Suicide Kings (19 page)

Diana caught herself smiling at it. These people lived far outside the grace of God, but for all of it they lived a joyous life unburdened by the rituals and rigors of nobility. Something could be said for that.

Bernardo watched her over his cup of wine. “It is good to see you smile. It’s even better to think I might have something to do with it.”

She thanked the attendant as he placed a cup of wine before her. “You flatter yourself, Bernardo Tornabuoni,” she replied, unable to hide a grin, fixing him with a mischievous look.

The attendant placed a third cup before them and left. Diana looked at it with crossed eyebrows. “What is this?”

“Brandy. If you haven’t tried it before, the taste is a bit more powerful than wine. Have a sip.”

Suspicious, Diana held the cup under her nose and sniffed. The aroma was vaguely similar to a strong wine, although indeed it held the promise of greater potency. Narrowing her eyes, she put her lips to the cup and swallowed a small mouthful. Her throat immediately erupted in flame. It was all she could do to avoid spraying the amber liquid on Bernardo. She forced it down, roaring with heat all the way to her stomach where it burned like a furnace. Her lungs began to spasm, sending her into fits of coughing. She sat like that, fist over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks, unable to speak a word between uncontrollable coughs for what seemed an endless stretch of time.

“So, do you like it?” Bernardo asked at last with a straight face.

Laughter coursed through her between diaphragmatic spasms.

“I guess I don’t need to worry about sharing,” Bernardo added with a twinkle in his eye.

Diana shook her head, her fits calming at last. “All yours.”

“I’m glad you came with me,” Bernardo observed, sipping intermittently from his wine and brandy cups. “I feared you might refuse me.”

Diana gave him a sideways look, regarding him curiously. The wine and lack of sleep loosened her tongue. “Do you fancy me then?”

He met her gaze evenly, with confidence. “I do. Does it bother you terribly?”

Diana pretended to think for a few seconds, then shook her head.

“Good. I feared you might have had a lover.”

Diana raised an eyebrow in surprise at his comment.

“The young Republic official, perhaps?” Bernardo prodded.

“Niccolo?” she gasped, hoping her voice sounded incredulous rather than the stunned surprise she actually felt. He’d seen them talking at his parents’ palazzo, and managed to surmise much. “No, we don’t know each other very well at all.”

“Your father wouldn’t approve of you falling in love below your station,” Bernardo observed, “which is exactly what it takes to make many young women fall in love.”

“Is love so cynical that it must be used as a weapon by women against their fathers?”

Bernardo shrugged. “Love is a weapon. If you are fortunate enough, you entrust it to someone who will treat it with kindness and care. If fortune frowns upon you, a lover can drive that weapon through your heart.”

A serious turn to the conversation, but Diana enjoyed the philosophical talk. “Which kind of lover would you be?”

He smiled and looked down into his cup, bashful for once. “That is an answer that must be judged from action, not words.”

The band switched to a song called “Amore di Numero Uno”, a slower number with a grinding percussion. The young couples dancing pressed their bodies ever closer, their writhing ever more approximate to carnal intercourse than would ever be allowed in polite society.

Bernardo stood, cup of wine in one hand and offered her his other.

She looked at him, incredulous. “You don’t think one sip of brandy is going to get me rutting with you atop a table, do you?”

He smiled, ever confident. “I won’t lay a hand on you if you wish. Dance with me. You’ll enjoy it. Your beauty will put every other woman in this place to shame.”

She gave him a piercing look, yet she smiled. Throwing caution to the wind, she took his hand and he helped her atop their table, which fortunately proved reasonably sturdy. Their cup of brandy soon went spinning away into the crowd. True to his word, Bernardo never put his hands on her. This became a sensual game of its own however, their bodies moving to the music, ever closer, teasing one another, never touching, yet never far apart. Diana felt incredibly self-conscious at first, although soon began to come into her own, and take pleasure at the very forbidden nature of her behavior. Like Bernardo, she held a glass in one hand, with the other she pulled up the hem of her dress revealing her slim, firm calf. This was nearly a pornographic gesture, and it electrified her. When she heard whistles of appreciation, she knew these were for her, but pretended not to notice, as if above such conceits. She let go of the edge of her dress. Her hand found Bernardo’s and their fingers entwined. She didn’t look at him though; the very primitive nature of the atmosphere demanded an eroticized anonymity. She felt her sexuality struggling for freedom and it thrilled her.

