The Shades of Time (4 page)

He hoped she
enjoyed a challenge.

Chapter
Three

Andreas pressed
further into the alcove where he'd sheltered away from the stomping
antics of the Papàl Guard. With infinite patience he waited until
he heard the old creaky door groan on its hinges, followed by the
quick shuffle of feet, at least two pair, heading swiftly toward
the canal.

Remaining
cloaked, he followed at a distance, pausing at the entrance to the
narrow walkway lining the canal. To the left he glimpsed the men
boarding a gondola. The taller man held the woman in his arms, her
body still and unresisting. A frisson of concern creased his
brow—his incursion through her defenses would have drained her to
some extent, but certainly not for that amount of time.

If the Medici's
interference and continued control was sufficient to override his
own considerable talents, even temporarily, he would need to keep
that from the Council. For surely they would either recall him, or
worse yet, provide their version of backup—something he wished to
avoid at all costs.

Failure was
unacceptable—the costs to his world and the sanctity of his mission
catastrophically high. He simply would not allow history to
relegate the brotherhood to a shadow existence should the
prognostications of the statisticians pan out. Everything pointed
to here and now: the dissolution of peace in his world, the threat
of yet another apocalypse, all resting on fragile links with a past
so distant as to be almost ludicrous. How history would judge their
interference rested on outcomes they could only guess at.

Nervously
fingering his Crucifix, he watched with interest as the younger
man—whom he assumed was the paramour, Stefano— expertly oared the
craft through the narrow confines of the canal. He had no such
skill. He crept along the nearly deserted dock until he found a
willing gondolier just setting down to eat his dinner. He could
guess the trio's destination, but he dared not lose sight of them,
for once in St. Mark's Square, he would be hard pressed to track
them through the crush of evening revelers. Andreas knew that if he
lost them, he would be subject to an uncomfortable interrogation by
the Council that would make the Monsignor's petty complaints and
threats pale in comparison. The phantom pain in the palm of his
hand reminded him of his ultimate purpose and to whom he owed his
allegiance.

Follow.
Observe. Report.

****

Tonio urged the
woman toward Stefano and the waiting ferry. They had little time
before the stalker would arrive. Whatever the man's intentions and
abilities, it would be best to be in the crowded square amongst the
evening partiers to mask their passage. His younger brother took a
seat at the prow, followed by the woman. She sat daintily,
seemingly at ease. He took his place at the stern where he could
keep an eye on any pursuers, difficult though that was given the
dense water traffic.

His eyes
strayed periodically toward the woman, backlit from the setting sun
with her features in shadow. She was a difficult read, more than
normal. The sad fact was that most women tasked his powers with
unnecessary emotion and volatile temperaments. He preferred the
company of his squad and the simplicity of their camaraderie and
shared missions.

The woman—
Veluria
…

Why did he have
such difficulty calling her by name? Because names had power as his
father so often reminded him? Names—her name— made it personal,
intimate. But connecting with her on any level was beyond stupid, a
thing he recognized, yet seemed powerless to avoid.

Tonio shifted
in his seat and allowed his fingers to trail through the warm
waters, thinking back to discussions with his brother, Nico, when
they'd had far too much to drink and way too much time on their
hands.

Nico had said,
To intimidate and
instill terror requires detachment, Tonio—a calculated neutrality
that denies your victims hope and bends them to your will. And when
they refuse to bend, there are other, more permanent solutions. Are
you willing to step down that path, my brother? Are you so willing
to sacrifice your soul in service to the family? Will you become as
a statue, sightless and remote?

If thrusting my
blade deep into an opponent's gut isn't the ultimate act of
intimacy, what is?

That's not
intimacy, Tonio, that's … indifference. Would you sell your soul so
cheaply?

I have no soul,
Nico. I never did. And you are not one to talk. You use that golden
tongue of yours the way I use my blade. Often with the same
results.

