The Fallen Blade: Act One of the Assassini (37 page)

As Tycho waited, night clouds parted.

A full moon nailed Tycho to the spot, fever waterfalling through his body as the sky went red around him and the city acquired hard edges and the water in its canals glowed like molten steel. For the first time ever, he let the moon’s rays take him and felt his dog teeth descend.

Opposite him, Prince Leopold raised his face to the blood moon and howled, his body arching as his shriek split the air. Behind him the stars distorted, and the shimmering air ripped as worlds fought each other.

The stronger of the worlds won.

Peeling back, the skin of Prince Leopold’s chest split to reveal blood, raw flesh and fur beneath. His ribcage cracked. Muscles tearing and ribs breaking as unseen hands racked him, dislocating his joints and twisting him to a newer shape. Prince Leopold’s clothes tore too. Rags he ripped away to stand naked. His fingers turning to claws and black fur flowing in a wave across his reformed body. Blood dripped from his jaws where his teeth had extended.

Sex erect, head back, Prince Leopold screamed at the moon.

When his gaze flicked to Tycho it was animal.

The sword he’d been wielding fell from his claws and clattered to the lead of the roof. The prince barely noticed. He was too busy completing the changes that made him
krieghund
.

Tycho moved.

He moved so fast the roof blurred as he reached the sword he’d dropped, grabbed it up and adopted the stance Prince Leopold had used earlier. Legs apart, blade held high above his head.

“Ready to die?” he asked.

The
krieghund
’s eyes blazed as it dropped to a crouch and sprang. Leaping high over Tycho, it twisted on landing, claws raking down Tycho’s spine. Blood rose black and sticky through torn leather, pain hitting Tycho a moment later. So shocking, he dropped to his knees.

The red sky faltered.

A second later, Tycho realised he’d dropped the sword.

The creature reached it before him.

It stood on Tycho’s blade, jaws so wide its tongue lolled from one side. While Tycho stood in a puddle of his own blood watched by the grinning monster. Stepping sideways, Tycho saw the
krieghund
do the same.

So he did it again and again.

Always moving closer to Prince Leopold’s own sword. Until he was close enough to grab it from lead flashing at his feet. And the creature howled with laughter as Tycho let go, clutching his fingers.

The sword was bewitched in some way.

Magic was all Tycho needed.

He reached for Prince Leopold’s sword again, his fingers blistering. The prince was judging distances and Tycho only just ducked in time to avoid claws jagging for his throat. He was about to retreat, when crackling blackness eclipsed the moon and Prince Leopold leapt high, trying to hook the irritation from the air.

And in that moment the red sky steadied.

“Become yourself,” the bat said.

To do so was to ignore every rule Atilo had taught him about remaining in control. But Tycho obeyed anyway, embracing the moonlight. Across his back cuts began to mend. The pain in his fingers vanished. The city became as clear as day. Stretching out around him with a shocking clarity. Light scribbled bright lines around the buildings. He had the secrets and the scents of the city in an instant

He discovered how both Leopold zum Bas Friedland and the guard dog from the Alexandrian knew he was coming. His boots stank. It should be unmissable. And then Tycho identified the drug in his blood dulling his senses, and felt the effects wither as whatever made him who he was swept it swiftly away.

Standing on Prince Leopold’s blade, Tycho snapped it in two and hurled handle and hilt, seeing it scour a line in the wolfthing’s
cheek. His blade might be magic. The handle was common metal. Stepping back, Tycho swallowed the roof’s layout in a single glance. He felt…

Good
came in there somewhere.

Good
, and
focused
. And
here
, and
now
. He belonged inside his own skin for the first time ever. Looking at his fingers, he realised they were longer. His skin whiter. When he raised a hand to his mouth his fingers came away bloody. His dog teeth had grown. Not like this creature’s. His face hadn’t twisted and become animal, it had refined.

This was what being
Fallen
meant.

His speed and strength were simply side effects. Good ones, but side effects as surely as his hatred of sunlight. “You die here,” Tycho said.

And the
krieghund
feared him.

They met in the middle of a leap. Crashing into each other so hard a human’s bones would have broken. Tycho landed three paces away, spinning sideways as the
krieghund
used the parapet for leverage and leapt straight back. Tycho swept one foot under the creature as it landed, sending it rolling towards a corner.

As he grabbed the creature’s hips to hurl it to the canal below, it twisted and sank claws into his shoulders, dragging him close. Tycho could smell the
krieghund
’s fetid breath. Feel dog-like heat rise from its body.

Struggling would bury those claws in his flesh. Pulling away wouldn’t free him. Going close put him within jaw reach. The
krieghund
was strong but Tycho was faster. That had to count for something.

He kneed the
krieghund
from instinct and heard the creature gasp. So he kneed it again, and as its grip faltered, put his elbow into its throat.

The beast stumbled. Clawed hands clutching for its neck as it fell to its knees, rocking backwards and forwards. As if keening in silence. Maybe it was, Tycho thought, not caring either way.

This time he could clearly see magic rippling along his sword blade. Flecks of fire brightening as he approached his target. Hightown Crow had designed the weapon for one purpose only. Killing
krieghund
.

“Any last words?” Tycho demanded.

Prince Leopold looked up dumbly.

“I guess not.” Drawing back his sword, Tycho found its balance. “Quite sure about those last…”

“
Don’t.
Please don’t.
”

The words came from behind him.

Tycho froze. He refused to turn. Refused to admit what his senses told him. Instead he watched the wolfthing’s eyes focus beyond him and something human slip back into them. Prince Leopold shook his head very slightly.

“Anything,” the voice promised, closer now. “We’ll give you anything. Leopold has estates. He’ll pay a ransom. Please.”

