The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  ‘You’re getting thin,’ chided Camelia.

  ‘I’ll be sure to visit soon for a good feeding.’

  ‘Make sure you do; I’ve been worried about you.’

  ‘You’re always worried about me.’

  ‘That’s because you’re always in trouble.’

  ‘I can’t deny that.’ He smiled and felt the warmth of Camelia thaw the frost on his heart.

  Medea’s absence was keenly felt, although paling beside the loss of Emilio. Medea at least had the opportunity to recover from her despair.

  ‘How are the children?’ Dino gave a tight smile.

  ‘They miss their parents,’ replied Camelia.

  Duchess Prospero stood alone, hands clasped demurely at her waist, chin tucked in. She stared at the dais from underneath her brow, mien intent but neutral. The darkness about her eyes spoke of sleep lost to the ravages of worry; her gown was unusually conservative.

  ‘She looks lonely, no?’ said Nardo from behind a raised hand.

  ‘It’s an act,’ replied Dino.

  ‘Huh. How so?’

  ‘She could have brought a messenger, pages or a maid with her.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But she chooses to stand alone. Perhaps she’s looking vulnerable in the hope someone will come to her rescue.’

  ‘Never thought I’d hear the word vulnerable used to describe Salvaza.’

  ‘No one stays strong for ever.’

  Dino’s eyes sought his sister, wondering how deep the cost of the king’s machines had been. Anea sat on the oak throne, looking much improved but different to how Dino remembered her. Had it really been so long? Had the endless hours of research wrought some subtle change to her features?

  ‘She looks different,’ he whispered to Nardo.

  ‘Huh. She looks like she’s eating again. Not before time.’

  ‘She was dreadfully thin,’ agreed Camelia.

  The Domina stood at one side of the dais, silver staff in hand, new scarlet robes immaculate, the circular biretta making a merely tall woman an imposing one. She too looked in better health, less tired certainly. The Domina was flanked by five figures shrouded in robes of grey. Dino searched the sea of anxious faces sweltering in the morning heat. Not a single halberd rose above the assembly; no breastplates gleamed amid the throng.

  ‘Someone missing?’ said Nardo.

  ‘There’s a distinct lack of House Fontein guards.’ Dino’s subdued spirits sank further; Virmyre too was absent.

  The Domina’s silver staff boomed three times. A breathless hush descended, the nobles dropping to one knee in unison.

  ‘This session is now in progress.’ The Domina’s voice rang to the edges of the Ravenscourt, lost only to the great dome that rose above their heads. Dino’s eyes were drawn back time and again to the five grey-robed figures. Sweat prickled at his brow. The Domina stretched open a rolled parchment and began to read.

  ‘In the light of recent attacks and the repeated failure of House Fontein and Margravio Contadino to protect our granaries, I have decided to create a new army to protect Demesne.’

  Agitated words ran amok across the Ravenscourt. Emilio’s death was still painfully sharp for his allies. The gallery was a scandalised susurrus.

  ‘Furthermore, it is the order of Lady Diaspora that a curfew be introduced between sunrise and sunset in Santa Maria.’

  Another round of seething whispers, more words unleashed from incredulous mouths.

  ‘Where are you getting your new soldiers from?’ shouted a man in the gallery. The Domina ignored him. Dino’s eyes were now locked on the figures behind the Domina. A terrible certainty gripped him, holding him fast in the dizzying heat of the Ravenscourt. The chamber was now drunk with outrage. The silver staff boomed down on the dais. Once. Twice. Three times. The Domina passed an excoriating gaze over the assembly.

  ‘These are the wishes of Lady Araneae Oscuro Diaspora. It is her wish we join together in this time of hardship.’

  ‘What of House Fontein?’ This shout from the gallery brought a murmur of support.

  ‘We spoke of this,’ Dino said quietly to Nardo. ‘Spoke of creating a new army, one we could trust.’

  ‘The days of that house are at an end,’ the Domina all but snarled, fixing the cittadini with an icy gaze.

  ‘What do you mean, “new army”?’ Nardo frowned.

  ‘Watch.’ Dino nodded toward the dais.

