The Shades of Time

by Diane Nelson

  Gone.

  Chapter Two

  "Stay back, Brother. She is fine." The tall man carefully shouldered his way into the narrow cubicle, mindful of his burden. He set the woman on a makeshift cot and turned to his sibling.

  "Tonio," Stefano whispered, "she should not be here. This was a mistake. I never would have written that note," he paused, his face a mask of fear and concern, "had I realized how much danger..."

  Tonio glowered at his brother, cutting him off. The young man had no idea of the stakes in this particular game. As always, his infatuations and conquests occupied him to the exclusion of all other considerations, a fact he and Nico secretly admired but their father no longer found amusing.

  Whatever Cosimo had divined from his spies, the woman's elevation to person of interest had been swift and surprising, brooking no hesitation on Tonio's part when tasked with drawing the woman away from the court, forcing her into a vulnerable position. His father's preternatural instincts, bordering on prescience, had so far fueled considerable success in manipulating events in the family's favor. If this woman, and her supposed French connections, had merit in the old man's plans … well, who was he to argue the point. Politics seldom concerned him. Exercising directives did. This one had gotten interesting the minute he'd detected the interplay of energies in the tunnel.

  As did the fact they had apparently picked up what amounted to a parade of stalkers. He'd lost the shadowy figure in the tunnel, but apparently not the hive of frustrated Papàl Guards who'd been dogging his heels for days. He tolerated their interference most times. This was not going to be one of them.

  Stefano continued to fuss over the prone woman, mindlessly adjusting her gown until the tiny cubicle filled with an irritating high pitched rustle as the lengthwise grain of the silk resisted his frantic strokes.

  Tonio hissed, "Uncle Giovanni's guards approach. Be quiet. It would be best if they did not discover all of us together. I have made other arrangements that do not include the family's incessant meddling."

  His younger brother whined, "But why are they here?"

  "Because Father or Uncle could not be sure you would follow through." His thoughts skipped a beat, logic dictating that there might be some question about his own commitment in this matter. His fondness for Stefano was no secret. Ignoring the implied complication he assured the young man, "You have nothing to fear, little brother, nothing but your unseemly attachment to this strange woman."

  Stefano hissed, "I fear nothing, Brother, and I don't give a damn about unseemly. Do you think having the Papàl Guards parading about in all their finery will insure that I will—as you put it—'follow through'? If you do, you are a bigger fool than our dearest uncle."

  Tonio advanced toward his younger brother, shoulders tense, long, elegant fingers fondling the jeweled hilt of his cinquedea.

  "I think perhaps, dear Stefano, you should have more respect for Pope Leo. Father worked his particular form of magic to ensure our family's right to the succession. It would not do for anyone to think we are not united in this matter."

  Stefano sneered at the older man, "Always the apologist, Brother. Whatever the old man says, you are there to kiss his…"

  Tonio moved with uncanny speed, pinning his brother against the ancient frescoed wall, his right arm pressed against the young man's windpipe, his left gripping the short sword. Stefano's pupils narrowed to slits as he succumbed to his brother's brief show of mastery. Tonio recognized the capitulation with a brief nod, taking a fractional step back to put some space between them. The young man's slight intake of breath assured him he had his undivided attention.

  Tonio felt the woman's mind probing, not yet fully functional. They had no time for this useless bickering. If they did not leave soon, the bigger threat would trail his, and the woman's, residual energies, leading the unknown observer directly to this warren … and the courtesan his besotted brother loved to distraction.

  Disgusted, Tonio released the smaller man, murmuring, "Go, now. Check the corridor. We will take her to the palazzo. If it is as Father suspects, we…" He let his words slide away, echoing after Stefano's retreating form.

  Tonio whispered, "Don't worry, Brother. Your paramour will be safe. You have my word on that."

