The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  ‘He’s not that old,’ Stephania said with a smile.

  ‘An old soul, that’s what Camelia would say.’ Dino pulled at his lip. ‘She’d also say live and let live, but that won’t stop the Domina asking for his resignation.’ He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

  ‘How have you been?’ said Stephania, crossing to the table. ‘Since the news broke, I mean?’

  ‘Sleeping.’

  She poured two glasses of wine from a caraffa.

  ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if he was an Orfano.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Dino, struggling to keep the pique from his voice.

  ‘He’d be accepted if it came to light he were an Orfano, but as an invertito—’

  ‘He’s ruined.’

  ‘It seems to me they have something in common.’ She extended a glass to him. Dino took the wine but didn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘How so, exactly?’ He didn’t really want to hear the answer.

  ‘One doesn’t choose to be Orfano any more than one chooses to be invertito.’

  Dino nodded and sipped the wine, letting the thread of conversation slip away. He blinked, and for a moment he could see the two men performing for Cherubini’s pleasure, bodies golden in the candlelight. He flinched, causing his wine to slop over the lip of the glass.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Sorry. Just on edge. I’ve not been awake long.’ He sucked a droplet of wine from his knuckle.

  ‘Come, let’s have dinner and speak of something else.’ She favoured him with a brave sort of smile and led him him into a small dining room.

  ‘I so rarely have guests, this is a treat really.’

  There was a joy to Stephania that forced a smile from him, but in truth he simply desired to be back in his apartment, trying to make sense of an unravelling world.

  The meal was a series of small courses: soup that failed to rouse his interest, spinach and tomato tortellini, partridge stuffed with shallots, garlic and potato, and so on. Dino’s appetite was greatly diminished by the shaming of Cherubini; the wine at least was welcome. In time they retired to the balcony, where Stephania had servants bring them black coffee.

  ‘There’s something I wanted to discuss with you,’ said Dino in a small voice, feeling the heat of the mug on his fingertips. Stephania adopted a look of interest; there was hope in the faint smile that touched her lips.

  ‘Of course. You can always turn to me.’ She stepped closer until he detected the light musk of her perfume.

  ‘I stumbled across a name during my investigation of Anea’s assassins.’ It was only a small lie, he told himself. ‘Erebus. Do you know it?’

  Stephania looked surprised for a second, then shook her head.

  ‘I’ve reason to believe this is someone operating from outside the castle, yet he has agents within. He also has access to a fair amount of coin.’

  ‘Who has he compromised?’

  Dino paused. It was easy to dismiss Stephania as a spoilt rich girl with nothing better to do than commission elaborate gowns, but her political insight was matched only by her acuity for intrigue.

  ‘The Domina. Not directly; rather he’s paid money into the House Diaspora coffers, but only to further his agenda.’

  ‘He’s paying for influence. What’s his agenda?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But Erebus requested Cherubini be watched because his life was in danger.’

  ‘And was it?’ Stephania frowned.

  ‘No, I don’t believe so.’ Dino looked away to the dark horizon and the smattering of stars. ‘I think this Erebus knew about Cherubini and his preferences; I think he wanted him unmasked for what he is.’

  ‘Did you accept the duty?’

  Dino nodded. ‘I stood guard.’ He sighed and set his coffee down on the parapet. ‘I didn’t betray him but I failed to protect him. I left the door to his apartment unlocked …’

  ‘And when the maid arrived the next day …’

  Dino nodded, felt the corners of his vision turn pink. He would not shed tears for the maestro. He looked away and cleared his throat.

  ‘I’ve searched the map of Landfall for a House Erebus, one of the distant estates, but …’

  ‘None exists.’ Stephania sipped her coffee and looked pensive. ‘Let me look into it. I don’t have a network of spies but I do have sympathetic ears. They tell me things.’

  ‘Ears?’

  ‘My mother’s messengers loathe her for my father’s treatment. They’re loyal to me. Cherubini and I have long shared information, and the Erudito messengers tell me things from time to time.’

