by Diane Nelson
"Over there, Brother." Tonio pointed to the waiting ferry. He breathed a sigh of relief that the Papàl Guard were not about, broadcasting to the citizens that a person of importance was expected. Though the Medicis had learned long ago that hiding in plain sight was often the safer of many unsafe options in these troubled times, tonight Tonio required anonymity.
"M’lady, I will remove your blindfold." With a sweep of his hand, Tonio whisked the soft cloth off the woman's delicate face. Wisely she kept her eyes hooded, not allowing too much light in at once, as that would blind her.
"Tonio, we must hurry. Vel—" He choked off the word as Tonio gave him a sharp look and made a slashing movement across his throat.
Tonio stepped onto the dock and extended a hand to assist the woman as she carefully gathered the rich fabric into a bundle, leaping nimbly onto the creaky dock. Stefano followed quickly, tied the gondola off and hastened to speak with the owner of the ferry.
Veluria whispered, her voice subtly accented, "You are Antonio, then. My cousin, Charles, speaks well of your abilities, Monsieur de' Medici. He will be most … appreciative if you and I manage an accord in this matter."
Tonio nodded, a slight smile playing about his full lips. At half his imposing height, she forced him to bend as if in supplication when he breathed a reply, "Oh, I assure you Mademoiselle, an accord has already been reached, about which you will have little input." To his surprise she ignored his implied threat. Interesting.
Veluria glanced at Stefano impatiently waiting on the ferry. It was a look of concern, and perhaps genuine fondness. When she turned back to stare at him, slivers of ice tickled his spine. Whoever she was, whatever she was, she'd just thrown down the gauntlet. If she expected to control him the way she did his younger brother, she was in for the shock of her life.
He hoped she enjoyed a challenge.
Chapter Three
Andreas pressed further into the alcove where he'd sheltered away from the stomping antics of the Papàl Guard. With infinite patience he waited until he heard the old creaky door groan on its hinges, followed by the quick shuffle of feet, at least two pair, heading swiftly toward the canal.
Remaining cloaked, he followed at a distance, pausing at the entrance to the narrow walkway lining the canal. To the left he glimpsed the men boarding a gondola. The taller man held the woman in his arms, her body still and unresisting. A frisson of concern creased his brow—his incursion through her defenses would have drained her to some extent, but certainly not for that amount of time.
If the Medici's interference and continued control was sufficient to override his own considerable talents, even temporarily, he would need to keep that from the Council. For surely they would either recall him, or worse yet, provide their version of backup—something he wished to avoid at all costs.
Failure was unacceptable—the costs to his world and the sanctity of his mission catastrophically high. He simply would not allow history to relegate the brotherhood to a shadow existence should the prognostications of the statisticians pan out. Everything pointed to here and now: the dissolution of peace in his world, the threat of yet another apocalypse, all resting on fragile links with a past so distant as to be almost ludicrous. How history would judge their interference rested on outcomes they could only guess at.
Nervously fingering his Crucifix, he watched with interest as the younger man—whom he assumed was the paramour, Stefano— expertly oared the craft through the narrow confines of the canal. He had no such skill. He crept along the nearly deserted dock until he found a willing gondolier just setting down to eat his dinner. He could guess the trio's destination, but he dared not lose sight of them, for once in St. Mark's Square, he would be hard pressed to track them through the crush of evening revelers. Andreas knew that if he lost them, he would be subject to an uncomfortable interrogation by the Council that would make the Monsignor's petty complaints and threats pale in comparison. The phantom pain in the palm of his hand reminded him of his ultimate purpose and to whom he owed his allegiance.
Follow. Observe. Report.
****
Tonio urged the woman toward Stefano and the waiting ferry. They had little time before the stalker would arrive. Whatever the man's intentions and abilities, it would be best to be in the crowded square amongst the evening partiers to mask their passage. His younger brother took a seat at the prow, followed by the woman. She sat daintily, seemingly at ease. He took his place at the stern where he could keep an eye on any pursuers, difficult though that was given the dense water traffic.
His eyes strayed periodically toward the woman, backlit from the setting sun with her features in shadow. She was a difficult read, more than normal. The sad fact was that most women tasked his powers with unnecessary emotion and volatile temperaments. He preferred the company of his squad and the simplicity of their camaraderie and shared missions.
The woman—Veluria…
Why did he have such difficulty calling her by name? Because names had power as his father so often reminded him? Names—her name— made it personal, intimate. But connecting with her on any level was beyond stupid, a thing he recognized, yet seemed powerless to avoid.
Tonio shifted in his seat and allowed his fingers to trail through the warm waters, thinking back to discussions with his brother, Nico, when they'd had far too much to drink and way too much time on their hands.
Nico had said, To intimidate and instill terror requires detachment, Tonio—a calculated neutrality that denies your victims hope and bends them to your will. And when they refuse to bend, there are other, more permanent solutions. Are you willing to step down that path, my brother? Are you so willing to sacrifice your soul in service to the family? Will you become as a statue, sightless and remote?
If thrusting my blade deep into an opponent's gut isn't the ultimate act of intimacy, what is?
