The Shades of Time

by Diane Nelson

  "Papà? As my consort should she not also be accorded a measure of respect?"

  "Consort?"

  Cosimo tapped a finger on his thigh. The boy's obsession with the woman ran deep, perhaps deeper than he had realized. He'd turned the discussion from usefulness to the family to his own selfish desires, something neither of his older brothers would ever consider. It wasn't unexpected but still, he was not happy with the turn the discussion had taken.

  Stefano stood and paced the room. He had difficulty framing his next words. "I-I … she's different, not like other women."

  "How so?"

  "She c-can sense things. She, uh…"

  "And you discovered this how?"

  "It was when we were…" Stefano flushed bright red "… uh, when I was, we, uh…"

  Cosimo laughed out loud. "When you were fucking her? And exactly what epiphany did you have at that most propitious moment, my son?"

  Stefano collapsed back on the seat vacated by Veluria. He stroked the cushion, as if he could almost feel her residual energy through his loins, his face relaxing as he drew comfort from the phantom contact.

  "She is like Tonio and Nico, Papà. Not exactly the same, but close. That bridge we all feel, one to the other, the one Nico and Tonio share the strongest, that knowing. She has it."

  Perhaps the boy isn't as clueless as I thought.

  He continued, "Yes, I know, my boy. I felt it also, though she hid it well. That one is wise beyond her years, I fear. Or she has had some training, though God only knows who at the French court…" He held up a hand and muttered, "…or wherever she's from." He continued with his train of thought, "None of them has sufficient intelligence to make use of such gifts, or even to recognize them for what they are."

  Stefano's voice took on an edge of pleading. "We can use that can we not, Papà? If she were bound to me, it would be a most useful pairing. Strength, Papà. Just what we need now."

  And there it was. He would give the pup credit, he managed to twist the family's fortunes with his own desires. Unfortunately it was past time for the boy to assume the mantle of his responsibilities.

  No matter how diplomatic, how politic he couched his next words, Stefano would not yield without considerable resistance. He girded himself for the certain conflict.

  "Hmmm, the other day you might have convinced me of the merit of that evaluation, but today the situation is different. Our priorities must change to suit circumstances."

  "But…" Stefano half rose from his seat but Cosimo waved him back.

  "I do not dispute the value of a possible favorable outcome from such a match." Out of the blue he asked, "Is she by any chance carrying your child?" It was a valid question, given the circumstances. He sneered, "It wouldn't be the first time."

  Stefano blushed and mumbled, "I don't think so."

  His escapades from an early age had alternately vexed and delighted his brothers, leading Cosimo to expend a substantial portion of his youngest's inheritance on buying off or seeing to the dispatch of unwanted offspring. Of them all he seemed blessed with potency that went beyond all normal expectations. Tonio had laughed and patted him on the shoulder and told him to be happy for his gifts and not have to rue the unfortunate curse he and Nico bore in the service of family.

  "Then we shall proceed as planned. The woman stays here for further evaluation." He quickly added, "…as our guest." He stood and approached Stefano, his face set in a hard line. "You, however, will have a somewhat different role to play."

  His son blanched and croaked, "Role to play?"

  "In light of what Nicolo has brought to my attention regarding matters in the French court and with Carlos' succession, it has been our singular good fortune to arrive at an arrangement with a distant cousin of the Gorizia's."

  "But I thought that portion of the Tyrol had been bequeathed to Maximilian and was no longer of interest."

  "Yes, that was the case." And that situation lasted less than a week as alliances shifted. He went on, "But let us, for a moment, consider a most fortuitous bonding with the Habsburg lineage. This distant cousin has three daughters, most fair of face, I am assured. One of them will suit you. I am in negotiations with Duke Friedrich as we speak."

  "Bonding? You mean marriage?"

