The Boy Who Wept Blood (28 page)

50

It Has a Name
–
30 Agosto
325

Dino hurried back to his apartment in House Erudito, listing in his mind what he would take to San Marino. There was something pleasing about constructing a list: horses, saddles, feed, a sturdy cloak, a good loaf and some cheese, water and wine and so on. It was not the list that concerned him, but Stephania; she’d likely refuse to leave. A way to persuade her eluded him but she was open to reason at least. The same could not be said of Anea, but she was not the woman he had once known.

His mind turned to the ravens and to Lucien’s ghostly appearance in the looking glass. He dismissed it as trick of the light and nothing more, the conjuration of a mind driven to extremes. Demesne had long been a breeding ground for infirmities of the mind. He pushed on, focusing on the task at hand. He’d put Stephania beyond the reach of Erebus. That the Domina was his puppet was without question, and by extension the
capo.
Dino wondered if he too was fulfilling some part of Erebus’ plan. No way to know for sure, he decided; only by leaving could Dino secure his own release from his machinations.

Footsteps, hurried and uncaring, the runner choosing velocity over stealth even in the small hours of the morning. Dino tensed and drew his sword, but no sooner was the steel beyond its sheath than he was knocked to the ground. A dark blur careened into the wall with the impact but no curse or yelp sounded in the darkness. Dino snatched a glance from the dusty floorboards. He had not been the only assassin abroad at this hour. The figure regarded him, its face obscured by a veil. A short sword in a scabbard remained undrawn, for now.

Dino forced himself up from the floor and retrieved his blade, a metallic tang of blood infusing his mouth as adrenaline presaged the violence to come. A veil could be worn by anyone, but Dino knew with certainty who looked from behind it: the Domina’s pet Myrmidon. He struggled to his feet, switching the blade to his right hand. The corridor would hamper his choice of attack. He found his balance and held out the sword, but the veiled man fled, swallowed by the gloom. The Orfano let out a long and emphatic series of curses that said much about the parentage of the departed assassin. With no opponent to face, Dino resumed his progress, keen not to be drawn away from his purpose: protecting Stephania Prospero.

A figure waited outside his apartment, peering into the darkness, bearing a lantern held high.

‘Dino? Tell me you didn’t do it.’

‘What are you talking about?’ It was Speranza, and even by the tawny glare of the lantern he could tell she was ashen-faced. ‘What are you doing here at this time, Speranza?’

The messenger looked at him, searching every contour of his face for an answer. Her shoulders were hunched and her body spoke only of tension, as if she might flee at any moment. She drew her sword slowly, the very sword he’d given her on the day of Cherubini’s departure. An old sword and scabbard with a loose chape. A cast-off blade that had lived in the back of a cupboard for years. It was not the finely crafted weapon of a noble, had not been handed down to him as a valued heirloom, worth very little. And yet it would kill him all the same.

‘The Domina sent me. Tell me you didn’t do it.’

Dino swallowed, unsure of what he was being accused of. His mind flashed up an image of Duke Fontein’s stiletto on the mantel.

Tempo. Velocita. Misura.

He couldn’t get the measure of the woman before him, and things were moving far too quickly to comprehend.

‘Tell me.’ Her jaw was tight, knuckles white on the hilt of the blade.

‘You mean the duke?’

‘I never cared for the duke. I had no loyalty to him.’ She held out her sword, point hovering a foot from his face. ‘You know full well that’s not what I mean. Did you do it?’

Dino’s eyes drifted, taking in the thin sliver of light escaping around the door where it stood ajar. The lock had been smashed.

‘I didn’t kill Duchess Prospero,’ he said, feeling ridiculous. Speranza was a messenger, he
maestro superiore di spada
, and yet here he was answering her questions at sword point.

Speranza shook her head incredulously. ‘Do you think this a game?’ A snarl of anger made her look feral in the half-light. ‘Are you toying with me? Have you become as mad as Anea?’ The tip of the sword thrust forward a few inches. He held his ground, felt his anger pique and uncoil.

