The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  ‘You said we were being played.’

  Dino nodded. ‘The Domina, your mother, Duke Fontein, they all received letters from one calling himself Erebus. He set them against each other.’

  ‘As if they needed any encouragement.’ Stephania rolled her eyes.

  Dino nodded, unable to deny the truth of it.

  ‘It’s possible Erebus suggested things that may have remained undone.’

  ‘Like Margravio Contadino’s murder?’

  Dino nodded again, a cold pang of guilt in his heart. ‘And the maestro’s expulsion.’ Now a smothering of shame. ‘The Myrmidons are undoubtedly his work …’ He sighed, tangled in skeins of speculation, choked with suspicions.

  ‘How can I be sure all of this true, Dino? How can I be sure you’ve not descended into the same labyrinth of madness that Anea now occupies?’

  For a second he was on the rooftops again, staring down into the Ravenscourt as his sister rutted with Fiorenza’s killer.

  ‘Dino?’ Stephania’s frown deepened, her impatience clear. The Orfano reached into his jacket, bringing out the letter from Duchess Prospero to Margravio Contadino. The lure that had led Emilio to the graveyard. He proffered it with care, keeping his hand clear of his sword lest she misread his intent and stab him. Stephania unfolded the missive and devoured its contents.

  ‘Interesting but there’s no mention of any Erebus,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Salvaza tonight. She said Erebus threatened to kill you if she failed to get Emilio to the graveyard.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘Didn’t she warn you of the self-same thing before Emilio died?’

  ‘She said I was in danger; she said we both were.’

  ‘And you believed her. Why else would you lie to me about the earring? You were covering for her, hoping you could extricate her from the mess she had made.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Stephania’s eyes strayed across the room to where the pearl in gold rested on her bedside cabinet.

  ‘Fine. Whether you recognised it or not –’ Dino sighed ‘– it hardly matters.’

  ‘I’m not sure I ever really knew my mother,’ she admitted. ‘She’s not the sort of person who enjoys the company of women; she’s only happy when she’s fluttering around men.’

  ‘She loved Emilio once.’

  Stephania’s eyes widened; her mouth by contrast became pinched.

  ‘They were lovers when she was very young,’ he continued. ‘Your mother has many faults, but she’d never put him at risk. Not unless she had no other choice.’

  The duchess’s words from their afternoon in the training chamber revisited him like a faded whisper: To this day I can’t be sure if Stephania was a child born of Prospero. Certainly she lacks any of Stephano’s attributes. Dino studied Stephania, searching for a trace of Emilio in the lines of her face – her brow, her nose – but any evidence of her paternity remained concealed, if it existed at all.

  ‘You can’t ask me to trust her, Dino.’

  ‘She sacrificed Emilio to save you,’ he replied. ‘You may not want to believe she’s capable of any good, and I don’t blame you, but she’d never have anyone killed.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because that’s what she had Duke Fontein for. Salvaza is strictly political. Fontein was dangerous not just because of his influence but because he preferred more direct action. He was a killer. That’s why I killed him.’

  Stephania lowered the stiletto, shoulders slumping, leaning her back against the door. Her chin dropped, eyes closed. Her lips trembled with the force of all she held back. That she might be Emilio Contadino’s daughter was one secret Dino retained. He’d not add to her burdens on a night like this.

  ‘She asked me to take you to San Marino,’ he said after she’d had a moment to absorb everything.

  ‘And you trust her?’

  ‘Trust is too strong a word, but I believe it’s a good idea.’ Dino crossed the room and touched Stephania on the shoulder. He found himself looking into deep brown eyes holding back tears that deserved to be shed. She fell into his embrace, not as a lover, but as a child orphaned by Demesne. By politics. By the twisted machinery of service and rule. He may have lost one sister, but he had surely gained another. She dashed away unformed tears and set herself to dressing, reaching into a lacquered wardrobe.

  ‘There’s one more problem.’ Dino rubbed at his forehead.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘You asked the capo to post two Myrmidons outside your door.’

  She nodded, unconcerned, as if having two heavily armoured thugs within twenty feet was nothing, then shucked off her nightgown.