  The tall man paced quietly to the unconscious form. He traced an index finger over her full lips, surprisingly soft, yielding to his touch, an inviting pout. He bent to inhale her subtle fragrance, floral—and something more…

  Dangerous, this one. No wonder the man in the tunnel had followed so closely, all of them like moths to the flame. She was compelling, unique—a true adept. They would divine her secrets and if it were as Cosimo suspected, he would take her back to Florence where he and his family could protect their political investment.

  Tonio placed a hand over Veluria's brow and intoned, "Sleep, my Lady. You are safe. Dormire il sonno dei morti per Dio ti ha scelto per fare il nostro lavoro."

  Stefano came up behind his brother and whispered, "The man who followed you still lurks, just inside the corridor. How he evades the Guards perplexes me."

  Tonio shrugged and murmured to himself, "I think I know…"

  ****

  Andreas cast about the interior of the passageway but no energy signatures lingered. How had they vanished so quickly? Where had the man and his burden gotten to?

  His gut clenched at the remembered sweetness as she'd reeled in pain from his probing. He should have slipped seamlessly through her mind but there had been defenses and layers—barriers that undisciplined minds should not be privy to. He'd launched an assault that had unexpected consequences for both of them.

  The channel lay open, breeched with a chorus of yearnings and sensations long cast aside. The Council must never know of this corruption for they would cleanse and purify and leech his desires, removing this delicious agony. Now, once tasted, he could not bear the loss.

  He slid the stiletto from its leather sheath and drew a thin slice across his palm. Satisfied, he watched the beads form and dribble, lava-thick, as time and motion stilled. The wound closed as he licked the thick droplets, savoring the iron-rich tang of his essence. His tongue tingled as a familiar sensation seeped through the layers of his awareness.

  Ah, there. He had her. Somewhere close, within reach. Whoever she was—whatever she was— her essence, her energies, sank deeper into his consciousness. She was quiet now, pain free, but that was not of his doing.

  Something had changed, altered the pattern. Had he the choice, he would have her ache, her discomfort and anxiety as testament to his own painful longing. For now he must determine how and why she floated in stasis. That was a gift unique to their kind, not one he would have expected from the undisciplined minds of this era.

  To his knowledge no one could voluntarily attain that state—it required the assistance of another adept. In this time, in this place, only one potentially had that skill—so said the Council researchers. His adversary had a name, a fearsome name—Antonio de' Medici.

  Despite the man's deserved reputation, and the potential for his thwarting the Council's purposes, Andreas' plans could be better served now that all the actors took their rightful places. However, the Monsignor would not be pleased that the man known as the Dark One, the Demon de' Medici, had insinuated his presence, though that was of little consequence to Andreas' real mission. He would obey the directive His Holiness so succinctly placed in his care for it serviced both masters…

  Follow. Observe. Report.

  ****

  Stefano and Tonio pressed their backs against the rough walls inside the room. The din of chatter outside their hiding place was maddening. Footsteps and scrapes complimented the whooshing and whirling of robes and capes beyond the sturdy door as the two brothers shallowed their breathing. Veluria began to stir on the makeshift cot. The Guards' return could not have happened at a worse time.

  "She mustn't wake now!" Tonio growled in his brother's ear. "I have no wish to confront our Uncle's guardians wi
th only a half-assed explanation for why we are here."

  Tonio asked himself, How the hell is she coming out of it? That shouldn't be possible.

  The brothers watched her stir restlessly. Stefano knelt beside the tiny woman, gently pressing his hand against her mouth lest she cry out. She twisted her head away from Stefano's hand as the voices grew louder just outside the door. Someone tested the door's handle, yanking forcefully.

  "La porta è chiusa, il capitano."

  Tonio recognized the Corporal's voice. The soldier gave a desultory shove to prove that the door remained firmly locked, then backed away as his Commandant ordered him off. Pressing an ear to the door, Tonio breathed a sigh of relief as hurried footsteps receded toward the canal. Someone had instilled the fear of God in the Guard. They were not known for having this much persistence.

  "This place is not safe, Tonio," Stefano hissed.