‘Who is it you think I’ve killed exactly?’ he grated, patience exhausted. The messenger looked at him with mute fury. ‘To hell with this.’

He stepped inside her guard, batting aside the blade with his forearm, tines beneath jacket and shirt protection from the blade. His hand locked her wrist, pushing down, grasping vice-like.

‘What it is this about, Speranza?’

She jerked back but found herself held fast.

‘Fiorenza,’ she whispered with tears in her eyes.

The maid lay on the floor by the hearth, the familiar handle of Duke Fontein’s stiletto jutting from her chest. Anguish pierced Dino. Erebus had claimed the life of one more innocent.

‘Tell me you didn’t kill her,’ said Speranza from behind, a note of pleading in her voice.

‘Why would I smash the lock to my apartment? Why would I return now? What possible reason does the
maestro superiore di spada
have for killing his maid?’

‘The Domina said she was with child, and that—’

‘Mine?’ He laughed bitterly. ‘I think we have both heard the rumours often enough to know that’s unlikely.’

‘So it’s true then? You and Massimo?’

‘It hardly matters,’ he whispered, still unable to speak the words of his otherness. ‘This is the Domina’s work. Fiorenza worked for her. There’s no doubt she would have overheard a few choice secrets, some embarrassments. What better way to silence them for ever? And in my apartment.’ Dino stooped to take the weapon from the breast of the girl who had shown him nothing but loyalty. The stiletto came free of the wound with a sucking sound. He hoped it had been a quick death. Hadn’t he just set aside a weapon of assassination in Salvaza’s chamber? Now he’d returned to find himself haunted by another.

‘And what better weapon than the keepsake I used to torture myself all this time? It’s perfect.’

‘If not you then who?’

‘Her Myrmidon, of course. The one with the veil.’

‘Marchetti?’

‘It has a name?’ Dino sneered. ‘He ran into me in the corridor as I returned from House Prospero.’

‘Dino, I’m sorry. I should never—’

‘What else did the Domina say?’

‘That I was to report back to her …’

She got no further, the sound of boots echoing from the corridor beyond. Not the
stamp-stamp
of a lone runner, but the sustained rumble of many urgent feet.

‘The window,’ he grunted, eyeing the smashed lock of the door, knowing the room was indefensible. He dragged one heavy armchair to the doorway and pushed it closed. It wouldn’t hold for long but might give them a moment.

‘What?’ The messenger eyed him, incredulous and wary.

‘Climb for the roof or the nearest open window. Now, Speranza!’

The sounds in the hall were no longer limited to the thunder of footfalls, but had been joined by the jingle of buckles and scabbards, the sounds of Myrmidons hastening his end, the sounds of enemies he could not hope to overcome. The window swung open, slamming and clattering against the shutters beyond. He held out one hand, imploring the messenger to follow him.

‘But I can’t …’

‘You were supposed to report back when you found Fiorenza dead. You didn’t. That makes you my accomplice, or incompetent. Either way your life is forfeit.’

She followed him onto the ledge and they began the ascent, heartbeats loud in their ears. He took a moment to close the window, in order to leave no indication of their escape route. Dino had always known his Orfano heritage had given him a facility with climbing, another gift he had in common with Lucien. It was easy to take such a gift for granted until forced to climb with someone who lacked it so completely. Speranza struggled to find handholds amid the masonry.

The sitting room filled with the sounds of armoured bodies searching and tearing apart furniture for the duke’s stiletto, gore-slicked and thrust beneath Dino’s belt. It sounded like a stampede. There would be no return to his apartment now; Dino had only the clothes on his back and the sword on his hip. The ascent was long and agonising, harder with each moment the climb consumed. Dino guided Speranza’s hands, whispering encouragement while hoping the Myrmidons below would not emerge and scale the walls, although their armour alone made this unlikely. He hoped. Windows stared out from Demesne, regarding Landfall like sullen eyes. Dino and Speranza continued with stifled curses, losing their fingers amidst the ever-present ivy which stained the masonry in a deep crimson.