Only a taste though. She prized her honor too greatly to give her body to him after just one dance. Bernardo seemed clever enough to know not to push his success. With the song over, the musical group returned for a more festive number. Bernardo helped her down from the table by one hand. He didn’t gloat over his success in convincing her to behave in such a scandalous fashion. Ever the gentleman.

Dawn had nearly broken by the time he returned her to her family palazzo. They didn’t share another moment as intimate as their dance atop the table at the tavern. Still, the night had passed in pleasant conversation. Though thoroughly exhausted by the end of their evening, Diana enjoyed herself, forgot her miseries for some hours.

“I’ve got to get inside before my father wakes,” Diana insisted with a giggle as they stood in the snow.

“Of course, my dearest,” Bernardo replied with a bow, pressing his lips against her hand. “I hope we will dance again soon.”

She grinned but refused to answer his question directly. “Until we meet again, Bernardo.”

“Until we meet again,” he returned, and spun round and walked back into the night from which he had emerged hours earlier to whisk her from her bed.

As she watched him go, she spotted a shadow in an alleyway, a boot, the edge of a cloak. Her joy filtered away like water on the sand. One of Niccolo’s men, no doubt. Niccolo, oh dear, Niccolo. So different from Bernardo. Thoughts of him returned her to confusion. Perhaps it was for naught. She had no idea what Niccolo thought of her, after all. He’d never come to her window, never taken her on such an adventure as Bernardo had. Perhaps to him, she was nothing more than part of some investigation. A means to an end. Well, he’d hear about Bernardo now, wouldn’t he? Perhaps that would stir something up.

She sighed. Something to figure out on the morrow. Dear God, she drowned in fatigue now. Her regular headaches, held at bay with excitement and wine, threatened to return. She wanted to sleep…sleep until all her troubles were gone. If God loved her, she’d wake to find the murderers of her mother dead, Bernardo and Niccolo having sorted out among themselves which would love her, and her father resigned to have her attend the medical school at Salerno. Diana supposed that God more likely slept soundly, as ever he seemed to, and only dimly aware of her if at all. He would snore through her prayers, and she would awake to find the world as ever it was, cruel, confusing, and profoundly lonely.

Chapter Eleven

The Virgin Death

Diana slept well into midday and would have stayed in bed longer had Siobhan not finally shaken her awake. There was much to tell the Irish girl: about her meeting with Savonarola, about yet another strange interaction with Francesca di Lucca, about her realization that Sister Maria Innocentia had herself been part of the Sacred Council, about her night with Bernardo.

Siobhan seemed to be in awe of all that happened, yet also in something of a tiff. Once Diana finished her narrative, Siobhan stood with hands on her hips and remarked, “Well you certainly had an interesting day for yourself while I’ve been stuck here folding your unmentionables.”

The back of her dress fully laced, by Siobhan of course, Diana stood and regarded herself in the mirror. “Then don’t mention them. What should I have done? When the Mad Friar who enjoys burning people at the stake for dressing too cheerily invites me for an audience, should I ask if I can bring a companion?”

“You could have picked me up before you went off to the nunnery, couldn’t you? What if the old biddies had it in for you? Who would have protected you while you were busy having your fit?”

Siobhan did have something of a point. Diana had taken considerable chances yesterday, acting alone, no weapon. She’d behaved with risk, even in relation to the past few days. “I’d like to look in on Francesca today. I want to be sure that she is well.”

“Admit it; her prophesies have got you thinking.”

Diana waved her off. “Nonsense. Francesca is a foolish girl.” She put her hands down on the vanity and looked into her own eyes. “But she’s sweet in her own way. Even if she is mad.”

“You don’t know that to be true!” Siobhan protested. “For all you know, God may really be speaking through that girl.”

Diana remained silent, watching her reflection.