  "I fear you are correct, in more ways than one." Tonio frowned as he still sensed a presence, one that had tickled that space in his gut that warned him of danger. "We still have that stalker, and I am certain he is not one of ours. We must proceed with care."

  Drawing a bit of black velvet out of the pouch at his waist, Tonio handed it to his brother and directed, "Tie this over her eyes. She will stay under longer if she cannot detect light." He let the I hope that is the case remain unspoken.

  Tonio scooped the semi-conscious woman in his arms and strode to the door. They were out of time and he had insufficient energy to place her further under. And he tired of the cat-and-mouse game. He needed to take control and secure the prize, for prize it surely was. The woman had gifts, he could feel that as clearly as he knew his own capabilities. His father's instincts were seldom misdirected.

  Stefano slowly pressed down on the latch and cracked the ancient door enough to determine if the corridor was indeed free of prying eyes. Sensing nothing, he opened the door a bit more as it groaned on its rusty hinges.

  ****

  Veluria braced against the strong arms of her captor, her equilibrium severely compromised from the onslaught of mental and physical intrusion. Fighting the waves of disorientation and confusion, she catalogued what little she did know: she was being transported somewhere at speed, carried by … who? Not Stefano. No, this one had a scent she didn't recognize, and it managed to overwhelm her with its sheer maleness. She risked opening her eyes only to find them bound in soft velvet.

  Before she could reach outward with her compromised senses, motion abruptly ceased, followed by a sensation of falling, then swaying. She wished she could hear but the buzzing in her ears as she struggled against whatever had trapped her into a state of unconsciousness impaired her abilities, even her extrasensory gifts. Damn, what had they … what had he done to her?

  This, this… thing that ensnared her with unforgiving strength, was he the one who'd invaded her mind like a battering ram, inflicting such excruciating pain she'd been hard pressed to defend herself? Like a residual limb, the regret and dismay lingered, leaving her nearly enraptured with the whiplash change of emotions. When he'd come stealing once more, ever so sweetly, she'd allowed a boon, knowing full well the intruder would already know, or have guessed, her intentions.

  He'd danced with her psyche, the steps mimicking a macabre courtship—a sultry rumba to a background rhythm of fear, desire and intense curiosity. Such delicious enticements—she'd almost forgotten herself in the rush of temptation to explore. Her last encounter with a Council operative had been far less engaging, his brute force approach and unrelenting machismo had proven no match for her training … and very special gifts.

  But her intruder had power, power and control, and perhaps something more… One thing she knew for certain: the man was unique, and dangerous. Someone of her time and place.

  But the man who held her so carelessly, with such casual strength, he was of this time, of that she was certain, but as to how she could not say.

  The man spoke, his voice a deep rumble against her breasts, "Get the lines, Stefano," then with his breath fanning across her cheeks, he murmured, "and let me make you a little more comfortable, M'lady." He chuckled deep in his throat, "No point pretending. You're awake. Mostly."

  "Tonio," Stefano's voice came from her right and forward of their position. "Where do we go from here? That stalker of yours ... he'll be watching for us. If he is not alone it is possible that every route will be closely monitored."

  Stalker? That's interesting. So the intruder and this man are not one and the same. Relief seemed foolish, given her current circumstances, but there it was.

  Fumbling with the knot, the man adjusted the cloth to sit firmly against her eyes and said to Stefano, "Not to fear, il mio fratellino. The Papàl Guards will clear the way. They will unwittingly be our accomplices this night."

  Keeping her face secured to his massive chest, all she could feel on her overheated skin was a leather jerkin and a few stray laces that gouged her cheek.

  Odd. He'd called Stefano 'il mio fratellino', a surprising endearment. Could he be…?

  The man continued issuing instructions to Stefano. "Head us to the Grand Canal. We will take the traghetto to St. Mark's, just three tourists seeking the pleasures of Venezia on this fine evening."

  Stefano clearly did not like the plan, judging from his muttered curses, but apparently he complied to her captor's satisfaction.