  One by one the robed figures revealed themselves. All wore unnatural, insect-like dark brown breastplates and sleek helms. Short swords were belted at the hip, scabbards enamelled in matching dark brown. They stood at wary attention, thin wiry limbs under heavy grey garments.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ asked Nardo, an edge of mistrust to the whisper.

  ‘No! Of course not.’ Dino frowned. ‘I’m as shocked as you are.’

  ‘They’re not Fontein guards?’

  The Domina was struggling to make herself heard over the din. ‘And how much does it cost to outfit a new army?’ bleated one of the nobles.

  ‘You need to talk to Anea,’ said Nardo. Dino chewed his lip, ignoring the messenger’s angry glance. How had he not seen this coming? How had they kept such a project secret?

  ‘I’m not sure I know her any more,’ admitted Dino. ‘All that time spent in the sanatorio has warped her senses.’ The crowd around them jostled. Dino locked eyes with Anea, but the look she returned was devoid of recognition or interest. He held up his hands and flashed a series of gestures.

  We need to talk.

  Her brow creased in confusion and she turned her eyes to the Domina.

  ‘Our new guards are called the Myrmidons. They will answer directly to me. There will be no more violence in Demesne, no more raids.’ She was all but shouting now. ‘We will pull togeth—’

  Dino didn’t hear the rest of her words. His eyes had found the gallery, which was thinning fast, anxious glances thrown over shoulders. In perhaps a quarter of an hour word would have spread throughout Santa Maria. And then, at the far end of the gallery, he spotted the reason for the cittadini’s hurried exit: one of the Domina’s new Myrmidons. He wore two short swords across his back and lacked the sleek helm of his comrades, instead opting for a veil. His dark brown hair was ragged, long and tied back. Dino almost drew his blade on instinct. The veiled Myrmidon looked down, meeting Dino’s gaze with dispassionate eyes.

  ‘He was in the woods when Emilio was killed,’ breathed Dino, ‘and he nearly bested me in the Contadino courtyard.’

  ‘Who?’ Nardo was all but crushed against him as the Ravenscourt descended into chaos. More of the Myrmidons had appeared, looking all too keen to wield the weapons given to them by the Domina. Anea rose from the throne and exited by the back door, a wall of Myrmidons protecting her from the calls and protests of the court. The capo and his retinue made to leave, but not before Guido closed with those loyal to Contadino.

  ‘It seems neither of us will become Duke Fontein,’ said the capo with a smirk.

  ‘It does seem that way, doesn’t it?’ replied Dino, too shocked to form a more biting response.

  ‘I heard you failed to protect Margravio Contadino. How embarrassing, what with you being superiore.’

  Dino lunged forward, but the bravos at Guido’s side interposed themselves.

  ‘We all make mistakes, Dino.’ The capo grinned.

  ‘And what will happen next time you fail?’ asked Dino. ‘Do you think she’s the kind to suffer fools gladly?’ Dino flashed his eyes toward the Domina, Guido stiffening as he followed the direction of the Orfano’s gaze. ‘Do you think she suffers fools at all? You’re being played, Guido.’

  The capo spent a moment constructing a riposte, but the moment was gone and he knew it. He swept out of the Ravenscourt, his bravos shouldering those too slow or too proud from his path. There was a fresh outburst of agitated voices.

  ‘I preferred it when he was keeping company with Salvaza,’ said Nardo.

  ‘I
trust him less now he’s taken up with the Domina,’ added Maria.

  Dino and his companions pressed through the crowd, reaching the dais to discover the Domina had departed. He flashed a look up to the gallery, but the veiled Myrmidon had gone. The Ravenscourt had begun to empty.

  ‘What does this mean?’ asked Camelia. ‘For us? For House Contadino?’

  ‘It means we’re all fucked,’ said Dino.

  ‘What do you mean?’ pressed Nardo.

  ‘I mean if Anea has turned Demesne over to the Domina and these … Myrmidons, then there’s no telling what she has in mind for the remaining nobili.’

  ‘She wouldn’t—’ said Maria.

  ‘Her mind has gone.’ Dino spat the words. ‘The machines, the king’s secrets. I warned Virmyre. I told him to keep her safe.’