The lip of the roof provided a final obstacle to the messenger, who stood on a ledge below, haggard and spent. Dino flowed up and over the edge, one leg becoming entangled with his scabbard for a second. He looked seven storeys down to the clutter of Santa Maria, then back to the messenger.

‘Come on, you’re almost there. Not much further.’ He extended his shoulders beyond the roof, lying flat with his arms stretched down.

‘Just go. I’ll break the window.’

‘Don’t be foolish. The noise will bring the Myrmidons. Come on.’ He waved her on.

She raised her hands but there was no strength there, no resolve. He grabbed her hands and heaved, feeling his shoulders sing with the pain of it, but Speranza, all gritted teeth and desperate eyes, slithered out of his grasp. She dropped back onto the window ledge, transfixed by the long drop to the cobbles below.

‘Just leave me here.’

‘They’ll kill you, like they’ve killed everyone else.’

‘Just go, Dino.’ He heard her voice in the night, and also the crack as she said his name. He watched her for a moment and stood up, curses escaping his lips into the darkness. Then inspiration.

His sword belt did not have the strength of rope, nor was it particularly long, but Speranza clung to it nevertheless.

‘Brace your feet against the wall, lean back and walk up,’ Dino hissed.

‘This is the last time I jump out of a window with you,’ replied Speranza through her teeth. Foot followed hesitant foot as Dino hauled and swore and sweated. Finally she all but collapsed over the edge onto the rooftop, daring herself to look over her shoulder.

‘Nothing but a long fall and a short ending,’ whispered Dino beside her, wrapping one arm about her waist.

‘I’m sorry about … I didn’t really think you’d killed her.’

‘Yes, you did. It’s exactly what the Domina wanted you to think. She’s getting very good at that sort of thing.’ Dino released her and shrugged. ‘Even I don’t know what to think any more.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Leave. There’s nothing else for it.’

‘And the Contadinos?’

‘They’re no threat to anyone now. And I can’t protect them while they remain within the walls of Demesne. Medea won’t leave.’

‘I’d like to help you. What do you need?’

‘Three horses, saddled, in the Contadino courtyard.’ He chewed his lip. ‘What will you do?’

‘D’arzenta said I was welcome among his company. I’ll go to him. I’ve no love for Duchess Fontein, and even she can’t keep me safe from this insanity.’

Dino nodded. ‘Waste no time. Good fortune.’ He turned away toward House Prospero and the unwelcome task of persuading Stephania to accompany him to San Marino.

‘Why three horses, Dino?’

He stopped and turned. ‘Because I’m getting Stephania Prospero away from this place, and I’ve not given up on Virmyre yet. He’s still alive, I know it. I’m going to put both of them beyond the Domina’s reach, away from Erebus.’

‘Who’s Erebus?’ Speranza asked.

‘If I knew that I might be able to find him. And kill him.’

51

The Ravenscourt Defiled
–
30 Agosto
325

Dino had spent much of the summer clambering across Demesne’s rooftops in the dark, but always in the service of the Domina and always on behalf of Anea. Or so he had thought. The revelation that Duchess Prospero had been manipulated was obvious with hindsight. That Duke Fontein had also received letters in that spidery hand provoked little surprise. How much of Dino’s spying had occurred at the behest of Erebus? The idea of being a pawn in a vast and unknowable game was like a splinter in his mind. Worse still that the rules might change the instant he learned them.

Dino cast his gaze to the stars emerging from cloudy concealment to look down on Demesne. Again he saw a single amethyst eye amid the deep blue of night, reminding him of the king’s machines in the
sanatorio
. Dawn would arrive soon, sunlight fading each silver pinprick and its malevolent purple kin. The new day brought only the promise of death, the best Dino could hope for a fast horse. At present he could not win, but he might outrun defeat; ultimately there could be no victory while Erebus drew breath.

