by Diane Nelson
"Fine. Then let's away, Madame. Time grows short for all of us, I fear."
Confused by his cryptic statement, Veluria gathered the folds of her skirt and attempted to lunge to her feet but the hem caught under the divan and drew her back with a lurch. Antonio placed his hands around her waist, almost entirely encircling her slender form, and lifted her effortlessly. He held her suspended, weightless, drawing her close to his chest until fabric brushed fabric, teasing slick satin against smooth leather.
Veluria barely contained a gasp as every square inch of her body responded to the brief contact, sending a wave of heat through her belly and the unwelcome gush of wetness to coat her clenched thighs. Without thinking, she braced her hands against the leather jerkin, not so much to push away but simply to steady her quaking frame. Even through the leather she felt the thrumming of his heart, rapid staccato beats synched in time to her own unsteady rhythm.
She whispered, "Gracie, signore."
Antonio stared, entranced, at the frail pheasant trapped in his embrace, feeling only throbbing sensation beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Was this the power Nico had alluded to? He didn't think so. He and Nico beat as one heart, one mind. This was a thing he knew and understood—that confluence of powers and sharing of energies.
But with this woman—her name, Veluria, whispered through the corridors of his mind where even he feared to tread—it was as if he had a hole in his most private self, buried in the deepest well of his soul and she had the means to fill it, to fill him.
If only I had a soul … would you fill it, could you?
With palpable relief he set her down and watched hungrily as she arranged her skirts, dissembling. Could she have felt it also?
Huskily, Veluria asked, "Where, M'Lord?"
"What?"
"Where are we bound?"
Relieved to think about something concrete, Antonio muttered, "To my father's. Stefano has made a mess of this and Cosimo will have answers from all of us."
At the mention of his father, Veluria trembled with barely contained excitement. Cosimo de' Medici, the prime mover in all games of intrigue. Whatever she was up to, whatever information she desired, his father would be her next target. He wished her luck.
He had gained nothing but a stiff cock and a hunger he was hard-pressed to explain. He would be a fool to think she harbored the same interest in him, but still…
With elegant strides Veluria exited through a narrow doorway and felt her way down the curving staircase, her skirts billowing behind her. Antonio followed but paused at the door and thought, 'who are you, what are you?'
He mindlessly adjusted the codpiece to take the pressure off his straining cock and allowed his thoughts a moment to explore the possibilities.
Chapter Nine
Shadows danced on the still waters, the mist heavy against the pilings jutting away from the narrow walkway bordering the elegant abodes. This was a newer section, built to house court favorites, and strung along a narrow waterway ajumble with gondolas and other small craft. Despite the attempt to impart a feeling of richness and importance, the confines of the space gave it a claustrophobic feel.
Veluria emerged from the narrow door and angled carefully along the slippery edge, thankful for the weak morning light that reflected off the upper windows along the tunnel of homes. She lifted her skirts, praying for balance, as one misstep could send her plummeting into the murky waters, an entertainment she did not wish to provide for her so-called rescuer.
Idly, Veluria wondered about Stefano. Where was he? Why had he not been the one to pursue her? Why could she not detect his essence, his spirit? Too many questions, too few answers, and the Dark One loomed with overwhelming intensity over all. She felt, then heard, him treading lightly behind her, mere steps away. For all his size, the man moved like the softest summer breeze, with a grace few could match, even men half his imposing stature. It was no surprise that he used that unusual height to intimidate and instill fear in his opponents. Even she, at times, trembled slightly when he approached too close, too intimately, despite years of training, learning discipline, discovering how to use her petite frame to its best advantage.
Veluria smoothed the soft fabric about the talisman, masking its energy from the real or imagined probing by the Medici Demon. Unlike the larger version, with the cleverly embedded poison in the blade, the miniature stiletto was fashioned for a female hand and sized to fit into a silk purse. In her case, it lay craftily hidden just under the hem of her tight corset. She knew she needn't concern herself overmuch at its discovery. Women of means all carried such a device, even in the company of trusted servants and companions. One should never underestimate the dangers lurking on the city pathways.