Siobhan shook her head in frustration. “One day you’ll learn to have faith in something.”

“As I had faith in my mother?” Diana looked down. “While she joined a Luciferian cult? While she plotted to assassinate the pope? While she cavorted with a man not her husband? Where does my faith begin if it cannot begin with her? With my father, who makes me feel like a stranger in my own home? With a God who deals out fortune and famine with capricious randomness? Or with you, whom I have known but a few short days?”

Diana regretted the words as soon as they were uttered. Siobhan looked wretched as she cried, “When have I wavered in my support of you? It may be only a few days, but how long do you need to see into a person’s heart? Francesca too. Be it miracle or madness, she has reached out a hand to help you. Your condescension sullies her effort.”

Diana turned to face her. “I meant only to express concern for her. As for the rest, faith has never come easy for me. What little I had has been taken from me. Still, it is no excuse for how I have spoken of Francesca, or of you.”

Siobhan nodded, her temerity visibly draining away in response to the apology. “Very well. Our words get away from us at times.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Agathi, eyes averted. “Signore Savrano asks to see you, Lady.”

“Does he?” Diana chewed on the words, thinking. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

The slave woman shuffled away with the message.

Diana gave Siobhan a sideways look. “I have a feeling this won’t be a pleasant conversation. I know you give him reports about me. Perhaps you could return the favor. Do you know anything about what he’s thinking?”

Siobhan looked at her feet. “To be honest, Lady, I’ve glossed over some of the rougher patches of your adventures. Suffice it to say though, that he knows you’re inquiring into the death of your mother.”

“And now he’s going to try to stop me,” Diana thought out loud with certitude. Friar Savonarola’s words returned to her. Could it be that Diana approached the answers, too closely for her father’s own comfort?

Siobhan looked empathetic, a half frown creasing her face. “Best of wishes to you.”

Diana nodded and left her bedroom, walking down the long halls and upstairs to her father’s reading room. If he wasn’t at one of his businesses, this would be where she would find him during the day. She walked slowly, dragging out the experience. Part of her felt like a little girl walking toward punishment. The rest of her though, felt far worse, dreading what truth might lie behind that door.

She knocked. Her father’s voice gruffly invited her to enter. He hunched over his table, accounts spread over it. His back faced her, and he did not turn when she entered. This was hardly atypical, but given her nerves, it could only seem like a worse sign still. Without waiting to be invited, she took a seat in a plush velvet chair. Minutes ticked by. A spring-loaded single armed clock standing against one wall tallied them for her. She rolled her eyes up at the ceiling, then down to a bookcase where she read through titles she’d read plenty of times before. Hands wrung in her lap. She sighed. Again, louder.

Finally, her father turned round toward her. His eyes bored into her as they always did, but his expression ever impassive, showed the slightest hints of empathy. “How have you been feeling, Diana?”

She pulled her face muscles up dismissively and shrugged with one shoulder.

“These have been difficult times in this household,” her father continued. “With strength and unity we will persevere. There are a few things over which I would like to speak with you. I understand you slipped away with Bernardo Tornabuoni last night.”

Heat seared her cheeks, and Diana closed her eyes. Dear God, this hadn’t been the line of questioning she’d expected. Her father always had some means to get her to look away first, to gain the upper hand. She could never win with him.

Her father didn’t wait for her to answer. “I’m not so foolish as to be unaware that the young today are accustomed to slipping away for trysts. Yet you must understand that you have a reputation to protect and your reputation as a young woman of the Savrano family reflects on the family itself.” By which he meant him.

“Father, I didn’t
lie
with him! We merely talked.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied. “I am pleased to hear that. Nonetheless, people will natter about a young woman who slips away unescorted with a young man not of blood relations in the middle of the night. It is not so much what you have done as what people think you have done which has the power to ruin you.”

He was right, of course. She could have been seen with him. Especially how she had behaved, dancing with him on the table, their bodies mere inches apart, people would assume they were intimate. She nodded, accepting his words. What else could she do? Inwardly she fumed; fully on the defensive right from the start of this conversation, it would be impossible to extract anything good from it.