The Blessed

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Cornelius stared at him coldly. “Do not make us your enemy, former knight of the Church.”

  Piero roused again. “We do not wish to do so, Holiness. Never have we wished it. But if your dearest friend suddenly is in the wrong, what can one do? One must argue for truth and light, and pray that that friend sees the way. Must one not?”

  Cornelius studied him, and smiled a little. “We believe we shall have many spirited discussions before we turn you over to the Court of Apostolic Causes. It shall be our goal to turn you back to the truth that you mention now, little brother. Because if we cannot, you shall face the Lord’s Commissioner. And that rarely ends well.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE dance, which took place on the other side of the castle, atop the rocky cliffs, was something that none in attendance would soon forget. As Daria and Gianni moved into the crowd, seeking their comrades, with Piero right behind them, Gianni continued to feel as if he were walking through a dreamscape, what with the masked men and women all about. Some had gone well beyond the feathered, furry, or skinned masks that most held to their eyes. A few had entire hollow heads of a zebra, or the long, skinny neck of a giraffe. One fellow had a massive elephant head, and a second followed him around as the elephant’s tail.

  Such foolishness and expense. Gianni grabbed three goblets from a passing maid and handed two to Daria and Piero. It was a fine, smooth wine, unwatered. Mayhap from the pope’s own vineyards, world renowned for their quality, although the grapes grew from dry, rocky soil that no one could imagine would produce anything, let alone a fine wine. They called it a miracle of God.

  He watched the people about him, some already stumbling in drunkenness. He knew Amidei and Vincenzo and Ciro were somewhere near. These people were weak, defenses down, victims in the making for the likes of their enemy. How long until they drew them to a dark cave? Would they be a party to another child sacrifice, as Gianni had witnessed outside Roma? His hands itched to unsheathe his sword, hunt Amidei down, and end it here, now.

  Daria knew well what he feared. Her hand tightened on his arm. “Gianni, the moon.” She looked over her shoulder at the priest, who gazed upward with them.

  A full moon. It was then that he knew that this party was just the beginning for Amidei and Vincenzo. On a full moon, their master called them to their foulest acts. Their attention had been so focused upon the pope and other royals that they had neglected to pay attention to the waxing moon . . .

  Gianni turned to Daria and took her hands in his. “Daria, promise me. Promise me that you shall do everything in your power to remain right by my side this night. We must not let anyone separate us. Anyone.”

  She frowned at his intensity, but squeezed his hands. “Right beside you, husband.”

  “We must gather the others and make our way back to the tents,” he said to them both. “We shall be safe there, together. But we must find the others.” He dropped one of Daria’s hands and pulled her behind him, searching for their comrades.

  But as soon as they neared the raucous crowds, men and women pulled at them, inviting them in to the dance. Groups of musicians wandered, all matching the rhythm, through one tune and then another, and there were multiple circles of people lining up to dance, bowing to partners, turning. Never had they seen such a feat. The nearest thing to it was at the Morassis’ mansion in Venezia, but that had been no more than a hundred people. More than three hundred were dancing here.

  Gianni frowned, seeing men and women kissing passionately, out in the open. It was unseemly behavior, but no one looked upon them with surprise, all intent on their own pleasures. “We must get . . .”

  A man, singing with another, fell backward into him, and all three went down. The big man fell so hard against him that Gianni fell flat on his back, hitting his head upon the hard limestone of the cliffs. He gazed at the moon, but it swam in the sky, shifting and then streaming as if now a comet. Piero’s face appeared above him. “Gianni?”

  “Da—Daria . . .” he said, reaching up.

  Piero looked away and then left him.

  TWO women in leopard dresses grabbed Daria’s hands right as the men collapsed into Gianni, taking him down. “Come! Come and dance with us!”

  Daria frowned, looking over her shoulder. “I cannot. Please. Let me go.”

  They dragged her down the hill, and Daria fought to find a toehold to resist them. They were laughing and smiling, beautiful girls, but something was wrong. Daria could feel it within her.