  "I wish to sit up," Veluria hissed into the leather jerkin, unsure if her words were clear enough to understand.

  Without a word, the man released her from his grip, lifting and settling her on the seat next to him. From habit she tucked the voluminous folds of her gown about her legs, smoothing the rumpled fabric down and away from the uncomfortable corseted bodice.

  Damn, I hate corsets.

  The gondola bobbed through a light chop, leaving her to guess they had exited one of the narrow feeder canals onto the Grand Canal proper. From the heat and angle of the sun on her exposed flesh, she knew she'd lost an entire day to this misadventure. Sweat beaded on her forehead, the gown far too hot for day wear. It would be a ruin in no time, if it wasn't already.

  Sweet Mother, if you can hear my thoughts, please do not let my sisters know this thing about me. Allow my vanity to remain unremarked, our little secret.

  Veluria choked back a cough as acrid scents of refuse, smoldering lamps and the unmentionable stench of too many humans packed into too tight a space assaulted her sensitive nostrils. From the hubbub off to her right, they'd be approaching one of the many protruding docks, busy with commerce and Venetian citizens going about the evening's activities.

  The man cautioned, "Shush, M'lady. We will be at our destination soon." His voice reeked of menace and determination. "You will do as I say, otherwise I will bind and gag you."

  Veluria nodded she understood. She was in enough discomfort already that incurring additional did not seem prudent. The more she learned about her situation, the better her ability to react when the time came.

  She wondered about Stefano but from the sounds, the young man was busy securing the gondola to the dock. Since she'd awoken from that bizarre state, he'd been nothing but acquiescent to the stranger sitting next to her, his shoulder brushing against the bare skin on her forearm whenever the gondola rocked side-to-side. The sensation was not unpleasant.

  If this man was Stefano's brother, then which one? What little intel Mother Superior had ferreted from historical records was comprised of confusing rumor and supposition—and allegations of dark magic. Nicolo was the middle son, skilled in diplomacy. The other, the eldest, was Cosimo's right hand... and a merciless enforcer of the Medici's will. Private Papàl correspondence referred to that one as the Demon de' Medici. If this was that man…

  Damn her luck.

  Tonio stared at the rigid set to the woman's face, her lips pursed in intense concentration, a telltale tic in a prominent vein on her temple giving away her desperate attempt to make sense of her situation. That she didn't panic was to her cred
it. She was definitely trained, but in what exactly had yet to be determined.

  On a whim he stroked her cheek, willing soothing energy to flow through his fingers. He understood the nature of her confusion. It pleased him no end that he could keep one such as this off-balance. Unlike his hapless younger brother, he was not without skills.

  Idly he traced the curve of her chin and the long, swan-like neck, palest of pale flesh, soft and inviting. The woman sank into the cushions, arching away from his touch, quivering … though not from fear. Fascinated, he followed the line of her bodice, cut straight across and corseted to present soft bulbous mounds for his appreciative gaze. He licked his lips, the action unconscious as sound receded, replaced by his ragged breathing and the blood pumping hot and needy in his veins.

  Veluria—he would think of her by name now—feathered her breaths to long, slow inhalations, exaggerating the line of her breasts. Whether deliberate or not the effect was enticing. Her flesh glowed with inner luminescence, drawing his face and hands inexorably closer.

  Damn it to hell. She was good. No wonder Stefano was smitten. It would take a far better man than his hapless younger brother to resist the charms of a French courtesan, especially this one.

  Tonio rose awkwardly from the cushioned seat and leaned to fend off the dock, his jerkin rubbing seductively across her small breasts. She tensed, her small hands fisted in the silken folds of her skirt.

  Two can play that game, M'Lady.

  Smokey oil lamps spewed dank, choking fumes over the still water. They would make their way across the Grand Canal to where night promised a brief surcease as Venezia's citizens sought relief from the stifling heat in the great square, all the better to mask their passage.