That's not intimacy, Tonio, that's … indifference. Would you sell your soul so cheaply?
I have no soul, Nico. I never did. And you are not one to talk. You use that golden tongue of yours the way I use my blade. Often with the same results.
Touché, Brother. You may be right. May God have mercy on us.
I fear mercy is not what He has in mind…
With an effort Tonio roused himself from his self-indulgent musings and refocused his attention on the French woman. She sat gazing out over the expanse of water, outwardly calm and composed despite the inner turmoil roiling just below the surface. That kind of self-control was admirable. Though slight of build she conveyed a haughty demeanor, clearly the result of her reputed years in the French court.
A few tendrils of silky blue-black hair escaped the intricate braids, the wisps framing a heart-shaped face. He could see how his impressionable younger brother would be enraptured of such a siren. It was forever the young man's curse to follow his cock after every piece of attractive ass.
Tonio knew without a doubt that Stefano had bitten off more than he could chew, a sentiment shared with their father. How the family managed this potential new resource was none of his business. His only task was to see the woman to the palazzo where Cosimo would determine the next steps, that and try to protect his brother as best he could. The state of the boy's heart was the least of his worries. There were other matters afoot that would reveal themselves all in good time.
A French courtesan with Charles' ear … and unspecified 'abilities'? With events unfolding at breakneck speed across the continent, her presence at their court could be no accident. That she had selected Stefano for her particular attentions was both an easy solution, and a brilliant choice. The problem lay in determining exactly how she planned to move her chess pieces. He had faith in his family, in Cosimo and Pope Leo, but what if they were not the ones pulling the strings? What if…?
Damn, I just want to go home to Florence and leave this wretched city to wallow in its endless drama.
Veluria gathered every stray bit of energy, willing it contained and at her command, not
an easy task given the fractured state of her psyche. The episode in the tunnel had caught her by surprise and she still had no firm grasp as to why a Council operative would take such risks when engagement offered nothing in return. Whatever had transpired also seemed unrelated to her current situation. Her mind raced through probabilities and possible scenarios, with wait and see an unavoidable solution.
With the Council and the Sisterhood seeking the same answers, it should have come as no surprise that their mutual interests would cross paths. That fate chose that particular moment to thrust a new player onto the stage, the Demon de' Medici no less, might be fortuitous and just the opening she needed.
The Council operative was the devil she knew … but this devil? From what their historians catalogued, he was a born assassin, with a black heart and an even blacker soul. History painted him as the penultimate blackguard, a gross injustice. He was more, much more. A frisson of fear tickled at her spine.
Stefano's knees, pressed hard against the small of her back, were a small reassurance, though she would not rely on him should her situation become untenable. She sensed she had an opportunity to shortcuts heretofore unavailable in this time and place. Lies and intrigue and fanciful phrases had gotten her an entrée into the right circles but not to the prize. She'd been sidetracked, delightfully so, with Stefano but that did little to forward her pursuit of answers to the vexing perturbations the Sisterhood had detected. What little time remained must not be spent in idle dalliance.
She chuckled to herself, As if being kidnapped and swept away to parts unknown counted as a dalliance.
She was losing discipline and focus. She should be asking what purpose kidnapping her served? Claiming kinship with Charles—the heir to the major houses of the Habsburgs, Castile-Aragon and Burgundy—would hardly suffice as a reason, hell … everyone was related to everyone else in this timeline. Her connection, alleged of course, to the French court would be the likely source of their interest. That was the line she needed to pursue for it might lead to the clues she sought.
If history intended to derail and knock their timeline askew, the Medicis and their damnable interferences had to be at the center of that looming event. With most of the potential players in one basket, so to speak, she was in a unique position to calculate the probabilities … and to predict probable outcomes.
She glanced away from the fearsome giant staring her down. This one seemed immune to her wiles, a disquieting thought as she had been selected for this mission based on a very particular skill set. She would do well to remember her limitations in this matter. But notwithstanding certain shortcomings, she was not without resources.
Tonio turned his attention to the receding dock, watching with interest as a robed figure awkwardly boarded a smaller ferry. Their stalker would bear watching, but for now they had position and the approaching square—and his men—to provide a sufficient distraction. He rose as the ferry bumped against a piling.
His brother hopped onto the dock and helped secure the lines, then turned and reached for Veluria as Tonio easily lifted the woman into his waiting arms. The brief contact, with his hands wrapped securely about her diminutive frame, had sent a powerful surge of heat to his loins, though this time it seemed a transient event, not one she directed consciously.
Had it been a mistake to use his powers on her? With so little understanding of what guided his abilities, he generally exercised extreme caution in their execution. He could ill afford to allow an open conduit between them. No, he must avoid contact at all costs from now on until Cosimo determined just what she was.
With a final glance to the darkening eastern skies, he launched himself out of the ferry and strode quickly into the milling crowd.
