He glanced around, ensuring there were no other raiding parties nearby. Then he flew to the ground, landing several feet away from the remaining attackers.
“Tell me who sent you and perhaps I’ll spare you.”
The leader and his companions moved forward in a line. “We don’t need your charity.”
“Then you, would-be assassin, are dead.”
The Prince ran toward them, driving his sword into the leader’s chest, skewering him through the heart. It was not a mortal wound but it felled the man. The Prince heard his heart stutter and grow silent.
The remaining two men approached him on the other side, coordinating their attack.
The Prince retrieved the leader’s fallen sword and fought the others simultaneously, swinging a sword from each hand.
The two fighters were stronger than the others. The Prince slashed and parried but he would not retreat, forcing them to take defensive positions.
All at once, he dropped the sword from his left and grasped the remaining sword with both hands. He leapt into the air and swung with a great cry, slashing through the necks of both men.
They fell down dead, their heads spinning through the air until they finally smashed to the pavement.
He stepped over to the leader, still carrying his weapon.
“How did you know where to find me?”
The man swore in Italian, clutching the seeping wound in his chest.
The Prince delivered a swift kick to his ribs, the sounds of splintering bones filling the air. “Tell me!”
“May the Prince of Venice live forever,” he gasped.
The Prince pointed his sword to the sky.
“I’m going to send your head to the Prince of Venice with a note: Next time, send an army.”
He placed a foot on the man’s chest and lifted his sword, before bringing it down on the man’s neck.
Chapter 5
“I see I’ve missed all the fun.” A woman’s voice speaking English sounded overhead.
The Prince looked up to see a familiar redhead leap from the roof of the hotel to the ground below.
She regarded the corpses and heads with distaste. “You’ve made a mess, my lord.”
“Aoibhe.” The Prince acknowledged her, still holding his bloodied sword.
The woman was almost as tall as the Prince, standing at five feet, nine inches. Her hair was long, falling to her backside, and she had exceptional brown eyes that sparkled in her lovely face. She looked to be twenty, but appearances were deceiving.
She kicked at one of the heads, bending to examine its features. “I don’t recognize him. Is he one of ours?”
“Venetian.” The Prince lowered his weapon, regarding the carnage. “Or so they implied.”
Her dark eyes moved to his. “Venetian? Are you sure?”
“No. I’m familiar with Marcus’s inner circle. These were strangers to me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “They aren’t ferals. Could they be mercenaries?”
“It’s possible.” The Prince shifted his sword, placing it tip down on the pavement and leaning on it thoughtfully.
“You could have kept one for interrogation.” Aoibhe grinned. “It’s been some time since we’ve enjoyed a good torture.”
“I doubt torture would have extracted anything useful. To torture them effectively, we’d have to deliver them to the Curia.”
The grin slipped from Aoibhe’s attractive features and she glanced over her shoulder. The barest of shivers shook her lean form.
“I’ll be damned before I collude with those monsters. I was volunteering to do the torturing myself.”
The Prince indulged himself in a ghost of a smile. “I appreciate the gesture.”
“Were they gathering intelligence?”
He gestured to the corpses on the ground and pointed to the roof. “Ten armed men, fixed on a single target? No. They were would-be assassins.”
Aoibhe shook her head, regarding the bloodied scene with new eyes. “I’m surprised they sent so few.”
The Prince straightened. “There may be more. Summon Gregor and Pierre. Instruct them to record images of the faces before they burn the bodies, and turn the information over to Niccolò. Perhaps the intelligence network can discover their identities.”
She bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“I will notify Christopher of the breach personally. Prepare for a Consilium meeting.”
“As you wish, but is a meeting necessary? They’re already dead.”
He fixed her with a stony glare. “They invaded my principality.”
“Are we under siege?”
“I’m not going to wait in order to find out. Tonight, the Consilium meets to discuss the art of war.” His lips twitched. “I’m sure Niccolò will find the discussion most familiar.”
Aoibhe huffed. “That pompous windbag enjoys hearing himself talk.”
“True. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a war. It will be good for the younglings, and since I intend to be victorious, it will be good for the principality.” The Prince lifted his chin. “Go, Aoibhe. Make haste.”
She bowed once again. But before she departed, she approached him, cautiously.
She reached out to touch his sleeve, but catching the set of his teeth and the glare from his eyes, she withdrew.
“I’m glad you’re still alive,” she whispered, her eyes darkening momentarily.
The Prince nodded tersely.
With a small smile, she turned and scaled the hotel, before disappearing on the roof.
As the Prince adjusted his cuff links and surveyed the carnage at his feet, all thoughts of the Emersons and his precious illustrations were pushed aside.
Personal injury was one thing, but an invasion of his principality was quite another.
The professor and his ill wife could wait. His mind was fixated on a far more political revenge.
Chapter 6
“This meeting of the Consilium will come to order.” Lorenzo, the Prince’s second in command, slammed the bottom of the ceremonial staff on the stone floor, the sound echoing throughout the large subterranean chamber.