  ‘And Fontein?’ Dino’s tone was incredulous. ‘Surely not Contadino?’

  ‘No, those houses are closed to me, not that I fear the Contadinos.’

  ‘All this time and a whole network of spies right under my nose.’ Dino grinned and shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘Not spies.’

  ‘Sympathetic ears.’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘If I hear anything about this Erebus you’ll be the first to know.’

  ‘If I’m right, then Erebus has just removed a significant player from the board, one that leaves you, me, Anea and the Contadinos at a severe disadvantage.’

  ‘I hope you’re wrong,’ said Stephania.

  ‘So do I, but if I’m not …’

  ‘Then we’ll get this bastard together.’

  A single star far above the balcony stared down with an amethyst light.

  ‘What is that?’ breathed Dino.

  ‘My mother said it was Prospero’s star. Should it ever fall then so will my house.’

  ‘I’m not sure I have much influence with stars.’

  ‘Let’s hope it remains up there a little longer then.’

  Dino bade her good night. She pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks, and he descended the stairs, hand never far from his blade.

  18

  Drunk and Negligent

  – 18 Luglio 325

  Dino reached the Central Keep joining the great houses but felt no inclination to retire. The guards at the main gate let him out despite the hour, and he wandered the lonely chasm between Houses Contadino and Prospero. The triumphal arch loomed in the darkness, resplendent with heraldry and the colours of the houses. He passed under the tapering towers and sloping roofs, lost to his thoughts. The stars looked down from their appointed places, one shimmering amethyst, the rest silver.

  ‘House Prospero’s star,’ he murmured. ‘Look after Stephania, won’t you?’

  He pressed on through the town, reaching the old sanatorio, home to the library and his sister’s laboratory. The iron-bound double doors were guarded by four soldiers in House Fontein colours. He climbed the few steps and saluted, nodding to the men and their sergente.

  ‘You arrive to us late, my lord.’ The man had a broken nose, bloodshot eyes, and possessed a unique odour.

  ‘Not exactly the warm welcome I was hoping for.’

  ‘We’re under orders not to admit anyone.’

  Dino squared up to the man. ‘Do I look like “anyone” to you?’

  The sergente nodded to his men, one of whom hammered a fist on the doors. It was unbarred from the other side after a few moments.

  ‘Apologies, my lord, but orders are …’ Anything else the man had to say died on his lips as Dino glowered at him.

  It hadn’t been used as a sanatorio for a long time. The first three floors were fitted with vast oak shelves, extending from the centre like spokes of a wheel. Books nestled against each other in the dusty darkness. Tomes lay in piles and waited on desks, waiting for the attentions of Archivist Simonetti. Turquoise carpets, the house colour of Anea, lest any forget who opened the library, ran like garden paths between shelves and desks. Stepladders loomed by shelves, brass handrails gleaming.

  It had been difficult luring people in at first, as the building was steeped in bad associations, and its gargoyles and buttresses, the black iron bars on the windows did little to welcome visi
tors. Anea had persisted all the same, removing the bars and fitting stained glass. And yet the sanatorio was not completely changed: the top three floors remained out of bounds.

  He found her on the third floor, sitting at a desk surrounded by books. She was dressed in her nightgown, a triangle of silver silk covering the lower half of her face, blond hair falling in disarray around her shoulders.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

  I was about to ask the same question.

  ‘I’d assumed you’d be in the laboratory.’ He flicked his gaze up.

  The top three floors are somewhat basic; the library is a nicer setting. I needed to check a few things. She patted the books in front of her by way of explanation. Dino frowned. She moved with a dream-like grace, her gaze not quite focused.

  ‘Anea, we need to talk.’

  The Silent Queen nodded and got to her feet, then beckoned with a finger, the gesture languid. Dino wondered at the distant look in her eye and that she hadn’t embraced him. She led him to the far side of the library, pausing to draw back a thick tapestry that concealed a door.

  ‘I’d actually forgotten where the door was.’ He shook his head.

