by Diane Nelson
Now he had the excuse he required to stay in the duchy. The horse-faced bitch would petition daddy for him to become her personal confessor. As such he would have access to every part of the castle, including the enticing 'parlor'.
The only down side might be the drain on his stamina, something for which he must guard against with the denouement of their dilemma approaching at breakneck speed. However, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. While he'd felt it wise this night not to inquire about Stefano, he would need to press the woman on their next meeting. The players must all be present: Stefano, Friedrich, Nicolo de' Medici. Somehow, one or more of those three men held the key.
The Sisterhood and the Council both toiled to save their worlds from a coming apocalypse. Given a choice, he would prefer salvation come from rational mathematicians than the meddling matriarchal geneticists.
Palming his blade, he glided across the rough stone floor, feet bare, his cowl pulled over his head—just a monk reciting matins, the liturgy rolling with practiced ease off his tongue.
The Medici's tail had gone off with his fellows to the town, whether or not with his commander's blessing mattered little. Lacking anything new to occupy his mind, he allowed a rare moment of introspection. Usually Matteo, ever the theorist, asked the unanswerable, but on this propitious evening, with his lusts sated, he was ready to explore the anomalies he sensed.
His timeline skewed in his own world, the impossible made manifest with weapons and factions deployed in a dizzying array, the onslaught so sudden and terrifying it held them all hostage to fear. Her timeline manifested in the here and now, corrupting and altering events. He was the audience watching events unfold, she was the actress on the stage.
Matteo would work it out, using complex mathematical functions. He had only his gut instincts to guide him. The woman who consumed his thoughts and commanded his desires, existed here as a physical entity. He was but a shadow, an avatar. Yet both of them bore the consequences of this wretched time and place. If the world was truly a stage, when had it become improvisational, directionless?
The Sisterhood bred and trained their novitiates for the difficult transitions between shadow worlds. The Council more wisely used constructs to achieve the same ends, assuring control and suitable outcomes for mission parameters.
Changing history might be unacceptable but he saw no recourse. There was a cancer spreading in a time and place about which they knew too little. The alliances, subtle shifts in power, who lived, who died—such tiny details formed the weft and weave of fate gone awry.
That the woman was here, now, gave him the assurance he needed that he'd whittled the possibilities to three. If it proved to be Nicolo de' Medici, it would be his greatest pleasure to console her, transferring her allegiance to its rightful recipient.
As he approached his quarters, Andreas detected the first hint of burn, a tingle of pain as his neural net registered agony of uncompromising intensity. With a groan he sank to the floor, his back to the wall, rocking back and forth, his head connecting with the unforgiving stone, each crack an echo of her flesh splitting, tearing apart.
Their worlds ripping asunder, shadows in full retreat.
None should suffer so.
I will stop it even if I have to kill him myself.
With trembling hand, he drew the blade across his thigh, slicing deep, following the line of the vein, so close, so temptingly close. The stiletto fell from his stiff fingers, bouncing soundlessly on his blood-slicked robe.
Tomorrow. It will be over tomorrow.
It was time. Matteo would not approve … but he would understand. That was why they chose him over all others.
Chapter Thirty
Andreas watched Stefano dismount in the courtyard below. The narrow enclosure was crowded with the Monsignor's retinue preparing for departure. The prelate exchanged a few words with the Medici pup, then turned away to continue directing his men to carry the chests to the waiting wagons outside the inner walls. Even from his great height he could see the men's breaths misting in the chill morning air.
Wiltrud demanded, "Come back to bed," her voice petulant, needy.
"Hmm, in a minute." Andreas licked the blood off his lower lip, already swollen and tender. He been sorely tempted to respond in kind but he still had need of the woman's services.
He turned and stared at her. Mumbling, "The apple didn't fall far from the tree," he girded himself for round two, not sure he'd gotten the best of this particular bargain.
"Your husband has returned."
Wiltrud shrugged, clearly not caring one way or the other. He needed information and had little time left for games. Unfortunately, this one was not as stupid as she looked. He needed to play her correctly or he would lose what little advantage he had.
"Will he come here," he waved a hand to encompass the small bedroom, "or will he report immediately to your father?"
The woman snorted, "Here? Not likely." She glanced at him with a sly look. "Why do you ask?"
Giving her his best smoldering stare, he said, "Because I have something special planned for our meditations this morning. It would be best if we were not disturbed."
She smiled in a way that made his blood run cold. "Father plans to meet with my husband," her voice dripped with venom, "later this morning. I assure you, they will be occupied for much of the day."
Relieved he would not be under that kind of pressure he approached the bed, assessing the woman's demeanor and calculating just how far he could push her before she started screaming in earnest. She would soon learn her sharp teeth were no match for his … creativity.
Grabbing a hank of hair, he twisted viciously, yanking her forward until she yelped in pain. Her hands beat at his fist as he hissed, "Turn over." When she failed to comply, he kneed her into position, pressing with his full weight on the small of her back. She groaned, her body vibrating with anticipation.