  Cosimo glared at his youngest. They had been having a verbal sparring match for months over Stefano's obligations to the family. Placing him in an advantageous position within range of the power mongers surrounding Maximilian would not only strengthen Florence's position vis-à-vis her neighboring states and republics, but would also facilitate the delicate negotiations his middle son conducted on the family's behalf in Seville. And it would help fashion a measure of peace with the Venezian contingent for whom war was simply commerce by other means. That Florence had suffered from that ill-advised business tactic on more than one occasion was forever etched into Cosimo's memory. He needed peace to grow his interests, a commodity increasingly difficult to fashion with so many players waiting in the wings—almost all with drawn swords and cinquedeas.

  Before his youngest could offer up additional complaints, Cosimo stood and stalked from the room. As he exited, he pronounced with finality, "Get used to the idea, Stefano. This will happen in the very near future. Best to prepare yourself as have your brothers. They each know their roles and accept what must be done. As will you."

  Cosimo left the room with a heavy heart. Of all his sons, this one was still a child in many ways, trusting to a fault, of good heart and cheerful disposition. How unfortunate that God had graced him with the talents so valued by the idiots at the Habsburg and French courts. He had no choice but to send his son into what might prove to be a lion's den. Clasping his hands behind his back, Cosimo paced the long hallway leading to a salon at the rear of the Palazzo, brow furrowed with worry.

  He murmured, "I hope Nicolo was wrong for once. If what he hints about Friedrich…" One thing Cosimo knew. He must not let Antonio learn anything about the rumors and innuendo circulating about the Duke. If he did, and if even half of what Nico reported were true, he would not want to be the one standing in his oldest son's way.

  ****

  "Madame, this way, if you will." Antonio held out a hand but Veluria brushed past him into the small walled garden. Faint echoes of waves slapping the stone abutment and the occasional skritching sound as pilings and piers groaned in unison led her to peer over the smooth granite cap lining the top of the barricade.

  "This is lovely," Veluria sighed, and truly meant it. Such retreats in the heart of the city were indeed rare and precious, and most unexpected in this, the center of the commercial and shipping district. The Grand Canal commanded her attention off to the southeast, and in the distance the stunning visage of the Rialto Bridge gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun. A slight breeze brought relief from the building heat. She felt a trickle of sweat along her spine and twisted uncomfortably against the stays.

  "Is something amiss?" Antonio edged next to her, like a phantom morphing from the shadows.

  She would never get used to the man's ability to materialize without warning into her very personal space. Such closeness bespoke an intimacy she feared and desired. She reached out for Stefano, seeking a measure of comfort to ground herself and restrain her developing attraction to the huge man who might hold the key for them all. Unfortunately her connection continued to degrade and she no longer commanded access to his thoughts or feelings. Why … she couldn't be sure.

  "No, signore, I am quite well, gracie. Such beauty," Veluria waved a hand to encompass the vista spread before them, "gives me chills."

  What gave her greater chills was the brush of flesh against flesh as the Demon moved in close. He'd rolled up his sleeves in deference to the growing heat of the day, revealing deeply tanned muscular forearms. The brief touch seemed more deliberate than incidental.

  "My father's interests lay to the north." Tonio pointed to a mass of imposing warehouses where the canal opened out onto a bay that fed eventually into the Adr
iatic. The sway of masts heralded the fleet of ships awaiting cargo. "Our mills in Florence require that we maintain a presence here in Venice."

  Veluria nodded with interest. She well understood the intricate interweaving of commerce, politics and war that dominated the fabric of the city and its denizens. The tall man, and his threatening visage, should have made him a natural fit in this theatre of avaricious pursuit of power, but somehow Veluria detected a depth to his character, something off-kilter, that had nothing to do with his heritage or the unusual 'gifts' he and his brothers wielded so adeptly.

  "And exactly what is your role in all this?" Veluria decided to begin the inevitable interrogation on her own terms. She needed to define this man's position, determine exactly how and why his energy so swamped her own abilities, before she could mine him for the location of the key, whatever 'the key' was. Euphemisms, the Holy Mother gloried in them.

