Dark Space - Marianne de Pierres [4]
Sinners! Insignia is mine by birthright! Trinder Pellegrini cannot fly her. How can they think of attempting transference of my Inborn gene? What will happen to me if they do?
She knew—and shirked from the thought. Insanity.
Clipped footsteps on the tiles. Mira stiffened. Only the Cavaliere walked in such a fashion.
‘Baronessa? May I be of assistance?’ The tight-lipped Cavaliere bowed politely in front of her.
‘I feel a little unwell. The importance of the day, you understand.’
He nodded, his face masked in formality. ‘The Principe has asked that you attend him in the guest chamber of the Palazzo Pellegrini.’
Mira trembled. ‘Of course, but I must change. The weight of these robes has left me a little faint.’
‘In that case we shall accompany you.’ He clicked his heels together.
Mira stood, resealing her velum, darkening the filter, cutting off any sense of familiarity between them. ‘I do not need an escort. I am familiar with the whereabouts of the Principe’s guest chambers.’
The Cavaliere’s lips tightened. ‘Then we will order an AiV for you and escort you there. It will await you outside the Grandioso Foyer.’
‘As you wish.’ She tilted her head and walked stiffly back to the Studium.
* * * *
Once inside, Mira lifted the burdensome folds of her ceremonial robe and staggered up the staircase to her room. Fear and compulsion lent strength to her shaking legs.
She flung the doors open and found an older Galiotto servant folding her clothes into neat piles. Mira had seen her before, in the refectory and turning out the rooms, commanding the younger ones with a single gesture or curt word.
‘What…are…you…doing?’ she panted.
The servant curtsied. It was the heavy, slow movement of an older woman with weary joints. ‘I have been instructed to pack your clothes, Baronessa,’ she said, returning to her task.
‘To go where?’ demanded Mira in a shrill voice.
‘I do not know, Baronessa. The concierge will make those arrangements.’
Mira stared at the Nobile servant, collecting herself. ‘Of course, forgive me. It is just that you startled me. Now I must change. Give me a travelling robe and I will dress.’
The Galiotto complied, selecting an ochre fellala and exterior-rated velum from the pile.
Mira took them and stepped behind her screen. She slipped off her beaded ceremonial robe and slippers and exchanged them for the plain fellala, coolant stockings and terrain boots.
‘Are you planning to go outside, Baronessa Fedor?’
Mira stepped around the edge of the screen, trying to assemble her frayed thoughts. Should she be evasive, or should she simply ignore the question? Would the Galiotto alert the Cavaliere?
But the servant merely held out her over-cloak. ‘You would not do well without this.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mira.
The Galiotto still did not look at her. ‘What the Principe has done this day is not right, Baronessa. Fedors are blessed with the Talent. That is the way it has always been,’ she whispered. ‘Some things should not change.’
Mira grasped the woman’s wrist. ‘You have heard?’
The servant swayed a little. ‘My daughter Tina is bonded to the Principessa. I knew . . . many of us knew before this.’ She waved her hands at the floor to signify the graduation ceremony below.
Mira’s thoughts flew to the young Principe. How long had Trinder Pellegrini known she would not get her entitlement? Had he known of this when he had taken her to the Tourmaline Islands? Had he deliberately courted her without a chaperone and then abandoned her?
‘Baronessa?’ The old Galiotto drew her attention to the shortcast. The screen was signalling a waiting audio call.
Mira was caught in a wave of desperation. She shook the woman’s arm. ‘What is your name?’
‘Alba.’
‘Alba. How do the lesser Nobile travel up and down the mountain?’
The woman took a slow breath as if she needed time to answer. She lifted her face to Mira. Cataracts had dulled the vibrancy of her dark eyes. That she had not seen fit to have