The Shades of Time (41 page)

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 the 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."

Not unaware of
the danger she faced, in hindsight she should have taken note of
his emphasis on 'private', but by that time it was already too
late. She had the man's undivided attention and the promise of
sport. The best she could hope for was to glean sufficient
information so that either Nico or Andreas could finally put an end
to the threat.

Her job was to
provide the Duke with sufficient entertainment without having him
resort to more extreme activities. She'd failed with Stefano. She
did not intend to fail with Friedrich.

A landing
opened to a short hallway that ended at a sturdy door reinforced
with wrought iron. The Duke strode into the room, bidding her to
wait a moment while he lit the candles. Nervously she wondered how
Nico would ever find her in the bowels of the castle. She'd been
relying on his knowing, sensing, her whereabouts but realized too
late her foolishness. Hadn't he said last night that he'd looked
all over for her and couldn't find her? Yes, he'd been drunk, and
she'd assumed that had prevented him from using his faculties.

What if he could
not
sense her?

It doesn't
matter. I can't go on with this pain. I have to put an end to this.
My world, my time, my Sisterhood are counting on me.

I have suffered
enough.

I have nothing
more to lose. I will end this … now.

"Come in, my
dear." The Duke took her hand and led her into the long narrow
room. She heard the door whoosh shut and the bolt snick into
place.

Placing a hand
on her shoulder, he propelled her further into the space. Smiling
with anticipation he placed his lips close to her ear and husked,
"Do you see anything you like?"

She'd thought
she'd had nothing more to lose.

She'd been
wrong, dead wrong.

Chapter
Thirty-One

Time stilled.
The satisfaction he'd felt drifted away, remembered pleasures
distilling to unease, then outright fear. It was a pressure,
delicious at first, an indulgence he craved until recognition
flooded his senses and he understood he no longer controlled their
destiny.

Madness—and the
sharp tang of terror—pierced his senses. It was the sound of death
meted out with an agonizing promise.

Andreas
withdrew the stiletto and slashed the palm of his left hand with a
vicious short stroke, his fist clenching reflexively against the
sharp pain. Watching the blood drip onto the cold stone, he willed
an end to his desperate yearnings but knew it was not to be.

She would ever
be his heart's desire, forever just out of reach, not of his
time—denied to him in this one. Was it better to let her pass into
history, to be absorbed quietly into the bowels of legend, than to
exist forever as his personal Holy Grail, unattainable, forever a
judgment and test of his worth?

What was his
future worth without her?

Nothing.

Without her
there was no future. For any of them.

Racing down the
narrow corridor he called out for Nico, praying the warrior was
close enough to hear.

****

Nico sensed his
men fanning out in a wedge, mere steps behind him. Contrary to his
orders, Paulo had gathered his most trusted swordsmen and pursued
him into the dark reaches of the fearsome structure. Of them all
his captain was more aware of their peril and the stakes on which
they gambled his family's future.

He'd searched
frantically for some sign of his brother, or even the Duke, but
failed as the corridors snaked in a dizzying array about the keep.
What started as a vague disquiet blossomed into an anxiety so
profound he feared his lungs would collapse under the intense
pressure. Trapped in a purgatory of phantom pain and desperate
pleas, he could little discern from which direction danger
lurked.

He motioned
Paulo forward but before he could issue an order his captain
hissed, "Commander, there is evil here. Shall I dispense Arturo to
secure your lady from your rooms?" He flexed his wrist, the
movement causing a flash of light as flames reflected off the metal
shaft of his long sword.

Nico growled,
"It is already too late. He will not find her there."

"Sire?"

"I can't
expla—"

Paulo gripped
his arm and pulled him toward the wall, moving forward to block the
slight figure advancing at a run from the direction of the banquet
hall and Friedrich's private quarters.

Nico pushed
Paulo aside, cautioning him to stay his hand. The slap of bare feet
on stone and the heavy breathing of a man laboring under a thin
veil of panic resounded through the corridor.

He stepped into
the path of the small cleric, his eyes noting the disheveled robe,
streaked with blood, and the wild-eyed glare reflecting a terror he
felt in his bones.

The man called
Andreas skidded to a halt and collapsed against the wall, his
breath ragged as he sucked in great gulps of air. Gasping, "He has
her!" he gripped Nico's arm to steady himself.

Paulo demanded,
"Who—" but Nico interrupted and barked, "Tell me where. Now."

Andreas huffed,
"In the old dungeons in the keep."

"Do you know
the way?"

"No."

"Then can we
follow her … essence?" Paulo looked at him curiously, unsure what
they were talking about. Nico ignored him and glared at the cleric.
"You can sense her. Better than I, is that not true?"

Andreas nodded
but choked out, "It will take too long."

"Then tell me a
better way, fool, or I will gut you here and to hell with your
mission and your world."

Nico gripped
the cleric's throat and squeezed until the man's eyes bulged. The
satisfaction of crushing the man's throat paled against the sense
of otherness he detected, an awareness of a kindred spirit, of one
who shared the curse that had plagued him, and Tonio, all their
lives. It gave him pause but he had little choice than to go with
his instincts. He needed the man and his ungodly abilities … for
now.