The great houses of Demesne radiated out from the Central Keep, each a spar of a cross. Dino’s journey from House Erudito to House Prospero took him across the centre of the immense edifice. Past the Ravenscourt. He had almost left the pregnant curve of the dome behind when a dark bird alighted, seemingly calling him back. The raven glowered and skipped about in an agitation of wings, never settling for long before calling out anew. Dino eyed the raven with caution, wary step following wary step until he was close enough to see into the Ravenscourt itself. The chamber was lit brightly by thick candles in wrought-iron stands. Pristine cream drapes hung from the walls. Into this twilight came Fiorenza’s killer, now attired in the armour of the Myrmidons but shunning the helm for his preferred veil.

Marchetti.

The Orfano’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl, unable to tear his eyes away from the graceful shadow that slipped across the black and white tiles. Marchetti drew his sword and knelt before the dais, head bowed, assassin turned supplicant.

Dino’s fingers curled around the hilt of his own sword, mind racing through the corridors of Demesne, tracing the fastest route to the hated Myrmidon. However, these thoughts were overturned completely as Anea rose from the throne, clad in grey and black, hair a golden dishevelment. Stillness had shrouded her from sight. The breath snagged in Dino’s throat at the sight of her, now a stranger to him. She glided across the floor and trailed her fingers across Marchetti’s shoulders, circling the assassin until she stood before him. Fingers slipped beneath the assassin’s chin, raising his veiled face to hers. He stood slowly, sword forgotten on the floor. Anea backed away, one finger hooked over the Myrmidon’s breastplate, an inverted beckoning. Marchetti stumbled after her, his previous grace reduced to hapless shamble. And then she was back on the throne, drawing up the hem of her dress, pulling the gown up to the valley of her thighs, which parted. Dino sobbed with shock and incomprehension, realising his sister was truly lost to him. Marchetti knelt before his queen, all trace of supplication vanished. Her hands were now at his belt, pushing into his britches.

Dino fell back, appalled.

The raven had ceased its harangue and was now attending to its feathers, apparently keen to be occupied lest it see the rutting on the throne. Dino pressed one hand to his mouth and dragged down a shuddering breath. And then he was running, desperate to be out from under the gaze of the stars, desperate to be away from the pairing below, which approached climax. Had he imagined it as he had imagined Lucien in the looking glass? He couldn’t bear to return for confirmation; he would rather burn the Ravenscourt that be forced to lay eyes on his sister’s most intimate betrayal.

Dino ran until the rooftops threatened to trip him. He ran until his lungs felt like tailoring unstitched, bright seams of pain in his ribcage. He ran with the metallic tang of blood at the back of his throat, knowing he would never outrun this quirk of his biology, just as he could never hide from his preferences. He arrived at the balcony of Lady Stephania Prospero stripped of everything except purpose. He would put her beyond the reach of Erebus.

‘Dino?’

He had no answer for her, only the painful drawing of breath and the taste of Anea’s betrayal.

‘Come in, quickly.’

She opened the door to the balcony and ushered him in, turning the key in the lock once he was inside. He drifted to the middle of the sitting room, chest rising and falling, limbs leaden. His head spun with images of Anea that he fought to banish. Then a moment of surprise. Stephania circled him warily until she stood with her back to the door leading to the corridor. She held a stiletto. Her lack of experience with weapons did nothing to quell his disbelief. Or his wariness.

‘They’re saying you killed Fiorenza with the blade you took from Duke Fontein.’

‘I didn’t kill Fiorenza.’

‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘I believe you.’ But the stiletto remained pointed toward him. ‘And Duke Fontein?’

He nodded, then chewed his lip, pressing his fingers into the palms of his hands until his fingernails cut.

‘And are you here for me now?’