There was no electricity in the Florentine underworld, including the chamber that was at its center. The space was illuminated by torches that hung from large iron sconces on the walls and tall pillar candles atop heavy wrought iron candelabras that were six feet in height.
In the principality of Florence, there was but one ruler. A few centuries earlier, however, the Prince had established a council of six members that oversaw various affairs of state.
(Not that he trusted them).
The Consilium, which included Lorenzo and Aoibhe, had been summoned a few hours before dawn. They sat in tall wooden chairs that were upholstered in red velvet, waiting for the Prince.
When he entered the room, they stood.
He strode down the central aisle, his black cloak streaming behind him. The council members bowed their respect as he approached.
The Prince of Florence was both respected and feared. He was respected because under his rule citizens enjoyed prosperity, peace, and an excellent lifestyle. He was feared because he was powerful, he was dangerous, and he would do anything to preserve his rule of the city.
He’d ruled the city for centuries and had learned over time not to trust anyone, not even Lorenzo, his lieutenant. The principality of Florence was a prize and almost every citizen nursed a secret desire to rule it.
Now he’d been the target of an assassination attempt by a foreign power. Although the leader of the invaders had named Venice as his principality, the Prince believed there were traitors amongst his citizens who’d colluded with the enemy.
He wore a thunderous expression as he ascended the platform and sat on a gold throne between the two candelabras.
“There has been a serious breach of security. Christopher of Canterbury, security is your responsibility. What have you to say?” The Prince addressed the Consilium in Italian, as was the custom.
An Englishman with brown hair and brown eyes approached the throne, his shoulders and body tense.
He genuflected.
“I apologize, my lord. But when you learn of the circumstances, I think you’ll agree our patrols behaved valiantly.”
The Prince regarded him in stony silence.
Christopher cleared his throat. “A force attacked one of our patrols to the east. Even though they were outnumbered, they fought bravely, eliminating half a dozen attackers. Unfortunately, the patrol was wiped out before they could raise the alarm.
“Another patrol came upon the scene shortly thereafter. We alerted the citizens, assembled a small force, and were in the process of tracking the invaders when they set upon you.”
Christopher bowed again, fighting his amusement. “Forgive me, my lord. It seems you are not the worse for having dealt with the security breach singlehandedly.”
If Christopher thought that his age or record of service to the Prince entitled him to make light of the assassination attempt, he was sorely mistaken.
The Prince growled. “What about the perimeter? The security cameras and alarms?”
Christopher hesitated.
“There’s a narrow corridor on the east side of the perimeter that isn’t covered by sensors. The invaders crossed into our territory at that point.”
“Why wasn’t I made aware of this?” The Prince’s voice dropped to just above a whisper.
Christopher’s bravado disappeared.
“My lord, the corridor is barely the breadth of a man’s shoulders. The invaders would have had to know exactly where it was and entered single file.”
“Explain to me how someone outside this principality knew about it.”
Christopher shifted his weight. “It appears someone must have told them.”
The Prince regarded his head of security for a moment, his face severe.
Christopher lowered his eyes to the floor, as if by doing so, he could escape his ruler’s wrath.
At length, the Prince spoke. “How many men entered the city?”
“Fourteen, my lord. There was no other breach.”
“I was accosted by ten.”
Christopher nodded uncomfortably.
“Must I pull this information from you? Where’s the remaining four?” the Prince demanded.
“They separated from the others when they approached the city center, probably with the intention of flanking you. Our trackers caught up with them and were able to fell three.”
The Prince paused and the silence in the council chamber grew very loud.
“It appears you’ve lost one.”
Christopher began speaking very quickly. “We are using every tool available in order to find him. I promise, my prince, I—”
But the Prince had heard enough. He stood and removed his cloak, folding it neatly over one of the armrests of his throne. Then he faced his head of security.
“Christopher of Canterbury, you have been tasked with ensuring the security of the principality. A gap in the perimeter was revealed to our enemies and exploited. This gap was something you were aware of but made no effort to close.
“You allowed an invading force to enter the city and attack me. Further, you allowed one of those invaders to escape. He could be anywhere, planning an attack or acts of sabotage. He’s probably sending intelligence to our enemies.
“You failed in your duties. Your failure has also exposed a related breach of security, since it appears you or someone under your supervision has sold principality secrets.
“I find you guilty of treason. Kneel.”
Christopher retreated two steps, his lips curling into a snarl. “I’ve served you faithfully for two hundred years.”
The Prince didn’t even blink. He stood, expression carefully controlled, waiting for his command to be obeyed.
Christopher tried to make eye contact with his colleagues, searching desperately for an ally. “Will no one rise to my defense?”
The council members maintained their silence, avoiding his eyes and keeping their gazes fixed on the Prince.
Christopher approached the only female council member. “Aoibhe, will you not come to my aid? We’re almost kinsmen.”
Her dark eyes flashed and her pretty face morphed into a sneer. “I’m Irish, you dog. You’re no kinsman of mine.”
