The Shades of Time

by Diane Nelson

  Veluria was different, exotically so. She offered herself with no expectations beyond the sharing of pleasure, sometimes with the hint that it could be so much more … exciting. Until two nights ago, he'd never allowed his secret yearnings free of the inner space where he concealed his very particular tastes.

  Because she knew him in ways no other woman could, he would finally be able to explore all the possibilities that had been denied him for far too long. He could finally set aside matters of propriety—Veluria would understand, and she would not pass judgment.

  "Turn around," he whispered into her ear, "and let me loosen those bindings." Veluria complied as she lifted the strands of hair that had fallen from the tight braid and bent forward.

  "Beautiful, you are so…" He finished off his thought with a taste of the pale flesh behind her ear, nuzzling with exquisite softness, feather light, using his tongue to moisten and warm, then his breath to chill. He gently removed the lacing, pulling the long strand through the eyelets, slowly drawing out the sensation, letting the sound envelop their senses, building anticipation.

  Before Veluria he'd never known how incredibly seductive a slow hand could be. Too often his liaisons were frantic couplings disguised as passion, but gradually he learned to optimize the experience in favor of securing advantage before moving on to the next encounter. Cosimo would chide him on his rash behavior but he would listen attentively to the gossip.

  Tonio and Nico were wrong—they weren't the only ones conscripted to serve the family's needs. But unlike his brothers, he chose who and when—at least until now. If his father insisted on his betrothal to one of the horse-faced Habsburg whores, all that would change. It did not proscribe finding comfort elsewhere, it just meant he'd need discretion and subterfuge—traits he found annoying at best. And unlike the freedoms he enjoyed in Venice and at home in Florence, at the court he would become much like a butterfly specimen on black velvet—ever on display and under constant scrutiny.

  I don't wish to live my life that way.

  Stefano gently maneuvered the stiff corset off Veluria's bodice; but before dropping it onto the bed he held it up, curious at the imbalance, and smiled.

  "I see you have protection, M'lady."

  "As well I should. You never know what manner of brigand might be about in the late afternoon."

  "Brigand." He chuckled, enjoying the analogy, but set the stiff fabric on a bench far away from the bed. He'd prefer she didn't have a stiletto available in case she objected to the activities he had in mind.

  Veluria kept her tone light, yet he sensed the faint tinge of concern. "A brigand of the very best sort, I have been assured."

  "Then let us see just what such a cad might have in mind, shall we?"

  Stefano went light-headed as her small breasts fell into his eager palms, the mounds soft and pliant, fitting exactly as if God had intended her body for him alone. Never had he had such a connection with another human, not even with his brothers for whom he would willingly give his life. This went beyond that, far beyond. For her, and her alone, he would do anything, any act, heinous or otherwise, nothing could ever keep her from him. Not his father and his plans, not the court favorites or his brother's men, or his friends who seemed to live vicariously through his exploits, no one could come between them now. He'd never felt so sure of anything, the rightness of it, the need to claim it and make it his own.

  With practiced ease, he slipped the heavy fabric from her body, revealing filmy undergarments that outlined her hips and the sweet rise of her belly. She was so small he had to lean forward to reach the hidden places that she so loved for him to touch, each small stroke, each tease, each small hitch of her breath a stab of sublime pleasure in his groin.

  Veluria turned and swiftly removed his doublet and finely-woven shirt. She had to stand on tip-toe to reach his mouth, clasping her delicate hands at his waist to give her leverage. Always the tease, he stayed just out of reach, forcing her to wriggle against him until he yielded for a taste of her full lips, his tongue probing with increasing urgency.

  She disengaged only to run her fingers down the length of his torso, stopping to tweak his nipples between her fingers, drawing them out, then digging in with sharp nails until he murmured a small mewl of pain and pleasure.

  Yes, you do know what I want. Oh God, yes.

  As she followed his contours, she traced a path along the ridge at his hips, then lower to slip the buttons securing the codpiece, allowing the fabric to fall away and release his engorged cock into her hand. She kept her eyes on his chest as he unbraided her hair, allowing the pins to drop soundlessly on the thick carpet. As she stroked him, he focused on the delicious pain and pleasure. She glanced down, then back up, her mouth in an 'O' of consternation and disgust.

  "Who did this to you? Tell me and I shall have him destroyed." She pressed, her anger barely contained. "Stefano. Who?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "You don't mean that. I know you too well. This has scarred you and I will not have it."

  "No, it hasn't."

  "Stefano, stop with the cryptic remarks. I don't understand." With a moan she looked at the still seeping wounds, now ridged in sharp relief as his cock swelled with need in her hand. "This has to be so painful…"

  He whispered, "It is. And that is why I cannot explain…"

  Veluria shook her head violently, prepared to argue the night away but one look at his face stayed her tongue.

  "Please, mi donna amata, just love me now. Let me fill you, I need this, I beg you…"

  "Sì, il mio amante, come lie with me. Make love to me as if the world is ending."

  "Like the world is ending, yes, that is exactly how I feel, my Veluria."