  Find the key, daughter, and save us all.

  Well, she was convinced she had found the one who could lead her to the object of power, but what she would or could do with it remained to be seen.

  Antonio's gaze followed the petite woman's, taking in the wall of algae coated stone across the canal. He drifted closer, drawn by the set of her shoulders and the graceful curve of her neck as it flowed like peach satin into the square-cut bodice. He approved of her lack of pretension, eschewing the bouffant sleeves and exaggerated skirts so common to Venezia. Unlike his brothers who seemed inordinately well-versed in fashion, Antonio preferred simplicity and elegance to the frippery and extravagance of his peers, male and female. He liked the cut of her gown, clinging to a narrow waist with just enough flare to accentuate her slim figure.

  Without a thought he fingered the leather lacing on her bodice, his mind racing as he imagined pulling the narrow thongs through the eyelets, slowly, enjoying the exquisite feel and the soft shushing sound—the promise of what lay beneath the smooth fabric. He imagined releasing her breasts into his hands, slipping the ribbed fabric away to drop carelessly to the ceramic tiled floor. Imagined undoing the braid that circled her beautifully shaped head, freeing the blue-black tresses to fall about her rosy-hued shoulders. Imagined cupping her chin in his rough hands, dark against light, pressing into the flesh until she bent back to receive his mouth.

  The memory of their brief kiss still taunted him. That anyone could taste so sweet defied explanation.

  As he reached to pull a strand of hair off her neck, Antonio caught himself, appalled at what he was about to do.

  Mio dio, what is this? Where has my mind gone? This is insanity.

  Insane indeed. This was his brother's woman, as much as Cosimo might dispute that fact. Antonio had seen the looks exchanged between his brother and this woman. He didn't need special skills to detect the connection they had with each other. That his beloved brother was entirely besotted by her concerned him, but he would do everything in his power to make sure that Stefano would have all that he desired. If this woman proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was worthy of Stefano's trust and love, Antonio swore to himself that he would personally thwart his father's grandiose schemes to see the lovers pulled asunder.

  He owed Stefano that. It might be the only thing he could do to make amends for his rash and vicious attack on the boy.

  "Perdonatemi, mio signore, your father wants a word with you." Cosimo's manservant approached circumspectly, as if intruding on an intimate moment. That would surely give the man pause since in his long years of service he'd probably never once seen him so much as look at a woman, let alone engage in polite conversation on the terrace.

  "Gracie, Paulo. Please stay with Madame until I return."

  "M'Lord, your father wishes for me to bring," Paulo stumbled as he had not been accorded the woman's surname and feared using her given name in a gesture of disrespect, "Madame to your brother." He hastened to add, "A light lunch awaits once your discussion is completed." Breathing an obvious sigh of relief that the mercurial elder would find little fault with his delivery, Paulo held an arm out for Veluria.

  Tonio held back, his gut in a knot. It was one thing to resolve to see to his brother's happiness, even if that meant supporting a potentially unsuitable match. It was quite another when the debilitating headache returned at the mere thought of Veluria and Stefano together.

  He watched Veluria disappear into the palazzo, his face a grim mask of displeasure.

  Veluria gathered her skirts, reflexively touching the nape of her neck, reveling in the shadow play that left her senses on high alert. She had all but swooned as the tall man had loomed over her, invading her space with transient touches. Did he think she couldn't feel the gentle tug on the laces, couldn't imagine him stripping her bare and teasing her flesh with soft caresses?

  How easily she would have shed the armor she'd carefully installed against such a sweet assault. It was as if he'd never asked for anything for himself, had never before acknowledged he might have needs or desires. There was a naiveté, a coltishness, about the hardened warrior that brooked her defenses. Somehow he had unconsciously unlocked the door that guarded her heart, ensnaring them both. Had it not been for the fortuitous interruption, she suspected things might have spun out of control.

