by Den Patrick
She pulled away, fingers moving tentatively: The corruption of Landfall has spilled over into open violence. I suppose it was inevitable.
‘You need to send a message.’ Dino scowled. ‘We’ll tolerate no more of it.’
Anea nodded, but her gaze was elsewhere, lost to shocked remembering.
This does not feel like politics any more. Has war been declared? Were we too distracted to notice? Were we too arrogant?
‘The arrogance is all theirs.’
Spent and numb they approached the table where Dino took his morning repast on the rare occasions he wasn’t sleeping in Anea’s armchair. They sat at each end, feeling the distance between them.
Something was moving amid the dishes. Dino cursed. The maids hadn’t cleared the table. Not unusual as he often slept until noon with instructions not to be disturbed. His room had clearly been passed over by the staff entirely. A column of ants trooped to and from the remains of yesterday’s breakfast, carrying off fragments many times their own size. After the first wave of irritation Dino found himself quietly fascinated by their industry.
We’re infested on all sides it seems, signed Anea.
‘Looks that way. I’m not sure who are the worst pests, the ants or the nobili.’
At least the nobili are less numerous.
‘And two less as of tonight.’
Dino supplied a bottle of Barolo and two glasses from a cypress wood cabinet. They sipped wine by candlelight until the dawn arrived, watching the ants march away with their breadcrumb treasures.
2
A Letter to Lucien
– 7 Giugno 325
‘They made a pretty mess.’ Massimo cast an eye over the damage to Anea’s sitting room. Golden light filtered through the latticed windows, ablaze on the white plastered walls.
‘Anea and I were at least partly to blame.’ Dino looked down at the scattering of sand and the fractured hourglass. ‘It was Anea who threw the table, believe it or not.’
‘I can believe it.’ The swordsman grinned. Dino was caught up in the man’s expression. Being dour was its own challenge when Massimo was present. Margravio Contadino’s personal aide and messenger was shorter than Dino by a slight margin but heavier set. Some whispered he was no aide; rather his role was more akin to assassin. Dino had trouble believing such a thing. A soldier with a gentle soul, Massimo’s outlook was far from that of a jaded killer.
‘You’re awake early,’ added Massimo.
‘Not exactly. I couldn’t sleep.’
Dino watched the swordsman pick over the devastation. He was darkly good-looking, wearing an embroidered scarlet doublet. The slashed shoulders revealed the white shirt beneath. White and scarlet, the colours of his house providing a proud uniform, Massimo was rarely seen in anything else. A rapier slept in a scarlet-enamelled scabbard; a stiletto hung from his other hip. Dino was grateful that House Contadino was sympathetic to Anea. He didn’t relish the idea of facing Massimo should hostilities break out.
‘You’ve nothing to worry from me, my lord,’ said Massimo, face serious. He dropped his gaze to the pommel of his sword.
‘People are going to start talking about witchcraft if you keep reading my mind like that.’
Massimo smiled, all trace of his previous formality gone.
‘The only people accused of witchcraft are wilful women and Orfani.’
‘Anea is unfortunate to be both.’
‘Very much both.’ Massimo smiled again. ‘It’s what I like most about her.’
At twenty-six Massimo was the darling of the court. His manners were impeccable, his wit easy, wardrobe perfectly chosen. Dino felt somewhat shabby by comparison. And yet Massimo remained unattainable to every girl who fluttered fan or lashes at him. The swordsman often said his first love was duty, the blade on his hip reinforcing the claim.
‘Do people really think Anea can cast spells?’ asked Dino. ‘That’s children’s nonsense.’
Massimo shrugged. ‘The cittadini are ignorant, uneducated – they don’t know any better. I’d not be surprised if Houses Fontein and Prospero spread the rumours.’
Dino thought back to the three bravos and the guards who had abandoned their posts.
‘I sometimes think we’ll have to exterminate House Fontein down to the last drop of blood before we know peace.’
‘The Fonteins probably feel the same about the Orfani.’
‘I know they think the same about the Orfani.’
‘Well, in that case it sounds like a fair match.’ Massimo grinned again. ‘Shall we start with the duke and work our way down?’