  Men took her hands from the women and pulled her into a loose ring of people, dancing in time with the music. The women were gone.

  “Pardon me, I must excuse myself,” she said to each of her dance partners, and turned to move up the hillside again, to where she had left Gianni. She had promised—

  “Duchess,” Abramo Amidei said, bowing low before her.

  Daria’s hand went to her throat.

  It could not be. Not again.

  She turned to run, but he caught her wrist and whipped her back around to him. Vincenzo was now at his side, but Abramo commanded all her attention. His mask gone, she could plainly see the eye patch and long scar where she had maimed him.

  “Would you care to see it, healer? Might you be able to bring back the eye you stole from me?” he asked, pulling her close.

  “My Lord does not heal his enemy,” she said, struggling to get away from him. “I prayed that infection might spread through your entire body and take your very life.”

  Abramo laughed at that. “Not very holy thoughts from one of God’s own.”

  “Yes, well, we all have our sins, do we not? You, unfortunately, have too many to name.”

  “You left us, Duchess, after promising to do your duty in my ceremony.”

  Daria laughed bitterly. “I had a change of heart.”

  “Ahh. I think I might have to cut the heart from your chest and eat of it. You see, now we have no choice but to hunt down and kill each of the Gifted. If we cannot turn you, bring you down, you must die.” He lifted a hand and pulled a coil of her hair to his nose and smelled of it. “A pity, that. But Daria, what of your child? Do you not wish to live so that he might live as well?”

  Daria froze. He could not know of her pregnancy. It was not possible . . .

  Abramo suddenly froze as well, instantly mute. A second later, he released her, hands in the air. Count Armand walked around him, sword following his neck as he circled him. Daria looked up and beyond him to see Gianni, hand to the back of his head, Piero beneath his other arm, holding him up. Vincenzo and Ciro were each detained by Lucien and Matthieu of Les Baux.

  The count pulled Daria back behind him, sword still pointed to abramo’s throat.

  “That is twice, Count des Baux, that you have gotten between me and my quarry.”

  “You shall not have these people, Lord Amidei. I will do everything in my power to keep them safe from you and yours.”

  Abramo lifted a lazy, relaxed eye to study the count, as if there were no sword hovering near his Adam’s apple. “And how shall you keep them safe from your own?” he shot back.

  “My own?”

  “The pope. The other nobles. Oh, I am well aware you have assembled a multitude of supporters. But it shall not be enough when the Gifted reach the Court of Apostolic Causes. No one can save them from the Inquisitor.” He laughed, slowly at first, then a great belly laugh. He reached up to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “It is poetic, really. Beautiful.” He glanced at Daria, then up the hill at Gianni, who was slowly making his way to them. “They cannot do anything but move forward with their ‘prophesied cause,’ driven forward by their God. But that cause will cost them their very lives.”

  Eight of Maximilien’s men rode up on horses, swords drawn. “Gentlemen, what goes on here?” shouted the captain.

  “A friendly misunderstanding,” Abramo yelled, staring into Armand’s eyes.

  Neither of them wanted the battle to become a full-blown war here. Now.
/>   Armand gestured to his men to lower their swords, eyes still on Lord Amidei.

  Abramo leaned close and eyed Daria over his shoulder, then whispered to Armand, “Get between me and the woman again, and you shall die.”

  Armand stepped forward and took hold of Amidei’s shirt. “Get near her again and it shall be you who forfeits his life. Or mayhap I shall take your other eye, leaving you unable to ogle the innocents.” Then he stood back, forced a smile, and patted Abramo on the chest.

  Amidei looked upon him with such hate that Daria barely held back her shiver. The dark lord had grown in power since their time on the isle. She could feel the magnetic pull of him, at once repulsive and undeniably attractive.

  He closed his eye, as if he could feel it, too.

  Gianni was there, then, and without pause he pulled back and punched Abramo with everything in him.

  Amidei spun sideways and fell to the ground. Vincenzo and Ciro drew their swords, and the knights of Les Baux stood beside them.

  Maximilien’s knights shouted out a warning, unsheathing their swords.