  Anea produced two keys on a length of cord around her neck, using them to open a pair of locks in the centre of the door. The Orfani slipped into darkness, the smooth stone of a spiral staircase passing beneath boots and naked feet until they emerged on the fourth floor.

  ‘I take it your studies are going well.’

  She nodded but didn’t slow her walking in order to sign, ushering him along the corridor, past workshops filled with the king’s machines. He glimpsed benches covered in ledgers and scraps of parchment. Ten long years she’d been trying to decode the secrets of the infernal machines. A decade of simultaneously ruling Landfall and researching the king’s sciences. Dino had watched her through the passing of the seasons, only admitting it was not time wasted with some reluctance. At first there had been soap and disinfectants, then analgesics and cataract surgery. Then unexpected advances in astronomy and metallurgy, followed by leaps in chemistry and pharmacology.

  Some of the machines summoned ghostly words on surfaces of obsidian, displaying endless essays and complex instructions. Other machines spoke in stilted antiquated dialects. Dino hated these most of all. They were mindless things chanting recherché theories and unproven practices, not responding when questioned, dry echoes from ghosts unremembered. Most of the machines took the form of charcoal-grey rectangles no longer than a forearm, like portable gravestones. Each bore a single beady eye, staring at the world with an amethyst glow.

  And there were apparatuses: microscopes and cold devices in black leather cases, cardio-this and retino-that, fine needles attached to syringes, scalpels and clamps. The old steel instruments looked cruel and unfathomable. They made his skin crawl.

  Anea’s rooms were small. Two battered armchairs faced each other across a hearth. It had been a long time since a fire had burned there. The room lacked all decoration: it was clear she had no use for the place besides sleeping.

  What news? Do I still rule? Has Lady Allattamento staged a coup? Has the capo finally come to his senses and married Stephania?

  ‘Don’t be facetious; it doesn’t suit you.’ He slumped into one of the chairs, hand straying to his lip, stubble on his chin firm against his fingers. Anea sat patiently, waiting for him to fill the silence. He’d longed to speak to her these last few weeks, but now the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘Demesne is going through changes,’ he began, feeling foolish. And once more a flash of memory brought the image of hard bodies moving against each other in the darkness, sculpted in candlelight.

  That is nothing new, Anea signed before pouring a glass of wine.

  ‘Not like this. It’s more serious this time.’ His mind drifted to Massimo.

  Her fingers flickered. You know I would come back if I could, but Virmyre and I are close to a breakthrough. We may be able to extend longevity.

  ‘Margravio Contadino has set himself on a course that I can’t turn him from.’

  He will come to his senses. Medea will act as his conscience, just as she always does.

  ‘Maestro Cherubini is being forced to resign.’

  I heard. Regrettable but …

  ‘You knew?’ He shook his head, incredulity making the words sour. ‘How could you know and not come to help? He needs you.’

  What can I do? My being there would have changed nothing.

  Dino looked away to the empty fireplace. There was nothing on the mantel. A pair of glass vials lay forgotten in the ashes of the hearth, missing their stoppers, empty vessels. The bookshelves behind were barren, the rug threadbare.

  ‘And you know the Domina has had me creeping around spying?’

  Anea nodded almost imperceptibly.

  ‘She’s not herself, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. She seems intent on uncovering secrets but unwilling to do much with the information.’

  She is doing what she believes she must. She knows the stakes better than anyone. I sometimes thinks she knows the cost of things more than I.

  The pronouncement of that uncomfortable truth sat between them.

  ‘I overheard the Fonteins plotting against you, and she demands proof, but what more proof do I need than my own ears?’

  The Fonteins will always plot against us. We need physical proof in order to move against them, legally. You know this, Dino.

  He shook his head, frustrated and exhausted. ‘There’s something else.’ He felt a tightness in his chest, the anxiety of saying words he’d not been able to whisper to himself when alone.

  ‘I’m …’ His courage slipped away. ‘I’m looking for someone called Erebus. Are they an old family, one of the distant estates?’

  Anea shook her head.