‘Yes,’ he said, hoping she might go with him without dissent. Her eyes widened; the grip on the stiletto tightened. ‘No, not like that!’ He held out one hand to placate her, keeping it far from the hilt of his sword. ‘I’m here to rescue you,’ he whispered. ‘To take you away from here. We’ve all been played.’

There was a rap on the door so hard it all but knocked Stephania to the floor. She glared at Dino as if this too were his fault.

‘Lady Prospero?’ The whining tones of the
capo.
Dino began to draw his sword but took his hand away when Stephania’s frown deepened. She made a shooing gesture with one hand and approached the door. Dino crossed to her bedchamber on the balls of his feet.

‘Yes? I’m here, Guido.’ Dino grinned. This sudden lapse of formality would wrongfoot the idiot
capo
. Guido knew only too well Stephania insisted on using his title when forced to mention or address him at all. Dino closed the bedroom door, but not before seeing Stephania slip one strap of her nightgown off her shoulder. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door, the other hand still occupied by the stiletto, now in the small of her back.

‘Lady Stephania?’ The
capo
all but choked, as would any man presented with such a vision. Any except me, thought Dino.

‘So good of you to check on my safety. I’m perfectly fine, as you can see. Oh, and you’ve got lots of Myrmidons with you.’

Dino chewed his lip to refrain from swearing.

‘Could we possibly search the apartment, Lady Stephania?’

A pause. Dino caught his breath. The next sounds would determine his future. He eyed the window and hoped it was unlocked.

‘Of course,’ said Stephania. Dino could hear her smile as she said it, hear the curl of those lips so desired by the men of Landfall, ‘but why don’t you come back in the morning. It’s not seemly to enter a woman’s apartment when she’s in a state of undress.’

The
capo
made noises. Undoubtedly intended as words they emerged from his mouth strangled embarrassments.

‘Why don’t you post a pair of your Myrmidons outside, just to make sure no one enters. I don’t feel safe any more.’ This last pandered to the
capo
’s sense of rightness. He snapped out some orders, grateful to have something to do.

‘I shall return come the dawn for a thorough inspection,’ he blurted, full of new purpose. Stephania giggled and the
capo
subsided into half-apologies, undone by his own double entendre. The door closed; the lock clicked; Dino released a breath.

The noblewoman entered her bedchamber and regarded the Orfano, who sat on a wooden chest, a blanket box of some craftsmanship. The stiletto shone bright in her hand as she closed the door behind her. Her fingers turned the key and Dino’s thoughts returned to Virmyre, trapped in the
sanatorio.

‘What do you mean,
played
?’ Stephania whispered.

‘Played?’ Dino’s heart was still hammering in his chest from his near-discovery and Stephania’s artful dissembling.

‘You said we were being played.’

Dino nodded. ‘The Domina, your mother, Duke Fontein, they all received letters from one calling himself Erebus. He set them against each other.’

‘As if they needed any encouragement.’ Stephania rolled her eyes.

Dino nodded, unable to deny the truth of it.

‘It’s possible Erebus suggested things that may have remained undone.’

‘Like Margravio Contadino’s murder?’

Dino nodded again, a cold pang of guilt in his heart. ‘And the
maestro
’s expulsion.’ Now a smothering of shame. ‘The Myrmidons are undoubtedly his work …’ He sighed, tangled in skeins of speculation, choked with suspicions.

‘How can I be sure all of this true, Dino? How can I be sure you’ve not descended into the same labyrinth of madness that Anea now occupies?’

For a second he was on the rooftops again, staring down into the Ravenscourt as his sister rutted with Fiorenza’s killer.

‘Dino?’ Stephania’s frown deepened, her impatience clear. The Orfano reached into his jacket, bringing out the letter from Duchess Prospero to Margravio Contadino. The lure that had led Emilio to the graveyard. He proffered it with care, keeping his hand clear of his sword lest she misread his intent and stab him. Stephania unfolded the missive and devoured its contents.