  DIMLY, Gianni could hear women screaming. He could feel people rushing about him, behind him, away from them. But all he could see was Abramo Amidei, crouched as he was, on his feet again, circling him. Neither man drew a sword.

  He knew it was not part of the plan. But he could not contain his anger any longer, his desire to kill this demon and send him back to hell.

  Gianni raised his chin, but he was still dizzy from hitting his head upon the rock. The Sorcerer whispered in his right ear. “Gianni, I shall have your woman.”

  Gianni whipped to the right, but he was not there.

  He whispered in his left, “I shall make you watch as I take her life.”

  Gianni pulled a dagger from his belt and spun around, trying to keep up with the Sorcerer as he circled and circled and circled . . .

  He could hear Daria call out to him, crying.

  But she was dim, in the background. Abramo’s words were echoing, resounding in his ears. “I shall kill every last one of the Gifted, and take you and Daria last. You shall not win this round, knight of the Church. I will bring you down, and the Church with it. Imagine little Tessa . . .”

  “Nay!” Gianni cried, striking out at the phantom.

  His knife struck into the man’s gut. Gianni smiled when he heard his gasp of breath, and drove the knife deeper, wanting Abramo to die . . . die . . . die . . .

  “Gianni!” Daria screamed, weeping, tugging on his arm. “Gianni!”

  He looked to his quarry, wanting to see him take his last breaths.

  But it was Count Armand, mouth wide open in pain, blue eyes open in surprise, as he fell to his knees before him.

  Count Armand with Gianni’s dagger in his belly.

  “Nay,” Gianni whispered. “ ’Tis not possible . . . Nay!” he shouted, helping Armand to the ground, pulling his bloody dagger from him as he did so. He looked about, only to see Maximilien’s knights moving in upon them.

  Amidei was no longer in sight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  GIANNI was dragged off from them, weeping, screaming, reaching for Daria, for Armand. “Forgive me! I thought he was Amidei! It was a trick, the Sorcerer’s trick! Oh, God in heaven! Please! Please!”

  Daria was torn, wanting to see to her husband, but Piero drew her attention down to Armand, who was gasping for breath. Daria began to weep in earnest, because there was no urge, no call within her to end this nightmare, to heal her friend. She fought for breath, as if she could feel the wound deep within her own belly. It was a nightmare. Surely this was not real. O God, please, let this not be real. Not so soon after Basilio and Rune. She could not take it. O God, please!

  “Armand,” she whispered, her tears falling to his face. She took his hand and held it to her chest, using her other to pull away the blood-soaked cloth and see the wound beneath. She closed her eyes, fighting for breath. It was a death wound, surely having sliced kidney or liver. Gianni had driven it hard, so hard, into their friend, believing him to be Abramo . . .

  Armand tried to smile, but it only made him appear ghoulish. Blood was seeping from the edges of his mouth, and his teeth were red. Anette broke through the crowd then, along with her husband. “Armand? Armand!” She went to him, lifting his head into her lap, looking down to his belly and then to Piero and Daria, panic lacing every action and expression.

  “What has happened?”

  “A terrible accident, Countess,” Daria began.

  “Sister,” Armand gasped, taking her hand. “It was Gianni.”

  “Gianni?” Anette gasped, looking madly about.

  “Sister,” Armand said, trying to will calm into her. “It was Amidei’s trickery. You must not . . . you must not allow Gianni . . . you mustn’t let . . . tell him . . . I understand. Do not let them . . . punish him. It was done in error . . . in error . . .”

  Armand looked to Daria. Piero was uttering last rites. It was cold, so cold there upon the rock, under a wide full moon high above them. “It is well, Daria. I know . . . you would do—” He paused to gasp against the pain, and then forced another smile. “You would heal me . . . if you could.” His breath was coming fast now, a constant pant. “Do what . . . you came to do.” His eyes widened. “Do not let this dissuade . . . you from God’s call. Oh! ’Tis beautiful! Oh, if you could only . . . What I see . . . Sister, friend, what I see . . .”