  Dino turned away out of habit. ‘I’m not sure I can take both of them without attracting undue attention.’

  ‘I know that,’ she replied.

  After a minute he turned to find her wearing men’s riding britches, a blouse and thick jacket. Small clothes were packed into a bag.

  ‘Perhaps we could lure them in one at a time, or …’

  ‘You’ll need this,’ she said, holding out the tabard of a House Prospero messenger. He took the garment and struggled into it, then found himself presented with a tricorn bearing a purple feather.

  ‘The disguise is good,’ he admitted, ‘but they’ll undoubtedly recognise me up close.’

  ‘Dino,’ she said with a mischievous smile, ‘how important would you say I am?’ She’d wriggled into a messenger’s tabard of her own.

  ‘Well, you’re the next duchess of House Prospero, if I can keep you alive.’

  ‘Which means?’ She buckled on a wide belt of deep brown leather, then retrieved a fencing sword in a battered scabbard.

  ‘An entire house, the economic heart of Demesne, is yours to command one day. Assuming your mother hasn’t spent all of its reserves on inappropriate dresses.’ This last earned him a smile.

  ‘Fairly important then?’ She raised her eyebrows, smirked, then sketched a bow before placing the tricorn upon her head. Dino nodded, unsure of where she was taking this line of conversation. Stephania opened the doors to a second lacquered wardrobe. It was not filled with clothes. It was not filled with anything as far as Dino could see. The future Duchess Prospero hauled up a trapdoor set in its base. She turned to him, looking about as smug as he’d ever seen her.

  ‘So it stands to reason I can escape my own chamber by means less obvious than the front door. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I think I love you, Stephania.’

  ‘Only if you weren’t invertito.’ He knew she’d said in jest but it stung all the same. ‘Sorry. Love is love.’ She embraced him once more, a light kiss on his cheek to complete the apology, and then they were fleeing down a ladder, wondering if they’d survive the dawn.

  52

  The Faces of Messengers

  – 30 Agosto 325

  The secret route from Stephania’s chamber descended through cobweb and darkness. It was a place of tight corners and rough stone, a graveyard for dust, a repository for whispers long forgotten. How many secrets and arguments had echoed in these places between walls? Dino’s nerves were frayed from being hunted, the feeling persisting even here. They were in a hidden place, obscured from view yet far from safe. They climbed down ladders or else used the ancient timbers of Demesne to take them ever lower, following a route unremembered by all except by ancient architects.

  And Stephania.

  ‘How do you know this place so well?’ asked Dino.

  ‘My father showed me. He said the great houses were a good deal more hostile toward each other during my grandfather’s rule. This route is from that time.’

  They emerged into the empty kitchens of House Prospero, yet to awaken to the day’s labours. Only the scurrying of mice across floorboards broke the silence. Dino imagined he could hear the endless crawl of a thousand ants, infesting every corner of Demesne, searching out every crumb of comfort.

  ‘We should take something for
the road,’ said Stephania. They searched the pantries and took a small selection of food. The desire to leave pressed upon them.

  ‘Where did you get that thing from?’ enquired Dino, tapping the scabbard attached to her belt with an index finger. The sword had a swept hilt of admirable craftsmanship, but the metal was dull and grimy. The canvas of the scabbard was worn and bare, the chape loose. Much like the weapon I gave Speranza, he thought.

  ‘It was my father’s,’ replied Stephania. ‘He was never much of a soldier. I found it in his office one day and begged him to let me have it.’ She brushed her fingers over the hilt, tender as a lover. ‘He could never deny me anything.’

  ‘Do you know how to use it?’

  ‘I had some lessons, but my mother found out and made me stop.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Shortly before I was sixteen.’ Stephania raised an eyebrow. ‘She said it was unladylike.’

  ‘Show me,’ said Dino, withdrawing a few steps.

  ‘What here? In the kitchen?’ Stephania pouted.

  ‘You don’t go looking for the fight; the fight comes looking for you. And it doesn’t care too much for the when or the where.’

  She drew, holding out the sword with an arm that hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a quill for some time.

  ‘Again, but bend your knees. Try not to turn out your feet out so much. This isn’t ballet.’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder.’ She re-sheathed the sword and tried again, drew perfectly. A slash, a thrust.