‘You have no idea how tempting you are – I mean, how tempting that is.’ Dino turned away to cover his blushes. If Massimo noticed the slip of the tongue he declined to comment on it. Dino had always been this way around Massimo, ever since they’d been children, marching off to the Verde Guerra, the only war in Landfall’s patchy history.
Dino scuffed a boot at a bloodstain on the floor, recalling the previous night’s melee. Anea had killed a man on this exact spot with a silver hairpin and a steely resolve. It was a long silver hairpin on account of her long blond hair, etched with a repeating thorn motif, the wider end featured the illusion of rose petals. Dino knew the details of the piece well; he’d been the one to commission it, a present at last year’s La Festa.
‘It must have been quite a fight,’ said Massimo, noting the direction of Dino’s gaze. The Orfano nodded but remained silent. The bloodstain on the floor would need scalding water and plenty of soap. House Fontein guards had removed the bodies, but death lingered, an unseen shade. One was never too far from that dark spectre in Demesne.
‘I almost wish she did know magic,’ muttered Dino. ‘It might provide an answer to our problems.’
Massimo approached and clapped an arm round Dino’s shoulder.
‘Cheer up. I’ve not seen you this maudlin since Nardo sent that serving girl up to your apartment for your birthday.’
‘Yes. Thanks for reminding me.’ Dino shrugged off the aide’s arm and fought down a moment’s unease. The incident with the serving girl had left Dino facing some hard truths, truths he’d been avoiding ever since. Massimo grabbed his shoulder again and gave him a companionable shake.
‘Come on, Dino! We’ll get through this. I promise it on my life. And give yourself some credit. You defended her from three bravos who came here, key in hand. This was planned; this was a conspiracy.’
‘She defended herself too. No mean feat when you’re unarmed. Something I intend to remedy. I’m going to insist she carries a weapon and resumes her blade practice.’
‘She won’t like that much.’
‘I dare say she’ll prefer it to being dead.’
‘In that case I’d best sign up for this practice too. Do you know any good teachers?’ Massimo’s grin was broad. ‘I’ve heard the superiore is good.’
‘As if you could learn anything from me.’ Dino rolled his eyes.
‘Best to not get complacent. I’ll only keep my edge by practising with equals.’
‘Now you’re flattering me.’
Massimo shrugged and looked away. ‘What will you do about all this?’
‘I just …’ Dino regarded the bookcase that had fallen on one of the hapless bravos. ‘They had the key and they paid off the guards. All the skill in the world counts for nothing when corruption is this prevalent.’
‘You’ve given word to question the guards on duty?’ said Massimo.
‘Of course, but they’ve not been seen since last night. Whoever paid them off did it well. They’ll have absconded to the countryside to live on a fat purse.’
‘Early retirement,’ said Massimo.
‘And all they had to do was abandon Anea.’
Massimo crossed to the door before glancing back over his shoulder. ‘I’m going to fetch Virmyre. I suggest you meet us in the piazza for some sunshine and a drink. That’s the only cure for this black mood of yours.’
‘I can�
��t, I should—’
‘Dino, you protected her, you fought well, you have allies. Come and raise a glass to living another day. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll invent a way to live a few more?’
‘You make a lot of plans when drunk, do you?’
‘Rash decisions, mainly.’ The swordsman grinned again. ‘But you can never predict when inspiration will strike.’
‘I’ll see you there. I promise.’
Massimo exited the room, Dino’s gaze lingering on the doorway long after he’d left. Lord Contadino’s aide was his closest friend since Lucien had departed, yet there was much that Dino could not bring himself to speak of. He dropped his gaze to the bloodstain at his boots and saw a scrap of parchment beneath a rosewood box. Curiosity demanded he retrieve it, then demanded he read the fine hand that formed orderly rows of looping letters.
Dear Lucien,
I hope things are peaceful in San Marino. How I envy the full support you enjoy. The remnants of House Fontein have become even more troublesome of late. Duke and Duchess Fontein argue over every variable of the law. The remaining soldiery answer to Russo, the capo, and Dino, but I fear the old loyalties still exist. I think I will be forced to recruit soldiers directly into my own house at some point, or create a new independent army. Russo is a commanding presence and has settled into her role better than I could have hoped for.