  ‘Does Lucien have an Erebus serving him?’

  A shrug. I could ask Russo to make enquiries—

  ‘No.’

  Anea blinked at the force of his interruption.

  ‘I’d prefer you didn’t mention it to her. This is a personal matter,’ he lied. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you,’ he said after a pause, keen to change the subject. Anea leaned forward in her chair, into the light, revealing how drawn she was, dark rings beneath her eyes, hair pulled back with a simple tie. There was a gauntness to her frame he’d not noticed before.

  ‘I drew steel on the day of the dottore’s funeral. The capo and I …’ Another diversion from the secret he had meant to tell her. She sat back, crossing her legs at the knee, rubbing her hands palm to palm. Dino drank the wine, more for something to do than slake his thirst.

  You and the capo have been testing each other’s patience for years. It seems inevitable you’ll cross blades at some point. I would prefer it if you did not kill him this year if it makes any difference.

  Dino grunted in amusement, regarding the contents of his wine glass, blood red in the dim light.

  Still, it is not like I have any control. Just make sure you are the one left standing when the fight is done.

  Dino nodded again and plucked at his lip. Anea appeared more focused than when he’d encountered her in the library.

  Are you going to tell me what is really upsetting you, or shall we continue talking about treason, nobili and petty politics.

  ‘Hardly petty. They want you dead. And Margravio Contadino fears for his life. And rightly so.’

  What is wrong, Dino? There is a strange look about you. Hunted. No. Haunted.

  ‘You hardly look yourself either. Are you eating? Do you sleep?’

  What is wrong, Dino?

  He tried to swallow, then pulled at the collar of his shirt. He was suddenly much too warm.

  ‘I’m … I think I’m different.’

  Well of course. Anea paused, then blinked. You are Orfano – different by birth, by ability, by the way we conduct ourselves.

  ‘Yes, but I’ve always been more different than you and Lucien …’

&nb
sp; Because you have spines that grow from your forearms? Or because of your eyes and the bloody tears you weep?

  ‘No, nothing like that.’

  I can make you a duke if it makes you happy. Is that it? You want more recognition, more status?

  ‘Porca miseria, no.’

  Well, what then?

  Memories of standing in the doorway of Maestro Cherubini’s bedroom flooded through him: the shock of his own arousal, the embarrassment, the desire to keep watching, the fear of being discovered and the shame. Shame had been the greatest of these, following at his heels like a faithful hound. It kept him awake when he needed rest, troubling him in the quiet hours of the night.

  ‘Anea. When I went to Cherubini’s rooms …’ He faltered.

  What?

  ‘I was there. Acting as his bodyguard on the Domina’s orders. It was me. I left the door unlocked. The maid only discovered them because of my mistake.’

  You were there? But not to … not in his bedroom?

  ‘No, but that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I saw what was happening inside …’

  The sound of footsteps in the corridor. Dino started from the chair, wine glass shattering across floorboards in the deep quiet of the small hours. Dino’s sword was free of its sheath before he’d drawn breath. He turned with a snarl frozen on his lips.

  Virmyre faced him, hands raised, his usually stony demeanour apologetic. ‘Easy. I didn’t realise you were here, Dino.’

  ‘Ever heard of knocking?’ he grunted, sheathing his sword.

  ‘It’s not as if we’re inundated with visitors, Lord Erudito.’

  Dino glowered at him and dropped his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Virmyre. I’ve been on edge lately.’

  ‘Perfectly understandable.’ The professore turned to address Anea. ‘Sorry to interrupt but the vials of tinctura are ready.’

  Dino caught Anea glancing at him, saw the concern in her eyes turn to indecision and then resignation. Her fingers began to move but he already knew what was coming.

  Can we finish this another time? I am sorry. Tomorrow perhaps?

  Dino nodded and watched them leave, disappearing into the lantern-lit workshops. He drifted along the corridor, down the stairs and back through the secret door. The guards outside nodded to him, different to the ones before: a changing of the guard had occurred with the coming of midnight.