This instrument, however, had a dual purpose which would be of inordinate interest to her quarry. It contained within its ornately carved bone handle the means to fashion a portal from thin air. The Reverend Mother's researchers had cleverly disguised the electronic device using the most advanced science of miniaturization of the day.
"This way, Madame."
Startled, Veluria jumped at the briefest touch on her left elbow as Antonio indicated their way down the narrow alley separating blocks of attached domiciles. How uncharacteristic of her to be lost in her own musings. She must take care, diligent care. Too much rested on successfully finding the key and preventing its use. The future loomed, both in the here and now, and in her linked world.
Antonio pricked at her elbow and muttered, "Wait here." She dutifully backed against the stone wall to allow him passage toward the brightly lit opening. Coming from such dim light into the glare would put them at a disadvantage, a fact she should have recognized at once. Perhaps this was more of a rescue than she had first envisioned, grateful that Antonio de' Medici had his wits about him.
A figure loomed in the opening but Antonio strode toward the unknown presence with authority. He had words, spoken quickly but in tones too low for her to catch. When finished he nodded once and indicated she should advance. The figure disappeared briefly, then three more arrived to form a human tunnel leading onto the narrow cobble-stoned street.
"The Papàl Guards shall accompany us to the Grand Plaza, at which point my men shall join us for our journey to my father's residence."
Veluria had the good grace to look astounded at that. The Papàl Guards answered only to His Holiness and a few of his most trusted advisors. That this man obviously commanded their respect, but more importantly answered to his direct orders, made her worry that the Order had not fully examined the political clout of this particular branch of the Medici family. From their vantage point of history, having a pope and a cardinal in the immediate family had seemed an interesting bit of religious trivia. Apparently, they had been wrong. What else they might have missed could have serious consequences.
Antonio watched the play of emotions, and some consternation, on the woman's face. Though she managed a careful mask most times, he could use his ability to read his enemies and connect the inner turmoil with small indications, muscle twitches, tilt of chin, or creased brow to discern intent and other things.
It made him a daunting adversary, yet by choice he refused to apply his gifts to court intrigues and shifting alliances, having little to no patience for the pretty posturing and deft words required to navigate that battlefield. He much preferred his way, behind the scenes, a clean strike, leaving nothing to chance. He did not believe in luck, even less in friendship or alliances.
He did believe in family and pledged his skills and his life to the few who mattered most in his world. His beloved, though dim-witted youngest brother, Stefano, and Nico, the one man in the all the world he would choose to have at his back, formed the core of his heart. Without them, without the need to protect and support them, he would be nothing and no one. Not even his father commanded that level of devotion, a fact Cosimo understood and utilized at every opportunity.
Without looking back Antonio moved quickly onto the street and tu
rned right, heading back the way he had come in the wee hours of the morning. Still too early for the privileged to be up and about, the party made their way without incident through the newer sections of the city. Antonio set a blistering pace, taking shortcuts through litter-strewn alleys until emerging finally onto the Grand Square. Six of his men waited impatiently, each positioned for maximum advantage as they anticipated from which quadrant their leader might emerge.
"Marco," Antonio barked at the man standing closest, "if you would." The man glanced once at Tonio and proceeded quickly to meet with the Papàl Guards. He discretely handed each of them a small leather pouch, then spun on his heel and resumed his position to the right of his capo della squadra.
"Madame, we must make haste."
"I grow weary from your haste, signore. If you have not noticed before now, I am in no way prepared for an extensive journey on foot through the heart of the city. And where exactly are we bound, if I may inquire?"
"My father's temporary residence is near his business interests."
"And that would be…?"
Annoyed at the delay, Tonio barked, "Sestieri de San Polo."