Tonio glanced around St. Mark's Square, already crowded with early evening pleasure seekers, pickpockets and others on more deadly assignments. He nodded once, a bare tilt, to acknowledge his men spaced about the huge square in a carefully controlled octagon of protection. A tap on his sword alerted his men and as one the group strode lazily over the cobbled stones, stopping here and there to exchange banter or stare with admiration at the finery on display all about them.
Veluria took Stefano's proffered arm, impressed at her captors' attention to detail, the guards deployed discretely, yet within reach should they need assistance.
Their group made a pretty picture: the tall, dangerous man, dark of visage, and her attentive escort, wrapping her in an air of refinement and gaiety. She surreptitiously arranged her gown to allow access to the small totems sewn in the seams. Not that she needed them, but Reverend Mother was ever insistent on certain … assurances.
Veluria tittered at an imagined jest, allowing her body to brush alluringly against Stefano who responded with a quick hug. His older brother tensed but ignored them, though she could sense his curiosity and suspicion. Unlike Stefano, he would understand that her co-operation came at a price.
Keeping the man off-balance would not be easy.
Stefano wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her toward a gaggle of well-wishers with Tonio hissing, "Stefano, no…"
She was inclined to agree with Tonio, they needed to move this charade along. Her young lover seemed in no hurry to reach whatever was their ultimate destination, whether out of fear for her safety or something else wasn't clear.
While Stefano engaged in light-hearted banter, Veluria took a moment to assess the man standing reluctant guard over them. At nearly six-foot-four and powerfully muscled he towered over his contemporaries, a mountain of a man, dark and menacing. A line bred Medici by all counts, he sported the same aquiline nose and sculpted jawline, square and unforgiving. Full lips set into a permanent grimace and piercing dark eyes would put the fear of God into all who crossed paths with him.
For someone his size he moved with surprising grace. That he was a fearsome warrior and accomplished with a blade was well-established. But her real interest lay in abilities she could only sense. He had done something to her, something that should not be possible, not here, not now.
Why can't I remember?
Stefano bent over a gloved hand, his lips brushing the soft cloth with a coy wink at the tittering older woman. Moving off to whisper an endearment or tease, he abandoned her to a quick stab of jealousy and anger that jabbed like a knife-prick, sharp and insistent.
Tonio? No, not him.
Who then? Where?
Using the banter as an excuse, she spun, her arm sweeping toward the Cathedral, her words, "Isn't it a lovely…!" ringing out as she swept in a half-circle, desperate to pinpoint the location of the attacker. The residual energy would dissipate quickly as the festival of masked, bejeweled revelers undulated in waves all about her. All intent on their own pursuits. Where was he? The crush of bodies parted briefly as she stared toward the docks.
There!
Instinct dictated she turn and move away from the assailant, yet she felt strangely sympathetic and curious. This incursion was less adversarial, yet the fact he was able to penetrate her defenses so easily spoke volumes of the operative's abilities and put her in a tenuous position.
Without thinking, she moved away from the group, only to be blocked as Tonio moved into her path.
"I have him, M'lady," Tonio muttered. He reached for his brother's arm and jerked him back, his voice cold and stern, brooking no argument, "Stefano, now."
With a wink, Stefano said, "Scuse mio fratello rozzo..." and bowing at the waist, he swept an imaginary hat low to the cobblestoned surface. "We have a most urgent appointment."
If Tonio objected to being called boorish, he gave no indication. Instead he instructed his brother to take her arm and follow him as he pushed through the crowd.
Veluria was happy enough for once to follow the Demon de' Medici's lead and to accept his dubious protection. Through a quirk of fate, she'd been placed in the hands of a man who had the potential to step beyond the confines of his father's vast game of shifting political alliances. Granted, with Antonio, the ap
ple fell not far from that tree—he and Cosimo were two of a kind, both dangerous men with unusual capabilities, or so the rumors intimated. Her assessment of the man was that he would act in the service of family as long as it suited.
However, the fate that awaited Stefano, with his preferred bloodlines and courtly mannerisms, teetered on the whims of a prelate with considerable influence in matters of state, and on Cosimo de' Medici, the ruler behind the throne. How Antonio de' Medici handled the outcome of Cosimo's negotiations with the Habsburgs could be the key to unraveling the mysterious forces threatening her world. Perhaps Mother Superior had been right about her reservations at using Stefano as her entrée into this vaulted inner circle of power, but there was no debating the fortuitous outcome of finally securing the services of one who could lead her to the ultimate solution.
How fate choreographed the next steps would go a long way in determining if the man everyone feared would be her willing accomplice … or the destroyer of all she held dear.
As the phalanx of partiers made their steady procession across the square, Andreas followed, once more deploring his rashness and the ungodly compulsion to feel her—Veluria's—essence. Yes, he'd alerted her to his presence. But it could not be helped now. That small taste had sent his senses reeling, his blood sluicing red hot through his veins.
Her guard dog notwithstanding, he could access her core at his choosing, allowing her to lead him to the ultimate solution to their mutual dilemma.
Invisible to the masses, his cowl pulled over his head, he slipped through the throng, rosary beads clacking in a simple, devout rhythm. His presence went unremarked, just another cleric out for evening vespers.
Chapter Four