  He caught the tip of the blade in a gloved hand and flashed a grin at her. ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’

  ‘Let’s hope I don’t actually have to use it,’ she replied.

  Soon they were stalking through House Prospero, entering the circuitous corridor that embraced the Ravenscourt. Dino pushed a gloved hand into Stephania’s. She squeezed, though whether it was meant as reassurance or came from anxiety wasn’t clear. They hurried onward.

  ‘Have you seen Anea?’ Stephania whispered.

  ‘Yes.’ How could one word be so hard to say? As if a hand had clamped around his throat.

  ‘Did you speak to her?’

  ‘I tried. She’s not the person I knew.’ Thoughts of Anea’s betrayal were a phantom that haunted every shadowed corner. ‘I think …’ The words faltered. He knew what he wanted to say, just couldn’t stand the speaking of them. ‘I think one of the Myrmidons has influence over her.’ Perhaps Anea had seen something of herself in Marchetti. Perhaps she’d been lost to the ravages of tinctura.

  ‘This Erebus you mentioned?’

  ‘No, he’s called Marchetti. The man who killed Fiorenza.’ A thought occurred. ‘It’s not inconceivable that they’re the same person. It would explain a few things.’ Dino felt his hate for the Myrmidon swell until he could barely breathe.

  ‘This Marchetti would have to be some sort of genius.’

  ‘He’s a genius with the blade,’ admitted Dino, ‘but I’m not sure I see him as an expert on intrigue and subterfuge. Perhaps I underestimate him.’

  ‘Dino.’ Stephania squeezed his hand. ‘Up ahead.’

  Two Myrmidons stood to either side of the Contadino gatehouse.

  Stephania paused and tugged his hand. ‘Let’s find another way.’

  But the Myrmidons had seen them, raising blunt-faced helms to the messengers, who stood hand in hand with a sack of plundered food. Dino held his breath and heard the thick pounding of his heart. His instinct was to reach for his blade, but his hand gripped Stephania’s instead.

  The Myrmidons nodded, made no attempt to accost them. The disguises had done their work. The messengers hurried on, safely wrapped in tabards of purple and black, heads bowed beneath the peaks of their three-cornered hats.

  The rose garden was a balm after the stark and haunted corridors of Demesne. The night’s darkness had not yet relented, soothed by the soft light of the sickle blade moon.

  ‘You don’t seem concerned about leaving,’ whispered Dino as they passed through the blooms of red and white.

  ‘I have so much to stay for.’ Stephania flashed a crooked smile.

  ‘Difficult to argue with that logic.’ Hadn’t he too yearned to be away from here for months, even years? Hadn’t he wanted to leave with Cherubini upon his expulsion? Surely any trials in San Marino would feel like blessings after the nightmares of Demesne.

  They were halfway across the rose garden, circling the statue of Santa Maria, when the voice called out to them. Dino’s hand went to the hilt of his blade; Stephania lurched back in surprise.

  ‘Think I know the faces of every messenger in Demesne, and yet I’ve not met these two before. Huh.’ This from one night-shadowed corner. A tiny spark of light seethed orange, moonleaf in the bowl of Nardo’s pipe.

  ‘We must stop meeting like this. People will talk.’ Dino flicked out a lazy salute, unable to keep a smile of relief from his face.

  ‘They’ll talk about you,’ replied Nardo, standing. ‘I’m married.’

  ‘They already talk about me,’ said Dino, no bitterness, just matter of fact. Nardo nodded to Stephania and she favoured him with a smile.

  ‘Found new employment, my lady?’

  ‘Dino has taken me on as his apprentice. We’re off to seek our fortunes in San Marino.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame you.’

  ‘And why are you awake so late?’ she asked.

  ‘Got something for you,’ said the messenger, holding out a sack. Dino took it, felt the contents shift and writhe.

  ‘What in nine hells?’ He reached into the sack and broke into a smile. ‘Achilles, you little bastard!’

  ‘Huh. Bastard difficult to catch too, especially after the Myrmidons had ransacked your apartment. I hoped you’d come this way.’