As if to punctuate her hatred (or her loyalty to the Prince), she spat at Christopher’s feet.
He stepped back in surprise.
When he’d recovered, he moved toward the council member seated to her left. “Niccolò?”
The Florentine shook his head. “To quote someone wise, ‘if a man is to be punished, it should be severe enough that his vengeance need not be feared.’ ”
Christopher muttered something pejorative beneath his breath.
He lifted his hands to the Prince. “Am I not to be afforded a trial?”
The ruler regarded him coolly. “I think you are confusing this principality with a democracy. I am judge and jury here. Now kneel.”
“My lord, let me investigate. Let me find the invader.”
The Prince’s gray eyes moved to the two men sitting to his left.
“Maximilian, Pierre.”
The two councilmen moved forward but Christopher continued to address the Prince. “I served the principality and I did it well. It was my idea to implement the security systems. This, this is not justice.”
The Prince nodded at the men flanking the accused.
They were just about to physically restrain him, when he shoved Pierre aside and sprinted toward the door.
With a speed that made him almost invisible, the Prince overtook him, standing in front of the exit.
As Christopher skidded to a stop, the Prince lifted his hand.
“Without security, there is no principality. So you are incorrect, Christopher, as well as incompetent. This is justice.”
The Prince pointed to the stone floor. “I won’t ask you again.”
“Mercy,” Christopher whispered.
“I know no such word,” the Prince replied.
He took a moment to look over Christopher’s shoulder at the remaining Consilium members as if to ensure they were watching.
Christopher opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but the Prince placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. With a look of carefully controlled fury, he ripped his head from his body and threw it across the room before Christopher could utter a single syllable.
The Prince stepped over the body with an expression of distaste. “Pierre, summon Gregor to remove the refuse.”
Pierre bowed and scurried to the hall.
Once the body and head had been disposed of and the blood had been cleaned from the stone floor, the Consilium resumed their meeting.
The Prince addressed his lieutenant from the throne.
“Lorenzo, please inform Ibarra of the Euskaldunuak that he is to be promoted to head of security and will now join the Consilium. I expect him to be briefed and ready to meet with me in two hours. His first assignment will be to find out who sold the schematics from our security systems to the invaders.”
The lieutenant bowed, his eyebrows knitting together.
“As you wish, Prince. Should I perhaps wait until the meeting is adjourned?”
“No, I wish Ibarra to be briefed immediately.” The Prince’s tone held a warning against further protestations. “Take care that no one other than he has any knowledge of the subject of this meeting.”
If Lorenzo was displeased, he hid his reaction masterfully, responding to the Prince’s orders with a sweeping bow before withdrawing.
The remaining Consilium members murmured amongst themselves, but they dared not say anything critical of the Prince or his choice for Christopher’s replacement.
Aoibhe had smothered a smile at the mention of Ibarra’s name, while Maximilian scowled. Niccolò’s expression was, as usual, almost impossible to read.
The Prince gest
ured for him to stand. “Niccolò, was there any intelligence about an attack?”
“No, my lord. Our relationship with the Venetians has always been uneasy but there were no whispers of an attack by them or anyone else. And we have spies inside their city.”
“Task the spies with uncovering who ordered the incursion. Perhaps it wasn’t the Venetians, after all. Were you able to identify any of the bodies?” The Prince’s tone was cautiously optimistic.
The Prince knew, as did the others, that images of the members of their kind were exceedingly rare. It was unlikely that the limited database maintained by the principality would contain images of the would-be assassins.
“I’m afraid we haven’t been able to identify them, my lord. But I should mention our spies provided images of Marcus’s closest associates. None of the men at the border or inside the city match those images. However, we were able to uncover something else.”
“I hope this is good news, Niccolò.”
The head of intelligence reacted nervously to the Prince’s tone.
“Potentially good news. The swords the men were carrying are Venetian-styled cross-hilted swords, common in the Middle Ages. This isn’t enough to prove the invaders came from Venice, but it’s an interesting coincidence.”
“Find out if something stronger than coincidence can be found. I want the person or persons behind the attacks identified immediately.
“You’ll be working in concert with our new head of security and with Pierre’s human intelligence network. I doubt they’ll contribute anything of use but one never knows.”
Niccolò genuflected. “Of course, my lord.”
The Prince’s eyes shifted to the largest council member, a great, bearlike man with long hair, a full beard, and piercing blue eyes.
“Maximilian, see to it the dead patrol unit is replaced and work with Ibarra to recruit new talent for the patrols.”
“Yes, my lord.” The large man bowed, his Italian heavy with a Prussian accent.
“Now we must discuss our response to the incursion.”
The Consilium members exchanged glances.
The Prince continued. “We were attacked, unprovoked. They wiped out a patrol and crossed into our territory, possibly having bought the schematics for our security systems. Then they attempted to assassinate me. Each of these acts warrants a strong response.
The Prince Page 3