"The docks?" Veluria asked, now confused about their ultimate destination.
"Not the shipyards. No. Cosimo rents a fondaco from the Ferrera's. Trust me, it will meet with your approval, I am sure," Antonio sneered. "Now, if you don't mind, M'lady."
Antonio waved his men into formation and proceeded to the northeast across the square, all the while scanning for possible trouble. That all the trouble he could ever handle trailed reluctantly in his wake gave him no small measure of concern. The confusion she felt had coincided with something disturbing, something that should not be possible. Again, the question arose—who and what was she?
Veluria steeled herself for a taxing rush headlong through the Square. She'd had a strong flash, a premonition almost, that they were to board a sailing vessel. In point of fact, the swell of the Adriatic and the swaying of the vessel had nearly rocked her off balance, so strong had the sensation been. And she was almost certain that had emanated from the tall man, but how and why was a mystery.
If she let her nerves get the best of her she would be useless, and appearing vulnerable was the last thing she could afford now that a meeting with the fabled Cosimo de' Medici seemed imminent. She was less concerned about Tonio. The potential existed for drawing on his strength and power to bolster her reserves despite the conflicting interplay of energies that had both of them unbalanced and confused.
She'd never had anyone, here or in her world, touch her in quite the same way—psychically or otherwise. The longer she was near him, the more … aware she became, aware of the shadows retreating as the sun bulged above the Campanile, aware of vendors and passersby, aware of the prickly feel of the lace against her breasts, of the slide of silk along her calves, aware of an exquisite pressure in her groin and labored breathing having nothing to do with their fast pace and threatening destination. That awareness bled outward, drawn inexorably toward the Dark One, toward his broad shoulders and narrow hips, toward his arrogance and assurance and domineering attitude.
Being around that man was definitely not a hardship.
As a distraction, Veluria filled her inner vision with images of Stefano—his stocky frame and lovely hands, dancing dark eyes and square, dimpled chin, a man-boy with courtly manners and a way about him that made her laugh and blush and long for his youthful touch and incomparable endurance. As she swept into yet another alleyway of domiciles of indeterminate origin or use, that image morphed into a dark stranger with demanding hands wrapping round her throat and pressing into the soft flesh, lifting her chin to meet a hungry mouth, gripped in an embrace impossible to break.
Veluria stared wide-eyed at the man ahead of her, recognizing shared destiny when she saw it. Unfortunately that kind of destiny could very well compromise her mission and that would not do at all. She watched, curious, as the Demon hitched his shoulder and rolled his head, as if he too felt something unusual. She would expect that response if she had used her powers to broadcast sensations like some aural aphrodisiac. But she hadn't, at least not consciously, and she was too well-schooled not to know the difference between dormant and active. No. This was something else and she feared that which she could not understand.
The small company darted down a short alleyway and emerged onto a moderately sized piazza. To the right and south, the canal bordered a line of boxy warehouse structures, at first seemingly nondescript until closer inspection revealed tasteful additions to entryways and tall, narrow windows.
Antonio anticipated her question, "Converted storage facilities. My father, and others with similar interests, use these as needed when business dictates a more personal presence." He waved to the imposing edifice off to their left. "My father fancies this one." He turned her attention to the north end of the quay, "The loading docks are there, as is Cosimo's fleet."
Veluria smiled at the measure of pride in his voice—unexpected for he favored disdain and disinterest much of the time. She also noted that he used 'Father' and 'Cosimo' interchangeably, a measure of their relationship that would bear watching. The Sisterhood never let even the smallest nuance slip past.
Although the passage of time had been marked primarily with footfalls, she became aware of the nearness of noon, the air heavy with moisture as the sun climbed above the looming structures. Through the thin haze, the Adriatic Sea sparkled with intense light, mirror smooth and placid, imprisoning the galleys until wind and tide granted favor.