"Do you require penance, my child?" He brought his palm down on her ass, hard, leaving an angry red mark. With his left hand he irritably shifted the bedding out of the way until he connected with her breast, his fingers seeking and finding the taut nipple. With thumb and forefinger he pinched and pulled until she cried out, her voice muffled in the bedding.
Grimly he cupped her chin, squeezing the corners of her mouth. "Say it."
She let loose with a jumble of words in her native tongue, none of which he understood. Squaring his shoulders he prepared to deliver another blow, muttering, "I'll take that as a yes."
Grimacing, he wondered why, with their worlds running out of time, there was time enough for this.
Andreas cradled the woman in his arms. He'd managed to stem the sobbing with soothing promises of her everlasting salvation, trading her kind of hell for one that only he could deliver. Fighting the urge to end the charade, he imagined Matteo counseling patience, knowing the answers lay in the quivering mass of flesh under his control.
"Tell me about Stefano." He struggled to remain neutral but annoyance tinged the command.
Wiltrud stuttered, "Wh-wha—?" Her voice echoed fear and confusion, but still she moved closer into Andreas' embrace as if seeking shelter from whatever demons stalked her. She mumbled into his chest, "What do you wish to know?"
"Where did he go?"
"To Corinthia. Leopold and some of the Dukes were to meet in secret to discuss my father's ascension to the Reichstag."
"Friedrich already has Cosimo's blessing. His election is a formality. Why a secret meeting?"
Wiltrud rolled away but he squeezed her arm hard enough to make her flinch. She gave him a calculating look, her plain features turning sharp with distrust.
He purred, "I can make it worth your while," as he probed her swollen folds.
"My father has an understanding…"
"Yes?" He withdrew his busy fingers and waited.
"Don't stop, please." The strident tones of a woman used to getting her way were replaced with the whining that told him he was close to gett
ing what he wanted.
"Tell me," he wheedled, "and I will give you everything you want." He cupped her soft mound and waited.
"I-I don't know exactly. That's why he sent that pig to meet with the others. He was to report back with their final decision."
Satisfied, Andreas rose from the bed and slipped into his robe. Bemused, he wondered at the woman calling Stefano a 'pig' given her own rather draconian tastes. He would have thought it a match made in heaven based on the rumors about the youngest Medici.
He motioned for the woman to get out of bed and barked, "Get dressed."
"But…"
"You are going to show me your secret passage. I need to know exactly what information Stefano has to relay to Friedrich." When she showed signs of balking he said, "Afterwards I have something very special planned for you."
Palming the stiletto hidden in the folds of the rough cloth, he thought, very special indeed.
****
Nico slapped Paulo on the back and chuckled loud enough to be heard in the far reaches of the courtyard. His men lounged with careless disregard for the activity about them. The Monsignor and his retinue had departed, leaving Friedrich's people to go about their daily activities unencumbered by those demanding guests. As he suspected, Andreas had remained behind.
Paulo muttered, too low to be heard by anyone but him, "Your brother returned early this morning. I was told he retired but will meet with Friedrich for the midday meal."
"Is he with his wife?"
"No, sire. Marco followed the Monk. He is with the duke's daughter."
"Ah." Nico wasn't sure what to think about that. There'd be a good reason for the man's interest in Stefano's wife but what that was he couldn't fathom. For the moment he had other pressing concerns.
"The carriage is ready, Commander, but may I make a suggestion?" Paulo laughed at something one of his men said and leaned in to have a word with the man. When he turned back to Nico he whispered, "I think it best to go mounted and leave the carriage behind."
Nico had to agree, but with reservations. What concerned him was that Veluria was their weak link, fragile from the blood loss and pain from the episode the night before. He had no idea if she was strong enough to ride, but restricting her to the slow carriage would guarantee they'd not get far. Not with a mounted guard at the Duke's disposal.
He'd bade Veluria to stay in the room to recover while he arranged to secure his brother for the trip home. It mattered little whether or not Stefano would agree to the summons to return to Florence. If the rumors Paulo had accumulated were even remotely true, it was all too possible he'd lost his youngest brother to the worst sort of corruption imaginable. However, leaving him here was not an option.
Paulo looked at each of his men in turn, and with a subtle nod signaled them to go about their assigned tasks. When next they saw them, they would be heavily armed and ready to defend their retreat.
"I wish we could do this under cover of night, Paulo."
"So do I sire, but the road is treacherous. It's best if we make it to the river crossing and the safety of the forest during daylight. Once there, we can take a stand if necessary."
"Let's hope it's not."
Paulo nodded toward the keep. "Here comes Marco. Perhaps he has news."
The man approached, alarm and irritation warring with his features. He said, "The monk and the woman called Wiltrud? They disappeared into a corridor and I lost them."
Nico had a bad feeling about that. He asked, "Can you take me there?"
Marco nodded yes. "It's in the Duke's wing, sire." He paused, looking uncomfortable.