  ‘Best to keep him in there for now,’ said Stephania, peering into the sack. Beady black eyes stared back, as unimpressed as Dino had ever seen them. The moment of their departure stretched, became leaden with so many unsaid words.

  ‘You’re … you’re not going to talk me out of it?’ said Dino.

  ‘Hell of thing to be accused of murdering your maid. I think it best you flee now and come back some other time. You might want to come back with Lucien and a few score armed men.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to pass that on to him,’ replied Dino, trying to imagine war between the two towns.

  ‘What will you do?’ pressed Stephania.

  ‘Same as always. Keep my head down, look out for Medea and the children. I’ll try and persuade her to move to House Albero once she’s well, then send word to you. But for now there’s no reasoning with her.’ The messenger eyed the pair, stony-faced as ever, then coughed and gestured Dino closer with one finger. ‘Come here.’

  Nardo swept the Orfano up in a burly hug he’d never have expected.

  ‘Get your scrawny invertito arse to the coast and keep out of trouble, if you’re able. I’ll see you again.’

  Dino nodded, unable to reply. Stephania kissed the veteran messenger on each cheek and led Dino inside. After a time they emerged into the courtyard beyond.

  Four horses waited in the shadows of the Contadino granaries. Speranza was mounted, shoulders hunched from the pre-dawn chill or tense with prospect of discovery. Likely the latter, Dino guessed. She had changed her clothes, dressed in a riding skirt and travel cloak, better to escape the notice of those looking for a Fontein messenger.

  Dino walked as casually as he dared, every instinct urging him to run. Speranza soothed her mount toward the gates of House Contadino without a pause, hoof beats echoing from the walls. Either she hadn’t recognised them or had no wish to take her chances with the escaping Orfano. It mattered not. She paused for a moment at the well and cast a glance over her shoulder, but Dino failed to decipher the expression on her face. The Myrmidons at the gate hefted the cross bar and tugged on the handles. Santa Maria waited beyond the walls, townhouses shuttered to keep out the night. A solitary lantern hung from a shop sig
n, a beacon of warmth threatening to gutter out. Speranza passed under the arch of the gatehouse, nodding to the Myrmidons as she left. They made no gesture, returning to the light of a brazier which threw long shadows over the cobbles like clutching fingers.

  ‘Where is she going?’ whispered Stephania.

  ‘To join D’arzenta, most likely. And Giolla di Leona too, I’d guess.’

  ‘Giolla? Who is she?’

  ‘No one.’ The Orfano shook his head. ‘No one who matters.’

  Dino walked to their mounts and checked them over, Stephania did likewise. The smell of leather and horse was thick on the air as Dino watched the Myrmidons with a surreptitious eye. The gate remained open, awaiting their departure. Stephania said nothing, pushing her wealth of tresses under her tricorn lest they reveal her. The staccato of hooves faded as Speranza passed through the town, leaving Dino with the sound of his heart, now loud in his ears. At least the messenger of Fontein would escape the death that stalked the corridors of Demesne so freely. Dino hoped D’arzenta would treat the woman well.

  The Orfano pressed Duke Fontein’s stiletto into Stephania’s hand, gold etched writing gleaming in the darkness.

  ‘I already have a sword. What am I supposed to do with this?’ she said with obvious distaste.

  ‘Use it. On them, or yourself if you want to avoid being captured alive.’

  ‘Interesting.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s not much of choice.’

  ‘Choices are the luxury of those in power.’

  ‘Dino, I’ve never killed anyone before.’ This in a voice made small by the quiet.

  ‘With any fortune you won’t have to. Here,’ he handed her the sack, ‘Take Achilles. Come on. Avanti.’

  They mounted as one. Dino spent a second regarding the spare horse meant for Virmyre. It would likely be standing here still come the dawn. He couldn’t worry about that now; escape was at hand. The horses carried them across the courtyard. With each clip and every clop Dino yearned to remove himself from the malign influence of Erebus. Stephania lowered her chin, the tip of the tricorn throwing a darker shadow over her face. The Myrmidons made no move from their place at the brazier. The horses were just feet from the gate. Dino’s hands were tight on the reins, jaw clenched, stomach a coil of anxiety.