House Prospero remains the most productive and yet the most fractious of all the houses. Stephania opposes her mother at every turn and is a worthy ally. The duchess continues to be an outspoken critic of a republic. She is still stringing Guido along but refuses to marry him. Rumours persist he grows restless.
More of House Contadino’s cittadini turn to the new religion with every passing week. I wonder if the king’s abolition of religion was such a bad thing. The converts to the faith are an unknown quantity, and while their adherents do a lot of good in the town I worry at their agenda. How do you strike a balance with the Sisters of Santa Maria in San Marino? Are they as aloof there as they are here?
Margravio and Marchesa Contadino continue to aid me where they can. A small mercy. The children are growing all the the time and are delightful.
If it weren’t for House Erudito I might despair completely. Maestro Cherubini continues to win over the minds of the lesser nobles with concise and articulate arguments. And Virmyre, of course, has been invaluable in my research with the king’s machines. Every moment I am away from my studies is a moment I fear I am failing the people who look to me. The secrets we have uncovered! Lucien, I know you distrust everything the king stood for, but if we could use that power to better everyone, rather than elevate a few … the implications are breathtaking.
Virmyre has suggested we visit the coast and I would dearly love to. I know seeing you would lift Dino’s spirits. The nine years since you left have passed all too quickly. Please give Rafaela my warmest affection. Tell your houses that Aranea Oscuro Diaspora wishes them a fine summer and a prosperous harvest.
Yours ever faithfully,
Anea
It was only as Dino reached the bottom of the page he realised the edge was red with dried blood. Two ants clung to the thick paper, marching in opposite directions before turning, unsure how to leave the island of parchment. Dino tilted the letter, regarding the insects for a few moments. They were larger than any ants he had seen before. He let the parchment fall to the floor and looked up to find Anea standing in the doorway.
I suppose I shall have to write a new letter now.
Dino nodded, feeling a pang of shame she’d caught him reading it. No secrets existed between the siblings – there had never been any cause for deception – but he felt wrong about reading her missive all the same.
Perhaps I will just add a second page.
She looked tired.
‘Did you come here alone?’
She shook her head.
‘I’m going to need you to carry a weapon. And there’ll be blade practice.’
She nodded without energy, a resignation in the set of her shoulders.
I saw Massimo. He told me he was taking you out for some air.
‘Wine would be more accurate, but I imagine there will be air involved too.’
Be careful. Although I dare say you will be safer in the town than you are in the castle.
‘Perhaps you should come too?’
I have too much to do. Go now. I will send if I need you.
Dino crossed the room and heard the crunch of glass as it broke beneath his boots. Anea smoothed out his jacket across the breast, then held him close for a moment.
‘We should go to the coast. Let these fools rule themselves – they all deserve each other.’
All?
‘No, I suppose not.’ Dino smiled. ‘Not all of them.’
As long as good men serve Landfall I will remain here, Dino. Tyranny was the rule for three hundred years.
‘I just hope it doesn’t take three hundred years to amend it, you know?’
Anea held him close again, then shooed him away with a hand.
Off with you.
‘I won’t be long.’
And be sure to trade in that long face.
‘I doubt I’ll get much for it.’
Before leaving, he watched her enter her ruined sitting room and begin to re-order the books.
3
A Bad Vintage
– 7 Giugno 325
‘And then the figlio di puttana had the audacity to claim diplomatic immunity, as if being the bastard son of Giancarlo would grant him some protection. Buco del culo.’
‘I see you’re in fine humour today,’ said the professore in his usual deadpan. He was nearing sixty, movements slowed by the passage of time. Dino had thought the walking stick an affectation at first, but Virmyre had come to rely on it more heavily with the passing of the seasons. His blue eyes were just as sharp, but the black hair was now shot through with silver, his beard the same. The once fine eyebrows were now overgrown. Another sign of time’s advance.