Antonio dispensed his men to the left and right, then indicated that the woman should follow him through the teak door. He pushed into a veritable sea of robed men milling about the spacious rotunda—clerics, tradesmen, scholars—all engaged in the single-minded pursuit of Cosimo's attention, if not his particular favor. His father would be holding court, if it suited, in the upper reaches of the gallery that encircled the cavernous open area.
He guided the woman to a seat near the stairs. "Please wait here. I shall return shortly."
Veluria sighed with relief as she sank onto the stone bench. Her feet ached and her back screamed with the effort to maintain a rigid posture. Damn these stays. I can barely breathe! She watched with interest at the peacock array strung about the huge room, all engaged in subtle—and not-so-subtle—machinations, intrigues and 'offers too good to refuse'. She smiled at that phrasing. Though from well before her own time, it had etched its way into her popular culture, something this time and place would also appreciate and embrace.
The Demon stood off to the side, just beyond the curving stairs, speaking rapidly with a harried-looking man carrying what looked like parchments. A roughly dressed scarecrow edged past her, reeking of the sea and rum. Clerics clustered like gaggles of cheeky crows, assured of their importance and salvation, not so sure of their rank amidst the supplicants to a higher power—commerce.
The Demon glanced her way, sending frissons of energy racing up and down her spine, only to lodge inexorably in her nether regions, her body responding to his challenge with sweet pressure and welcoming heat. Slick moisture coated her inner thighs.
Damn it, enough already!
For once she was glad to have the voluminous skirts to hide her arousal. Heat, flushing rosy-pink, overspread her cheeks, racing past her slender neck, settling temptingly on the soft mounds pressed above the tight silk bodice.
There were the inevitable admiring glances, even from the clerics. She bent her head to hide a smile.
It started as a tingle along her spine, then morphed into a cascade of frigid, icy needles flash-freezing her nerve endings. Then pain, inexplicable pain … and hot, burning desire. Fire and ice.
What the hell?Antonio?
The Demon had turned away, his attentions directed elsewhere. There was a familiarity to the near physical sensations, something she'd felt before. Feeling bloated and overrun with discomfort, she leaned against the cool marble wainscoting, willing the sens
ations to pass. It didn't take long to dredge up the source. It could only be from the other, the Council operative, and he had to be close for the energies were nearly overwhelming.
Before she could think further on the odd confluence of sensations, Antonio returned and beckoned her to follow him up the stairs. He rudely strode up the steps, taking them two at a time, leaving her to follow awkwardly, gathering her skirts and cursing once again the fashions of that time. The small man with whom the Demon had been conferencing appeared magically at her elbow, offering a hand to assist. She gratefully accepted.
Destiny dwelled in those upper reaches, the chessboard pieces aligned, awaiting the first move.
Chapter Ten
Andreas grimaced in annoyance, forced to dodge from shadow to shadow, still hampered with fleeting pain. Dark eyes flaring in the dim light of emerging dawn, he scanned the frantic activity on the dock. The sky yawned its last gasp as dark stole away, no longer in control of its destiny. Andreas felt the tide, felt the sway of the unwieldy scow laden with barrels of wine and oil and unmarked cargo, bouncing against thick pilings and rough-edged planks.
He touched his brow with the silver crucifix as if in silent supplication or thankful prayer for the rise of a new day. Silently he cursed the discomfort and awkwardness of his injury, the ankle commanding far too many of his body's resources as it went through the painful healing process.
Pain to heal pain. On any other day he could accept the trade-off, but this day it had interfered with his tracking, leaving him with far too many questions and a mystery that required solving before his quarry sailed off into the dawn.
What the hell are you doing on a goddamn BOAT!?
A passing journeyman carrying a small wooden box dodged perilously close to the edge of the dock. The startled man realized his mistake and glanced nervously to his left before moving on. Andreas cringed. He needed to avoid that kind of unspoken broadcast. It wouldn't do to draw attention to himself.