  Stefano swept her into his arms and deposited her onto the feather bed, then lay atop her small frame, carefully nudging her thighs apart, mindful that she might change her mind at any moment and unsure that he could pull back now. His pain, and desire, had reached a point of no return. He needed to feed it, to push himself through it, to own it, control it.

  Veluria winced as he thrust himself deep, the lacerations and scars rough to her sensitive flesh. But her moans of pleasure-pain as he plumbed her depths drove all thought from his brain as he wrapped his hands about her beautiful neck and squeezed. Her nails raked his back and she bucked wildly beneath him but he held her fast, thrusting his hips and driving deep, brutally deep and silently begging forgiveness and praying Antonio never found out for he would surely end this torment with one swift stoke.

  Releasing her throat, he ignored her gagging and flipped her over as if she weighed nothing, hitching her up onto her knees. Spreading the pale cheeks, he ignored her moans and plundered the tight entry with his fingers, stretching until she writhed beneath him.

  As he entered her again, he whispered, "We leave tonight, just the two of us. Together. Forever." And then he opened to her as he thrust to the hilt, flooding her with images until she finally understood the who and what and why.

  That is who he is. He is the one who showed me the way.

  He came on her sweet screams.

  ****

  Andreas watched with interest as the Demon exited yet another private domicile. This was the third in a row and each time the Dark One's temper sank to new depths. One of his men approached cautiously, mumbled some communiqué, then returned to the small knot of soldiers comprising the Medicis' private army. How the Demon had summoned these men eluded him. It seemed they materialized by magic whenever the giant went on the prowl in the city.

  Andreas debated following the man as this seemed a useless endeavor. He could spend his time torturing himself while the woman whored with the younger son—not something he fancied, yet of all his options, experiencing her pleasures vicariously had far greater appeal than dealing with the ire and psychotic turmoil of the Dark One.

  Andreas bolted down a side alley headed back to Cosimo's domicile. He'd leave the Demon to whatever errand his father had sent him on. He much
preferred keeping a proverbial eye on Veluria—her name caressed his mind softly—but with her secured within the palazzo's walls, he would learn no more that evening.

  The progress he'd made was of little use to the Monsignor, but keeping the man in the loop and convinced of his utility meant he had continued access to local resources. Now might be the right time to report to His Holiness. After that, he could perhaps reward himself with a visit to Le Vergini and indulge his need for a vessel with one of the many novitiates recently acquired by the convent. He suspected he would need his strength in the coming days.

  The prospect of relieving the cloying ache in his groin overrode all other considerations. Andreas headed back toward the Central Square on foot while Antonio proceeded with his men away from San Polo.

  Too concerned with trivial tasks, neither man detected the perturbations in energy that heralded their universes' slide into chaos and a world of shadows.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cosimo glared at his manservant, then at his eldest son. Moonlight flooded through the bank of tall, narrow windows lining the canal side wall of his small study.

  "That will do, Paulo. Leave us."

  Paulo lit the last remaining candle on the desk and left the room quickly, closing the heavy walnut door behind him.

  "Sit." Cosimo sank onto the plush cushion by the fireplace, and pointed to the one usually favored by his youngest brother. The irony was not lost on him. One fuck-up replaced by another.

  Tonio had returned to the palazzo in a foul mood, the afternoon and evening frittered away on meaningless interrogations of petty men with delusions of grandeur. Although he'd instilled a satisfying fear of God in the merchants, seeing to his father's business dealings was not something he enjoyed, nor was he adept at the nuanced negotiations involved. Sending him out that day had been a fool's errand and designed simply to get him off the premises so Cosimo could see to matters that concerned Stefano without his interference.

  He felt a headache coming on, one of the debilitating explosions of agony that could send him to his bed for hours, if not days. Only his father suffered the same malady. A result of their special "gift", no doubt. He would need to fight it, keep his wits about him.

  "The information you sought…" Antonio began an explanation, then halted as he watched with concern as the waves of pain cascaded across his father's lined face. He recognized the source immediately, having suffered too often himself not to have sympathy for others in the throes of the excruciating agony.

  Cosimo croaked, "It is of no consequence now. Too late."

  "I can still…"

  "No, Tonio. Listen, for I do not have time to debate this issue. Hear me out for it will be in your hands, and I must make it clear what the stakes are for all of us."

  Curious now, Antonio settled onto the cushion and awaited what he guessed would not be good news.

  "Friedrich has accepted my proposal, with his usual conditions, this you know," Cosimo stared at his son intently, "but what is new is the urgency with which we must proceed."

  "Urgency?"

  "I am to send Stefano, alone, to the Imperial Court. The Reichstag has been convened yet again and Friedrich wishes to parade his latest coupe in hopes of gaining favor. Bringing our house and his together would do much to convince the Dukes that he is worthy of joining their ranks. Stefano will marry his oldest daughter there. Immediately."

  Antonio sat quietly, absorbing the implications. This was not unexpected for Friedrich who, though considered mercurial by his peers, could move decisively when his interests were at stake.