‘What will Anea do with him?’ said Massimo. The three of them had been sitting in the midday sun for an hour now, sipping white wine, picking at morsels of bread and ham, plucking olives from a bowl. The market on the piazza churned slowly, the shoppers too hot to move at anything more than a meander.
‘She’ll send him off to a farm to work off his penance, most likely,’ said Dino.
‘That is a fate worse than death.’ Massimo grinned, suppressing a laugh. ‘A nobile forced to do an honest day’s work.’
Virmyre joined his laughter but it was cut short.
‘Porca miseria, he’s guilty of treason.’ Dino’s voice had risen. ‘He tried to kill the queen.’ This last through gritted teeth.
‘But she’s not the queen, is she?’ said Virmyre, baritone gentle but insistent.
‘She’s the ruler of Demesne,’ pressed Dino without conviction.
‘This principle of refusing to take a title isn’t helping anyone,’ said Massimo quietly. ‘Being Orfani meant something when the king was alive, but now? Well …’ He shrugged. ‘No offence, Dino.’
‘She can’t make herself queen while pursuing a republic,’ pressed Dino. ‘It doesn’t make any sense, you know?’
‘True enough,’ said Virmyre, ‘but we can’t deny the things we are, any more than we can pretend to be something we’re not.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Dino, brow furrowed in confusion, his hands curling into fists. He was flushed with anger and not entirely sure why.
‘I think Virmyre’s trying to make you see that while Anea may not want to be queen she acts like one.’ Massimo spoke in a soothing tone. ‘Like it or not, Demesne needs a ruler with a title. Landfall needs a queen. Or a king.’
It was true. Being Orfani had been enough to keep the nobles in line in the past. Not just a title born of specific parentage, they were an actual caste of Demesne, a race apart. It wasn’t that Dino, Anea or Lucien outranked the gentry, more that they rem
ained outside it, afforded special treatment at the express wish of the king. But those times were a decade dead, along with the king and his many edicts.
‘She’d enjoy an easier ride if she’d just assume a royal title and outrank the dukes and duchesses,’ added Massimo.
Virmyre nodded soberly, but all three of them knew it was unlikely. Anea did not count hypocrisy among her sins.
‘Easier ride?’ Dino snorted a bitter laugh. ‘Easier than having three thugs wander into her rooms at midnight? They were going to murder her. Do you really think a crown and a title would have stopped them?’
‘Good point,’ said Virmyre. He laced his fingers and looked away at the market. Dino’s voice had crept up a fraction too loud. A small crowd of farmers at another bench had looked over, eyeing the weapons on display with unease.
‘I’m sorry. I just … Three of them. I’m just one person, you know? How am I supposed to defend her against that?’
‘But you did,’ said Massimo, obviously impressed.
‘I wish she didn’t spend so much time on those hateful machines,’ said Dino after a pause. Virmyre cleared his throat and said nothing. ‘Then she could concentrate on creating this republic she’s so keen on.’
Finally Virmyre responded: ‘Those “hateful machines” are doing a lot of good right now. The advances we’ve made in medicine alone are ample evidence of that.’
They lapsed into silence. Virmyre gestured for the bill, a distraction from the sombre tone that had settled over them like a dark cloud. They sat at the taverna watching the cittadini go about their everyday lives. The small town had flourished around the castle like the ivy that crept along its walls. The king had always kept the commoners far from Demesne, but Anea had adopted an entirely different stance. Santa Maria featured blacksmiths, tanners, carpenters, dottori, coopers, fishmongers, butchers, apothecaries and several potters. Each would have been sworn to one of the great houses just five years ago; now no longer, much to the chagrin of the nobles. Free men were forging their own destinies even as many remained wedded to the old loyalties.
The town’s namesake stood at the north side of the piazza, a humble and kindly sculpture devoid of meaning, conjured from a handful of half-remembered myths. Dino noted she appeared to be holding a misshapen loaf of bread in the crook of her arm. Closer inspection revealed it to be an infant in swaddling clothes. Clearly the sculptor had enjoyed the challenge of the new saint far more that the representation of her fictional progeny.