Touché,
Brother. You may be right. May God have mercy on us.

I fear mercy is
not what He has in mind…

With an effort
Tonio roused himself from his self-indulgent musings and refocused
his attention on the French woman. She sat gazing out over the
expanse of water, outwardly calm and composed despite the inner
turmoil roiling just below the surface. That kind of self-control
was admirable. Though slight of build she conveyed a haughty
demeanor, clearly the result of her reputed years in the French
court.

A few tendrils
of silky blue-black hair escaped the intricate braids, the wisps
framing a heart-shaped face. He could see how his impressionable
younger brother would be enraptured of such a siren. It was forever
the young man's curse to follow his cock after every piece of
attractive ass.

Tonio knew
without a doubt that Stefano had bitten off more than he could
chew, a sentiment shared with their father. How the family managed
this potential new resource was none of his business. His only task
was to see the woman to the palazzo where Cosimo would determine
the next steps, that and try to protect his brother as best he
could. The state of the boy's heart was the least of his worries.
There were other matters afoot that would reveal themselves all in
good time.

A French
courtesan with Charles' ear … and unspecified 'abilities'? With
events unfolding at breakneck speed across the continent, her
presence at their court could be no accident. That she had selected
Stefano for her particular attentions was both an easy solution,
and a brilliant choice. The problem lay in determining exactly how
she planned to move her chess pieces. He had faith in his family,
in Cosimo and Pope Leo, but what if they were not the ones pulling
the strings? What if…?

Damn, I just
want to go home to Florence and leave this wretched city to wallow
in its endless drama.

Veluria gathered every stray bit of energy, willing it
contained and at her command, not an easy task given the fractured
state of her psyche. The episode in the tunnel had caught her by
surprise and she still had no firm grasp as to why a Council
operative would take such risks when engagement offered nothing in
return. Whatever had transpired also seemed unrelated to her
current situation. Her mind raced through probabilities and
possible scenarios, with
wait and
see
an unavoidable solution.

With the
Council and the Sisterhood seeking the same answers, it should have
come as no surprise that their mutual interests would cross paths.
That fate chose that particular moment to thrust a new player onto
the stage, the Demon de' Medici no less, might be fortuitous and
just the opening she needed.

The Council operative was the devil she knew … but
this
devil? From what
their historians catalogued, he was a born assassin, with a black
heart and an even blacker soul. History painted him as the
penultimate blackguard, a gross injustice. He was more, much more.
A frisson of fear tickled at her spine.

Stefano's
knees, pressed hard against the small of her back, were a small
reassurance, though she would not rely on him should her situation
become untenable. She sensed she had an opportunity to shortcuts
heretofore unavailable in this time and place. Lies and intrigue
and fanciful phrases had gotten her an entrée into the right
circles but not to the prize. She'd been sidetracked, delightfully
so, with Stefano but that did little to forward her pursuit of
answers to the vexing perturbations the Sisterhood had detected.
What little time remained must not be spent in idle dalliance.

She chuckled to herself,
As if being
kidnapped and swept away to parts unknown counted as a
dalliance.

She was losing
discipline and focus. She should be asking what purpose kidnapping
her served? Claiming kinship with Charles—the heir to the major
houses of the Habsburgs, Castile-Aragon and Burgundy—would hardly
suffice as a reason, hell … everyone was related to everyone else
in this timeline. Her connection, alleged of course, to the French
court would be the likely source of their interest. That was the
line she needed to pursue for it might lead to the clues she
sought.

If history
intended to derail and knock their timeline askew, the Medicis and
their damnable interferences had to be at the center of that
looming event. With most of the potential players in one basket, so
to speak, she was in a unique position to calculate the
probabilities … and to predict probable outcomes.

She glanced
away from the fearsome giant staring her down. This one seemed
immune to her wiles, a disquieting thought as she had been selected
for this mission based on a very particular skill set. She would do
well to remember her limitations in this matter. But
notwithstanding certain shortcomings, she was not without
resources.