  ‘She wouldn’t kill the children,’ protested Maria.

  ‘Demesne is no stranger to killing children as they sleep,’ replied Dino, remembering his childhood.

  ‘I’ll go to them now,’ said Nardo.

  They left together, crossing the polished marble of the Ravenscourt with anxiety gnawing at their heels. They were almost through the doors when a Myrmidon appeared. Dino made to draw but Nardo stilled his arm. The newcomer entered, summoning those guarding the Ravenscourt with a guttural shout. The grey men marched out in their deep-brown armour, boot heels tramping on flagstones.

  ‘Where are they going?’ muttered Nardo.

  ‘To put down a riot,’ whispered Dino.

  They watched the unrest from the windows of Lucien’s old apartment. The town had fragmented into those trying to escape and those venting their rage at a change none had agreed to. Camelia clung to Luc as Maria held Isabella, shielding her eyes. Nardo and Dino looked down at the town powerlessly. The gates of all the great houses were locked and barred. All the portals to Demesne had been reinforced to repel the raiders, who now protected them with a spiteful zeal. Fire licked at the wood only to be doused with the buckets so thoughtfully provided by the now dead Margravio Contadino. The whole affair had the taste of a cruel joke gone terribly wrong. Pitchforks lay discarded in the street, their owners face down on cobbles slick with blood. By nightfall the anger had dissipated, its cost counted in lives.

  ‘I have to speak to Anea,’ said Dino.

  Nardo nodded, too shocked to say anything meaningful. ‘Hell of a thing,’ was all he whispered.

  44

  Slaves to Duty

  – 28 Agosto 325

  The day after the riot was a day of tense silences. No words of consolation could salve what had befallen Santa Maria. Dino stalked the corridors of Demesne with a hand on the hilt of his blade. Myrmidons stood at the main gates of the great houses and the Central Keep. There was no way to determine just how many of the armoured soldiers existed. All individuality was scoured away, faces unseen beneath curving helms. They barely registered Dino’s passing, adding to his pique.

  The Orfano killed two long hours training with the new blade, the drake-headed hilt a comfort in his hand, onyx eyes amid the silver scales. Dino paused to catch his breath, sweat a bright sheen across his torso. Massimo had partnered him the last time he’d ventured to the abandoned practice room; now his killers guarded Demesne.

  Massimo.

  The name continued to weigh heavy on his heart. He lashed out with the sword, striking through the very thought, turning away from it. He began working through the steps, just as he’d done the day he’d sparred with the Contadino swordsman. The simple stances and slashes of novices evolved into the parries and feints of the adept. Finally he practised the combinations and ripostes of the master swordsman. All of his awareness was consumed by the weight of the steel, the balance of the blade, the rise and fall of his breath. Individual movements became an extended fluid motion, weaving a nimbus of destruction about him. Grief abated, frustration diminished, the drake looked back from the pommel and glittered. If death should find him tonight he would be ready for it.

  The door opened with a creak of protesting hinges, announcing Nardo.

  ‘I went up to the rooftops looking for you,’ said the messenger.

  ‘Thought I should practise. I can’t lose my edge at a time like this.’

  ‘Huh. I think we’ve all lost our edge of late.’ Nardo checked the corridor, then closed and locked the door. ‘I feel like there’s some greater force at work.’

  ‘There is,’ said Dino sheathing his sword.

  ‘Want to share what you know?’

  Dino recounted what he knew of Erebus, how he used tinctura to buy influence with the Domina, how Duke Fontein’s assassination had been the express wish of the Domina’s mystery correspondent.

  ‘You’ve been playing this close to your chest.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Dino shrugged. ‘I asked Stephania and Massimo for help first; I should have included you.’

  ‘What does Stephania make of it all?’

  ‘Not much, just speculation.’

  ‘And Anea knows all of this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve not spoken to her in weeks. Longer than weeks, in fact.’

  ‘Well there’s an opportunity to change that. I’ve had word the House Fontein maids have been cleaning a room all morning. Her furniture is being moved over there as we speak. Tailors and seamstresses from House Prospero have have been summoned.’