  His face and eyes froze in that expression of utter joy and pleasure. Daria and Piero both felt a wave of warmth wash over them and into Armand. She looked up quickly, hoping it was God’s healing, bringing Armand back to them, but it was not.

  It was Count Armand’s final healing, his coming home. Angels were again present around them; they could feel them, glimpsed them in the moonlight. But then they were gone.

  Anette rocked back and forth, cradling her lifeless brother’s body to her, and let out a keening wail of such pure pain and grief that Daria could do nothing but join her.

  AMIDEI watched the scene from the second story of the castle, alongside Ciro and Vincenzo. He laughed, hollowly. “The count is out of the way, killed by the hand of the very people he swore to protect. It shall cost them some of their support among the nobles. Gianni shall be hanged for his crime, leaving the others more vulnerable than ever.” He reached out to clasp each one on the shoulder, and stilled as the women wailed in grief. The music had long ago died, the people drawn en masse by the commotion. A gasp washed through the crowd as word passed that the Count des Baux was dead, murdered at the hand of a friend.

  “How did you manage it?” Vincenzo asked, leaning against the railing, staring down at the people. “How did you make Gianni think you were still there?”

  “A simple trick of the mind,” Abramo said. “When people are impassioned—by love, by fear, by anger—they are the most vulnerable to it. Come, friends. Master shall be so pleased by our success this night that he shall undoubtedly reward us greatly. Let us gather the people and depart.”

  TOWER GUARD

  Avignon

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  LORD Devenue and Anette des Baux escorted the Gifted back to the Richardieu manor in Villeneuve-des-Avignon, barely able to meet their eyes. Daria grieved, grieved as she had not since her own parents died. Armand’s passing, Gianni’s imprisonment, the wedge that death had placed between them and the house of Les Baux—brought up unspent tears over Basilio and Rune, as well as tears of fear over their collective future, her baby’s future.

  She had wanted to see Anette home, to accompany her and grieve with her as Armand was burned upon his funeral pyre, as Basilio, Rune, and the count had been burned in the past month. She had wanted to hear Anette sing as the flames reached the sky and she sent her prayers up to God with both villager and priest and family member. But Anette had gently, firmly told her to stay where she was.

  “I shall return to you all, Daria,” she said, holding her hands in the receiving courtyard of the
manor. “But I must take some time. To pray through this, accept it, before I have the strength to fight alongside you once again.”

  Daria nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.

  “Daria,” she said, waiting for her friend’s eyes to meet hers. “I know that Gianni was tricked. I shall see him released. I have two lawyers working on it as we speak.”

  Upon Anette’s pleading, the prince had released Gianni to the pope’s Honneur Gard, to be detained in Avignon until it was decided what was to be done with him.

  “ ’Tis a royal mess.”

  “Indeed. But Armand did not want his death to cause you or yours harm. He made that abundantly clear before he . . .” She squeezed Daria’s hands, trying to maintain control and not give in to more tears. “ ’Twas a cruel blow Amidei dealt us. I need a bit of time. I simply cannot think of anything but . . . I need to see Armand home.” She looked over to the wagon, her blue eyes huge in a wan face. “We shall not be away longer than a week, a fortnight at the longest. We shall return to you with my strength back. Together, we shall return to battle Amidei and any other who endangers what God would have you do. Armand pledged our lives to your cause, as did my husband. I have not forgotten that, Daria. Nothing has changed.”

  “Well I know your grief, Anette. Gianni and I would do anything we could to change what happened. Our enemy is wily, but Gianni . . . Amidei spotted a weakness within my husband and exploited it. He turned Gianni’s rage into his own revenge. If only—”

  “Armand would not stand for us spending time on if-onlys, Daria. He and I knew, from the day we stepped into the old chapel, that we were a part of something grand, something of God. We were honored that God brought you to us. I am still sure of that, still honored, despite the cost. But the cost . . . This terrible cost. I was ill prepared . . .” Her blue eyes, so like Armand’s, drifted right, wide and glossy with tears.