Tonio turned
his attention to the receding dock, watching with interest as a
robed figure awkwardly boarded a smaller ferry. Their stalker would
bear watching, but for now they had position and the approaching
square—and his men—to provide a sufficient distraction. He rose as
the ferry bumped against a piling.

His brother
hopped onto the dock and helped secure the lines, then turned and
reached for Veluria as Tonio easily lifted the woman into his
waiting arms. The brief contact, with his hands wrapped securely
about her diminutive frame, had sent a powerful surge of heat to
his loins, though this time it seemed a transient event, not one
she directed consciously.

Had it been a
mistake to use his powers on her? With so little understanding of
what guided his abilities, he generally exercised extreme caution
in their execution. He could ill afford to allow an open conduit
between them. No, he must avoid contact at all costs from now on
until Cosimo determined just what she was.

With a final
glance to the darkening eastern skies, he launched himself out of
the ferry and strode quickly into the milling crowd.

Tonio glanced
around St. Mark's Square, already crowded with early evening
pleasure seekers, pickpockets and others on more deadly
assignments. He nodded once, a bare tilt, to acknowledge his men
spaced about the huge square in a carefully controlled octagon of
protection. A tap on his sword alerted his men and as one the group
strode lazily over the cobbled stones, stopping here and there to
exchange banter or stare with admiration at the finery on display
all about them.

Veluria took
Stefano's proffered arm, impressed at her captors' attention to
detail, the guards deployed discretely, yet within reach should
they need assistance.

Their group
made a pretty picture: the tall, dangerous man, dark of visage, and
her attentive escort, wrapping her in an air of refinement and
gaiety. She surreptitiously arranged her gown to allow access to
the small totems sewn in the seams. Not that she needed them, but
Reverend Mother was ever insistent on certain … assurances.

Veluria
tittered at an imagined jest, allowing her body to brush alluringly
against Stefano who responded with a quick hug. His older brother
tensed but ignored them, though she could sense his curiosity and
suspicion. Unlike Stefano, he would understand that her
co-operation came at a price.

Keeping the man
off-balance would not be easy.

Stefano wrapped
an arm about her waist and pulled her toward a gaggle of
well-wishers with Tonio hissing, "Stefano, no…"

She was
inclined to agree with Tonio, they needed to move this charade
along. Her young lover seemed in no hurry to reach whatever was
their ultimate destination, whether out of fear for her safety or
something else wasn't clear.

While Stefano
engaged in light-hearted banter, Veluria took a moment to assess
the man standing reluctant guard over them. At nearly six-foot-four
and powerfully muscled he towered over his contemporaries, a
mountain of a man, dark and menacing. A line bred Medici by all
counts, he sported the same aquiline nose and sculpted jawline,
square and unforgiving. Full lips set into a permanent grimace and
piercing dark eyes would put the fear of God into all who crossed
paths with him.

For someone his
size he moved with surprising grace. That he was a fearsome warrior
and accomplished with a blade was well-established. But her real
interest lay in abilities she could only sense. He had done
something to her, something that should not be possible, not here,
not now.

Why can't I
remember?

Stefano bent
over a gloved hand, his lips brushing the soft cloth with a coy
wink at the tittering older woman. Moving off to whisper an
endearment or tease, he abandoned her to a quick stab of jealousy
and anger that jabbed like a knife-prick, sharp and insistent.

Tonio?
No, not him.

Who then?
Where?

Using the banter as an excuse, she spun, her arm sweeping
toward the Cathedral, her words, "Isn't it a lovely…!" ringing out
as she swept in a half-circle, desperate to pinpoint the location
of the attacker. The residual energy would dissipate quickly as the
festival of masked, bejeweled revelers undulated in waves all about
her. All intent on their own pursuits.
Where was he?
The crush of bodies
parted briefly as she stared toward the docks.