Paulo hissed, "What is it?" and listened as Marco whispered in his ear. With raised eyebrows he waited until the man had finished, then dismissed him.
Nico grunted, "Tell me."
"It, um, seems the monk and the Duke's daughter are on … intimate terms."
Nico cursed under his breath. He had no idea what games Andreas played or what any of this meant. Let the man keep to his agenda. He needed to see to his own world—to get his brother out of the clutches of a madman and to get Veluria to a safe place until he could figure out how to stop whatever was tearing her apart, literally, inch by inch.
The question remained: could the monk, acting on his own, stop whatever was driving their shadow worlds apart? If he took Stefano away, would it change the course of history enough? He doubted it. He, the cleric and his brother … the Duke, Veluria … all were linked. He needed to sever that link but who, what and how?
"Dammit. Paulo, prepare yourself and the men. I'm going to find out what the hell's going on."
****
Andreas crouched next to the still figure and carefully wiped his blade on the hem of Wiltrud's skirts. He'd heard enough to understand the full extent of the disaster awaiting both this world and his own. Plots, counterplots, assassinations—with Stefano assigned the task of murdering Carlos before he ascended to the throne, denying him the mantle of Holy Roman Emperor, and leaving it open to one of the Austrian pretenders. That would leave the continent ripe for the machinations of the minor duchies, placing them all between the greed of Françoise and the sleeping bears to their far east, the Khanates and the Ottoman Empire.
Not even the meddling French could come up with such a bold scheme.
Without Carlos, the continent would be thrust into a catastrophic series of wars that could send the region back to the Dark Ages and permanently remove the stabilizing influence of the Holy See. That world, the one on which the Brotherhood, the Council—even the Sisterhood—rested would no longer safeguard what passed for civilization in their post-apocalyptic world.
The way was clear, but he would need help. Stefano had been charged to leave within the week for Castile. How convenient for Friedrich that Nico had played into his hands by coming to the castle and removing himself from Carlos' court. Without Nicolo de' Medici to say otherwise, Carlos would have no reason not to trust the younger brother.
Dammit, Matteo, you should have prepared me better.
He was ill-equipped to deal with seasoned warriors, and even if he managed to effect a way to stop Friedrich and Stefano, he would be stranded in hostile territory with no way back to his own world. Home was Venice—and Matteo, a shadow within a shadow. But how to get there?
He needed an army. And he knew exactly where to find one.
****
Veluria's stomach rumbled, a good sign for it meant that something in her battered body was normal. Suspecting Nico had instructed Friedrich's staff not to disturb her, she decided to head for the kitchens. Surely not everything had been consumed from last night's dinner.
Had it been less than a day? She was lost in time, in more ways than one—unsure about her mission, conflicted about her feelings for the man who would own her heart, fearful for her own life as time cycled violently about a vortex with her at the center.
It was not to have played out this way. Never had she or her kind encountered such a…
Cluster fuck, my child?
Reverend Mother!
I must be brief. We are no longer secure. Listen carefully. The Brotherhood agree. You and the one called Andreas must dispose of the problem.
The Brotherhood?
Hush, child. Do you have the talisman?
Yes, Mother.
Use it when the time is right.
The problem … who, what…? Reverend Mother?
"Are you lost, M’lady?" Friedrich loomed in her space, driving her back against the rough wall. Reverend Mother's communique had so disoriented her she'd lost sense of where she'd wandered.
"I, uh, was looking for the kitchens, Your Grace." She squeezed past the man's lean body and gave a quick curtsy. Tendrils of fear tickled her spine, her senses on high alert. Something about the man made her physically ill, as if true evil was a living, breathing entity. He had the look of a deadly predator, one who liked to play with his prey, drawing out the agony as long as possible. The bones of his face pressed close to t
he flesh, leaving harsh planes and hollowed black eyes from which he assessed her with interest.
He literally made her skin crawl.
But he was also the reason she and the Brotherhood operative were here. It was time to tap her training and finally get answers.
Glancing boldly at the duke, she purred, "Perhaps, monsieur, you would care to join me in a light repast?"
The man's eyes glistened with flecks of gold, the prominent vein in his temple pulsing, throbbing, as she accessed pheromones designed to accentuate her natural allure. The man's tunic covered his groin but she knew without looking that she had his attention. He nodded and gave her a feral grin, his teeth an unexpected white against the pallor of his skin.
"Follow me, M'lady."
"Please, call me Veluria."
"As you wish, my dear."
Without looking back he led them down a stairwell to a landing where a torch in a wall sconce caused the yellow light from the flames to dance eerily on the grey stone walls. She couldn't be sure but it seemed they were in the original part of the ancient edifice. It reeked of age and mildew, the damp condensing on a millennia of sorrow and suffering.
Friedrich held the torch high, though the illumination it cast barely dented the oppressive darkness.
"Careful, my dear. I fear it grows steep. I do not wish for you to injure yourself from an untimely misstep."
"Is this the way to the kitchens?"
"Um, no. We'll breakfast in my private quarters."