  What was it about this Demon that had her thinking the fates had aligned to bring them together? She surmised, no—at some deeper level—she knew that he let few in, that in fact she might be the first to plumb the secrets of the man behind the mask of violence and disdain for his fellow man.

  But then he tried to slam the door shut, but not before she glimpsed the heartache and shame, the agony and guilt. Again, the guilt. What in God's name had he done?

  Perhaps Stefano would finally give her answers to the vexing questions.

  Reluctantly she swept past him, allowing her skirts to sweep across his legs, fabric on fabric, a hint that left a nervous surge racing up her thighs to settle with delicious intensity in her private space.

  She needed to find answers and soon. All the emotional turmoil served no end and kept her from achieving her goal.

  Damn it, Reverend Mother. You prepared me for everything else. Why did you not prepare me for this?

  Antonio watched Veluria exit the patio. Again he marveled at how something so tiny could turn him into a towering volcano of heat and lust, the visions of her in his arms consuming him. He could sense her long after she swept through the patio doorway and disappeared into the dim light of the atrium.

  Curious at the odd summons from his father, he quickly made his way to Cosimo's private apartments on the third floor of the palazzo. He would need a moment before confronting the old lion. The man was canny to a fault, and it would not do to allow him any awareness of the unusual dynamics that Veluria's and his powers manifested in the garden. Taking the stairs two at a time, he permitted one small memory, then shut her out of his consciousness until he was ready to once again sample the flavor and bouquet only hinted at that day.

  ****

  Cosimo leaned against the stone balustrade, his hands braced against the smooth granite, rocking slightly on his heels. He had watched his eldest and the mysterious French woman with interest and had noted Tonio's unusual willingness to be close to her. His 'enforcer' seldom allowed contact with another unless it was to administer his particular form of persuasion to unwitting victims. Of all his sons, this one had mastered the arts of interrogation and intimidation with an ease and enthusiasm that had delighted and frightened his many instructors. That he had learned to temper his aggressive nature when it came to his younger brothers spoke to his ability to control and channel his gifts. Cosimo appreciated and applauded Tonio's restraint but was in no way lulled into believing that the man was anything more than a smoldering volcano, ready to erupt without notice.

  "You wish to see me?"

  Cosimo smiled and turned toward his son, amused at the studied, placid expression. He could allow this little masquerade for now. What he had seen and sensed from afar could play out in
the family's favor since Antonio would likely not take the news at all well, too imbued with his younger brother's well-being for his, and the family's, own good.

  "Yes. I have just received a most favorable response from the Duke. He has expressed, shall we say, a certain level of enthusiasm for the proposition. So much so that he wrote…" Cosimo tapped his forehead as if trying to remember the exact words, "…you have three sons, I have three daughters."

  Antonio's small intake of breath betrayed his feelings on the matter. This was exactly what he feared. His father would go ahead with the match in one way or another, and it wasn't just Stefano on the auction block. His gut clenched with the possibilities opening for his future. That the family would even entertain such a thought…

  "Don't look so concerned, my boy. You and Nico serve me well in other capacities. But Stefano has unique gifts which, for this match, I will exploit to the fullest." Cosimo moved off the balcony and turned toward the writing desk. The bank of tall windows filtered the late afternoon light through a filmy gauze covering. He reached for a square of parchment and extended it to Antonio. "Read for yourself."

  Antonio scowled at the tiny lettering then threw it onto the desk. His voice thick with scorn, he stated, "Still trying to impress, I see."

  Cosimo laughed out loud. "I thought you might agree with me. Remember, the Duke has several cloisters he maintains with the Duchy's funds. He attempts to elevate his rank to ours."

  Antonio sneered, "But a Pope and a Cardinal will trump his monks any day of the week."

  "Quite right. But we can use that ambition to our advantage. The Habsburg court stands to change in some significant ways in the near future. We need to be part of that change or it will consume us. Stefano will be our instrument to assure our interests." He held up a hand to stay Antonio's next words. "And my decision is final on this matter."