‘Interesting but there’s no mention of any Erebus,’ she said.

‘I’ve spoken to Salvaza tonight. She said Erebus threatened to kill you if she failed to get Emilio to the graveyard.’

‘And you believe her?’

‘Didn’t she warn you of the self-same thing before Emilio died?’

‘She said I was in danger; she said we both were.’

‘And you believed her. Why else would you lie to me about the earring? You were covering for her, hoping you could extricate her from the mess she had made.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Stephania’s eyes strayed across the room to where the pearl in gold rested on her bedside cabinet.

‘Fine. Whether you recognised it or not –’ Dino sighed ‘– it hardly matters.’

‘I’m not sure I ever really knew my mother,’ she admitted. ‘She’s not the sort of person who enjoys the company of women; she’s only happy when she’s fluttering around men.’

‘She loved Emilio once.’

Stephania’s eyes widened; her mouth by contrast became pinched.

‘They were lovers when she was very young,’ he continued. ‘Your mother has many faults, but she’d never put him at risk. Not unless she had no other choice.’

The duchess’s words from their afternoon in the training chamber revisited him like a faded whisper:
To this day I can’t be sure if Stephania was a child born of Prospero. Certainly she lacks any of Stephano’s attributes.
Dino studied Stephania, searching for a trace of Emilio in the lines of her face – her brow, her nose – but any evidence of her paternity remained concealed, if it existed at all.

‘You can’t ask me to trust her, Dino.’

‘She sacrificed Emilio to save you,’ he replied. ‘You may not want to believe she’s capable of any good, and I don’t blame you, but she’d never have anyone killed.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because that’s what she had Duke Fontein for. Salvaza is strictly political. Fontein was dangerous not just because of his influence but because he preferred more direct action. He was a killer. That’s why I killed him.’

Stephania lowered the stiletto, shoulders slumping, leaning her back against the door. Her chin dropped, eyes closed. Her lips trembled with the force of all she held back. That she might be Emilio Contadino’s daughter was one secret Dino retained. He’d not add to her burdens on a night like this.

‘She asked me to take you to San Marino,’ he said after she’d had a moment to absorb everything.

‘And you trust her?’

‘Trust is too strong a word, but I believe it’s a good idea.’ Dino crossed the room and touched Stephania on the shoulder. He found himself looking into deep brown eyes holding back tears that deserved to be shed. She fell into his embrace, not as a lover, but as a child orphaned by Demesne. By politics. By the twisted machinery of service and rule. He may have lost one sister, but he had surely gained another. She dashed away unformed tears and set herself to dressing, reaching into a lacquered wardrobe.

‘There’s one more problem.’ Dino rubbed at his forehead.

‘Which is?’

‘You asked the
capo
to post two Myrmidons outside your door.’

She nodded, unconcerned, as if having two heavily armoured thugs within twenty feet was nothing, then shucked off her nightgown.

Dino turned away out of habit. ‘I’m not sure I can take both of them without attracting undue attention.’

‘I know that,’ she replied.

After a minute he turned to find her wearing men’s riding britches, a blouse and thick jacket. Small clothes were packed into a bag.

‘Perhaps we could lure them in one at a time, or …’

‘You’ll need this,’ she said, holding out the tabard of a House Prospero messenger. He took the garment and struggled into it, then found himself presented with a tricorn bearing a purple feather.

‘The disguise is good,’ he admitted, ‘but they’ll undoubtedly recognise me up close.’

‘Dino,’ she said with a mischievous smile, ‘how important would you say I am?’ She’d wriggled into a messenger’s tabard of her own.

‘Well, you’re the next duchess of House Prospero, if I can keep you alive.’

‘Which means?’ She buckled on a wide belt of deep brown leather, then retrieved a fencing sword in a battered scabbard.

‘An entire house, the economic heart of Demesne, is yours to command one day. Assuming your mother hasn’t spent all of its reserves on inappropriate dresses.’ This last earned him a smile.