Kill Friedland. Kill his
sister
. All Tycho had to do was obey those orders and the Assassini would be his eventually. He didn’t dare turn around.

“I have my orders.”

He could prove himself worthy to be Blade. Assassini killed with no more thought or conscience than a dagger. They existed to be wielded by the duke and his Council. Who they killed was not their concern.

“Stay back,” he warned.

The young woman sobbed as Tycho’s sword reached tipping point. Already the
krieghund
was changing. Its limbs straightening. Blood running down its face as its jaws retracted. A near-human head would roll across that roof.

He chose a point behind the prince’s skull.

As his sword readied for the kill, a young woman flung herself across Prince Leopold’s naked body. A black scrap of sky detached, falling fast. And Tycho only just managed to pull his blow, shredding the bat instead. Wheeling away, the dying animal tumbled dirtwards.

A tear-stained face looked at Tycho.

Huge eyes widening as she recognised him. He felt unable to breathe, unable to do anything but stare back. He had hunted for over a year to find her and now she had found him. It was the girl from the basilica.

“You won’t kill Leopold?”

Tycho shook his head mutely.

Putting his sword down, he stepped back from temptation. How could he not let the prince go? The sight of Lady Giulietta stole his will to act. He could
feel
the hairs on her arm as they rippled in the wind. Her scent was a drug far stronger than whatever Iacopo used. A golden heat haze danced around her. He felt awe. An awe so absolute it left him barely able to function.

“Your price?” she whispered.

Touching her lips, he smoothed his fingers down her cheek and rested them lightly on her throat, feeling her pulse flutter. She blushed, and then caught herself. Making herself meet his eyes.

“Me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “You.”

Lifting her to her feet, he looked deep into her eyes and saw himself silhouetted against a night sky. Her eyes were blue and he saw in them things no one would see. A thousand specks of light arranged around darkness. A flotilla of ships drawing in on an island.

“In the basilica,” she whispered. “I almost…”

I know.

The memory of her, with a dagger to her breast, remained undimmed. The taste of a single drop of blood from the slightest of wounds had changed him forever. She had locked him to this absurd city.

“Will you let Leopold rise?”

He let her help the German princeling to his feet. If the man attacked Tycho would kill him. But Leopold simply stood there, swaying. His gaze met Tycho’s own, and then Leopold zum Bas Friedland looked at Giulietta and tried to speak. No words came from his ruined throat.

“It’s all right,” she promised.

He was objecting to her offering herself. All three of them knew that from the anguish on his eyes.

Lady Giulietta had a chamber of her own. On the third storey, above the piano nobile and overlooking Rio di San Felice. It was ringed with salt, enough salt to leave a clear trail around the edge of the room. All the passages were lined with salt, even the stairs. Every room in Ca’ Friedland had salt around it.

“Leopold’s idea,” she said. “It’s there to keep me safe.”

“From what?”

“You,” she said, tears filling her eyes.

Shuttered windows led to a tall and narrow balcony with a tiled overhang supported by elegant pillars. Tycho opened the windows slowly, already knowing no enemy waited beyond. In time he would learn to trust his instincts. For now it felt arrogant simply to believe he was right.

Caution made him lock her chamber, sliding its bolts, before checking outside. If you wanted to reach her balcony you would have to climb from the canal, using cracks in the outside walls and the stone ribs of the window arches. Anyone trained by Atilo could do it. That was what made him nervous.

“What are you doing?”

Tycho stopped lugging an old iron chest by its handle. “Blocking that.” He pointed at balcony doors. She nodded mutely, perched on her bed, its curtains down, except the side she’d tied back earlier.

“He won’t try to come in.”

“It’s not Leopold I’m worried about.”

Her eyes went huge in the darkness. She was the girl he’d seen in the basilica. And yet she looked different. As if life had not been kind. “He hurts you?”

She flushed angrily. “Never. Not once.”

His fingers were steady as he slid her undergown over her shoulders, exposing her breasts. They were full, fuller than he expected. Tipped with dark nipples that looked engorged. He lowered her gown further, letting it drop and tugging her hand to show she should step out of it.

Small, but swollen breasts, narrow hips, and flame-red pubic hair.

“What’s that?” A scar crossed her abdomen, and she shivered as he traced its length with one fingertip, halting at the end.

“You can see in the dark?”

He nodded, realised that wasn’t much use, and said, “Yes, but not in the light. Tonight my sight’s clearer than ever.” Why did he tell her that?

“That scar,” he said.

Instead of answering, she slid from his fingers, disappearing behind a curtained arch. When she returned it was with a baby swaddled in bandages so tight it could barely move. Tycho felt constricted just looking at it.

“Yours?”

She nodded defiantly.

“Someone cut a baby out of you?”

“A Saracen surgeon,” she said. “Cut Leo free to save my life. He sewed me up with a tail hair from a white stallion. Said he always knew he’d need it one day.” There was awe in Giulietta’s voice. Women died in childbirth every day. Even a good birth held risks and offered pain.

“It’s Prince Leopold’s child?”

“Leo’s not an it,” she said crossly. “He’s a he. My son… Our son.” She stood naked. Slight hips and soft belly. Milk oozing from her nipples like tears, to trickle along the under slope of her breasts.

“Feed him.”

“Now’s not appropriate.”

She tried to meet Tycho’s eyes, but her room was in near darkness and he had the advantage. She reminded him of the stone mother in Pio Tera dei Assassini, his first night in this hellish city. The one the woman prayed to.

“Lie down,” he told her. “And do it.”

When she continued to stand there, he edged her towards her bed, pushed her on to her side, told her to stay there and took her child, unswaddling it before placing it at her breast. And then he stripped off his doublet, boots and hose. Most of his remaining weapons he put in one corner.