal ‘sa Duvvel.
”

“Go with God,” he answered.

Before he made more of a fool of himself by crying like a child, Sandor turned away and strode across the field of daisies and cornflowers to where Baxtalo waited for him. He quickly saddled and bridled his horse. He stuffed his few personal belongings into a single sack, much like the one the
tarocchi
Fool carried. Sandor armed himself with a set of his spare knives, then rolled up a blanket and tied it to his saddle. After one final wave to the distant figure of his beloved grandmother, he swung himself onto Baxtalo’s back.

“Hi-up, my friend,” he said to his horse. “We head for the north once more, this time on lighter feet. Let us go down the road!
Jallin a drom!
”

Tonia tugged on her bodice, not laced as tightly as it had been only a few weeks earlier. She smoothed her skirts over the little curve of her stomach then adjusted her headdress. This was the first time she would speak to her father since her mother had told him of her pregnancy. She had no idea how Guy had taken the news. She chewed some fresh mint leaves both to sweeten her breath and to aid her continued indigestion. Mamma had promised her that the nausea would pass soon. Tonia certainly hoped so. She had not been able to keep down much food and she worried that the babe in her womb would suffer from the lack of nourishment.

Squaring her
shoulders and lifting her chin, she knocked on the door of her father’s counting room. Because of its privacy, the counting room had always been Pappa’s lair, especially when it came to serious discussions with one of the four women in his family. Tonia highly doubted that the walls of this chamber had ever heard anything like what would be said within the next few minutes.

“Enter,” growled Guy.

Tonia’s hand shook a little as she lifted the latch. Pappa sat behind his imposing, carved desk—not a good sign. He looked up when she entered, the pain in his blue eyes was heartrending.

Assuming that this interview was a formal one, Tonia dropped a deep curtsy as befitted a dutiful daughter to her father. “Pappa,” she said softly.

Would he unleash the infamous Cavendish temper? Call her a slut and a whore? Of all the men in the family, Guy was usually the most controlled, which made his rare outbursts all the more frightening.

He rose and came around the desk. “Sweet Tonia,” he said in a low, gruff tone. He took her hand in his and raised her to a standing position. Then he enfolded her in his arms.

“How you must have suffered,” he murmured against her cheek.

Tonia drew in her breath. Making love to Sandor had been ecstasy, not painful. It was his continued absence that had driven a great thorn into her heart. Until Tonia understood her father’s sympathy, she would play the role of a simple maiden.

“I am
feeling much improved, Pappa,” she replied brightly. “I am able to eat more these past few days.”

Guy led her to his padded chair and held it for her as she took her seat. “That is good news, indeed, but ’tis…ahem…I was speaking of your time at Hawksnest. I know that you would prefer to put the entire matter of your arrest and imprisonment behind you, but I must ask you to bear the pain of memory a little longer. I must bring those dogs to justice.”

Tonia folded her hands over her stomach, very conscious of its slight rise under her gown and petticoats. “I fear that my judges are too close to the throne for punishment, Pappa. I pray you, leave them be. ’Tis past and done. I am dead in their minds, and I prefer to stay that way.”

He dropped to one knee beside her chair. “I did not mean those men, Tonia,” he said. His eyes searched hers. “’Tis your guards that I speak of, the ones who violated your person and stole your…honor. Do you remember any of their names? Or can you describe what they looked like? Any scars or moles? I vow that they will swing in chains for your injury.”

Tonia swallowed. She twirled the horseshoe-nail ring around her finger.
He thinks I was raped!
She bent her head, allowing her hair to slide over her ears and hide her face, while her brain spun like a whirligig in a high wind. If she told the truth of her marriage to Sandor, she knew that her father would not understand. He would say that a honey-tongued knave whose daily pastime was deceit had duped her. Pappa would think that she had bought her life with her body.

And had
Tonia done just that? She squeezed shut her eyes. Is that why Sandor had not followed the trail of
patrin
she had laid from Hawksnest to Snape Castle’s very door? She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood.

Guy rubbed her shoulder. “Tonia?” he whispered. “It cuts me to the quick to see your distress. ’Twill be soon over and done. We will find a good family to take the babe and—”

“Nay,” she cried, opening her eyes. “The child is mine. I will keep it.” Sandor might never reappear in her life, but Tonia would never give up the child that their love had formed. The baby would be the lasting reminder of the only man Tonia would ever love.

Sitting back on his heels, Guy stared at her, completely baffled. “I applaud your maternal instincts, sweetling, but in this case there is no need. The child will only be a reminder of a time best forgotten.”

But I want to remember every detail about my baby’s father.
Aloud, Tonia replied, “Pappa, I thank you for your love and your concern for me, but I assure you that I am of sound mind when I say I want to keep the babe. It is mine—as well as
your
grandchild. He is a Cavendish, no matter who his father is, just as I am. And as you are. My child deserves the best we can give him in this life, and I intend to see to it.”

Guy stood, then crossed around to the far side of his desk, putting a distance between them. Tonia clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She had not realized until this very moment how much this child meant to her. Five more months and a bit, she calculated, before she could hold him in her arms.

Guy drummed
his fingers on the smooth-polished surface of his desk while he immersed himself in thought. Tonia found that she felt more tranquil now than she had been a quarter hour earlier. She knew what she would do with her future, even if her father didn’t. Mamma, with her notorious love of any baby, be it human or animal, would certainly agree with Tonia’s point of view.

Guy cleared his throat. “Methinks ’tis best if you left here before you begin to show your condition. ’Twould be easier traveling now than later.”