  "Alone?" Cosimo nodded. "I don't think so. Stefano must be prepared for facing the Reichstag. His pretty court manners will take him only so far. Those vultures will eat him alive and I will not have it. I will accompany him with a few of my hand-picked men."

  Antonio thought, I will work behind the scenes to assess the implications for this hurried arrangement. Stefano will have a choice, if I have anything to say about it.

  "It matters not. He is gone, that foolish boy."

  "Gone? Gone where?"

  Cosimo kneaded his eyes. "The candles, please."

  Antonio heaved up from the plush cushion and extinguished the candles on the desk. His father had moved into a full blown attack, so much so that the wavering candlelight would be causing shooting stabs of pain into his skull. They had little time left to work out the situation before he'd need to have Cosimo moved to his quarters.

  "Gracie, Tonio, gracie." He kneaded his temples, grimacing. "The fool has run off."

  "Dammit. Do you know why…?" Stupid question. The blood pounding through his veins threatened to blow the top of his head off. "So he learned of Friedrich's plan, is that right?"

  He wasn't sure who he was more furious with, his father … or himself. They—no, he—should have seen this coming.

  "Sì, I knew he hesitated but I assumed he would do the right thing for the family."

  "And you are so sure this is the right thing? You put family first, Papà. Does it never occur to you that perhaps Stefano's happiness might come first?"

  Cosimo looked at him with surprise. He stuttered, "Th-there is no difference, it is about the family. You know this. You have lived by this credo all your life. All that you do, all that you are, is in service to the family. We have made you what you are."

  Antonio sneered, "Yes, exactly right. You have made me what I am today."

  Antonio pushed off the cushion and rose with difficulty, the pain in his head sending waves of nausea through his gut. In truth it wasn't just his damnable malady causing him such physical distress. After what he'd done to Stefano, the aggravating waste of his time seeing to miniscule details of commerce…

  Antonio stalked about the salon, livid with anger. Anger at his father for his absolute control over all their destinies. Anger at Stefano for being such a slave to his damned misguided sensibilities. Anger at the interminable scheming that greased the wheels of politics and commerce. But mostly anger at himself—his gut clenched as he fought against the strange inner stirrings the woman had aroused. Feeling that stood in opposition to his deep well of famiglia fedeltà, the loyalty that insinuated his very core and gave him reason for living.

  Quietly Cosimo said, "That's not all. Please, Tonio, sit. My head pounds so I cannot think. And I must be clear on this."

  Antonio sank back onto the cushion, his mind too agitated to focus clearly. He nearly missed his father's next startling words.

  "He has taken her with him."

  "Her." Antonio's world tilted dangerously as he had had no warning, no inner alarms to alert him to any of these events. That she could so mask, not only herself, but Stefano as well spoke to a power only hinted at. That troubled him far more than knowing she had run off with his beloved brother. Stefano's feelings for the Frenchwoman were no secret to any of them.

  "She's no more French than…" Antonio muttered.

  "What?"

  "French." He paused, aware he was making no sense. He and Cosimo had to work through this dilemma logically. He asked, "Is she French, Papà? What do we even know about her? We have few contacts with François' court, and not even Nico has succeeded in penetrating the layers of protection about the King and his closest advisors."

  "So, you suspect as do I … that she is not who she claims." Cosimo waved his hand dismissively. "That does us no good now. The question remains. Where did he go, where did they go? We must bring him back into the fold, Tonio. He is too valuable an asset to risk having him taken."

  Antonio clenched his jaw, rose to his feet and stared down at his father. Voice tight, he stated with deadly calm, "An asset."

  Is that what the old bastard thought about his youngest son? A fucking asset? A prized stallion to be farmed out like valuable breeding stock? He'd accepted his and Nico's standing as mere cogs in the machinery that was the Medici legacy. But for some reason he'd sensed a level of affection for Stefano not accorded him and his brother.

  M
aybe we're better off, Nico and I. What would either of us be like if the bastard had actually cared about us?

  Antonio glared with loathing at the man to whom he'd sworn his loyalty and said, "Yes, I agree. I shall find your asset, Cosimo…" he emphasized the word 'asset' and with undisguised menace warned, "…and then we shall have a discussion, you and I."

  Unconcerned at the threat, Cosimo said, "He will not be easy to track, boy. Remember, he has gifts, not as strong as yours, but gifts all the same."

  "I only need to loosen a few tongues, Father. Remember, it is what I do best."

  As he exited the salon, Antonio resisted the urge to slam the heavy walnut door shut, not so much in deference to Cosimo's distress, but to prove to himself he could control the almost overwhelming need for violence. He curled his fists into tight balls and let the pain wash through him. It was out of Cosimo's hands now.

  Now it's my turn.

  ****

  "You have done well, my son." The Monsignor offered his ring as Andreas bent to pay obeisance to His Holiness.

  Andreas had expended what few energy reserves he had left in constructing an elaborate web of lies, innuendoes and suppositions that would keep the Monsignor busy chasing down phantoms and off his back. So long as he could continue as a hand-selected operative of the church, his cover would afford him access to channels well-insulated from the public eye. None were as secretive as the minions of the Papacy, especially when in pursuit of political and economic advantage.