  ‘Anea’s moving to House Fontein?’

  The messenger nodded. ‘The Domina is on the move also.’

  Dino advanced toward the door, full of purpose. Nardo laid one hand against his chest lightly.

  ‘Slow down. She’s surrounded. They’re all there – the Domina, a dottore, that veiled bastard, a couple of Myrmidons guarding the door. Viscount Datini and Simonetti appear to be part of the cabal too.’

  ‘I need to speak to Anea.’

  ‘Huh. Better you speak to her alone, if you can.’

  Dino nodded, then let out a frustrated sigh.

  ‘Wait until nightfall.’ The messenger clapped him on the shoulder. ‘And keep that thing sharp.’ Nardo gestured at the sword. ‘You’re going to need it.’

  Dino spent the afternoon slumped in an armchair in one corner of the Contadino apartment. Maria went about her chores and the children played quietly or read from books; neither of them spared the Orfano much interest. Dino was grateful. He dozed in the chair with his sword across his lap, the drake slumbering on his shoulder. Camelia arrived, making a fuss, before the five of them took an awkward meal together. Luc and Isabella remained silent throughout. Maria and Camelia spoke of mundane things so as to not upset them. It was a vain effort; everyone at the table knew how dire their situation was. Dino counted off the hours, waiting for his chance to see Anea.

  ‘You’re up to something,’ said Camelia as they cleared the dishes away.

  ‘Everyone in Demesne is up to something,’ replied Dino. Achilles flicked out a black tongue.

  ‘Do you want a clip round the ear?’

  ‘I always forget how direct you are.’ Dino grinned.

  ‘I’m more than happy to remind you.’ Camelia smiled back.

  ‘I’m going to try and speak to Anea tonight.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Camelia, stopping her chores.

  ‘Yes. Oh.’

  ‘What will you say?’

  ‘I want to find out who’s manipulating her. There’s someone behind the scenes with an agenda and I mean to unmask them.’

  ‘Do you have any suspicions?’

  ‘I did wonder if Lady Allattamento might be the culprit, but she’s left the castle. Duke Fontein is dead, but his wife could be responsible.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘No.’ He plucked at his lip. ‘I did wonder if Salvaza might be the problem, but she wouldn’t order the death of Duke Fontein. It doesn’t make any sense, you know?’

  ‘Things stopped making sense months ago.’

  ‘True enough.’ Dino drew in a breath, feeling the tension in his shoulders. ‘It can�
��t be the capo.’

  Camelia snorted in disdain. ‘He only thinks with his britches.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s someone we’re not aware of, or someone who’s been away from Demesne for a few years.’

  ‘You can’t mean Lucien.’ Camelia frowned.

  Dino blinked and shook his head. ‘No, of course not. Why would he seek power here when he has power enough in San Marino?’

  ‘You should send word to him. He’d come and help.’

  ‘I already have, but the messenger hasn’t been seen in weeks.’

  ‘Promise me something.’ The cook circled the table and drew close. She smoothed back his hair, tucking some stray strands behind one ear as if he were no more than seven or eight years old.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘This person you’re hunting, are they responsible for Lord Contadino’s murder?’

  ‘I’m not sure. That finger seems to point toward Salvaza.’

  ‘Well, when you do know who is responsible …’ Camelia hesitated ‘… make sure you kill them.’

  Dino nodded, Camelia’s request had all the hallmarks of an assassination about it. It would be a just killing, but a killing all the same.

  Evening had darkened the streets of Santa Maria, the west side of the town caught in the deepening shadows of Demesne itself. The window revealed a horizon the colour of an angry wound. Dino waited for the land to scab over with darkness. The stars appeared only dimly, witness to an unhappy town cowed by the violence of the riots. The brightest of them shone amethyst, a vengeful eye in the firmament.

  Anea passed from her sitting room to the bedroom, a slump to her shoulders telling of a day loaded with frustrations. She had dismissed her maids some hours earlier. The tailors and seamstresses had departed with measurements and a good deal of coin. Anea had grown weary of the Domina too, who had insisted on lingering late into the night. This much Dino had determined by lurking on the windowsill, an ear pressed to the lead-latticed glass.