Shadowheart (35 page)

“Madness!” Franco said, with a bewildered shake of his head. “If I had not seen it!” He squinted at her. “You do not intend to ally with him?”

“No,” she said firmly.

Franco Pietro looked at her with doubt. “He abducted you.”

“He did,” she said.

“I suppose you can have no love for him for that.”

“It was vile, what he did.”

The cot creaked as he lowered himself onto it painfully, his injured leg thrust out before him. “Did he force you to bed?”

“Yes,” she said. “But there is no child of it.” She stared at him, refusing to lower her eyes.

“God succor you, Princess,” he said. His voice softened a little. “It was ill-done. I should have sent my own escort for you.”

“Perchance,” she said. “I will bear the shame. You need not make it a public concern, but I tell you because I wish you to have such truth as matters.”

He gazed at her, his head tilted a little aside. “You are a remarkable woman, for one so young.”

Elayne wanted to laugh in irony. Her finger throbbed, aching, but she held to a perfect and cool countenance. “My godmother Lady Melanthe taught me a little of what is required to rule.”

“To rule!” he said ruthlessly “You suppose you can rule? As a woman? A mere girl?”

She glanced down at his chains and up again. When she met his look, his one eye squinted and he lifted his eyebrow.

“Aye, you have me, for now,” he acknowledged. “Unless Navona is behind all this in secret.”

“What would it gain him?” she asked. “He had his plans, until I prevented him. And you know what they were.”

He pressed his hand over the wound on his leg, shifting with a grunt. “It was you who stopped Matteo from—” He looked down at his hand. He began to breath harder. “My own son,” he said viciously. “He set my own son to murder me!”

“He did not. Matteo schemed to do it himself.”

He flung his head up. “Nay, that’s a lie!”

“Matteo hates you,” she said bluntly. “I will bring him to tell you to your face, if you wish. That’s why we were in the fortress, because I had chased him to prevent him from such a deed, when he told me what he planned. Navona did not know of it. You know he would make no such stupid errors of his own accord.”

“Navona. God wither him, and let dogs eat out his heart!” Franco’s voice was shaking. “My own son!” he shouted, slamming his fist to his chest.

Elayne took a step forward. “Listen to me now,” she said coldly and softly. “It is Navona’s doing, but it is your doing as well.” She stood over him, her jaw taut. “It is the sum of what Riata and Navona have come to. It is hate for the sake of hate, and fear for the sake of fear. You sit there and grieve and rend your breast for yourself, when it is Matteo who knows nothing of love but that he should kill for it! You will reap what you sow—did you suppose you could escape it? That you could hound the house of Navona to death and feel no retribution?”

He glared at her. “He stole Matteo from me.”

“As Riata stole me!” she hissed. “An infant, from a nunnery. And well you know why.”

He narrowed his one eye at her. “It was my father who did so.”

“Happen that his sin is visited upon you and your son, then, by God’s justice,” she said. “I do not care. Leave that vengeance in His hands.” She stood back, drawing a breath.

“It is time to leave such things and heal ourselves. I will bring Matteo with me to you, so he can see you and begin to know who you are in truth. His love for Navona is a child’s devotion, because he was afraid, and too young to understand.”

Franco’s broad shoulders slumped a little. “You would bring him?” He touched the eye-patch and then gripped his torn tunic.

“Not now. Not like this. When I can. But I will keep him safe until then.”

He sat looking down at the floor and shook his head. “In truth—it seems that I have some debt to you.”

Elayne said nothing.

“So I live another day, Princess?” he said, without looking up at her. “By your mercy.”

“I will do nothing to harm you. I will protect you from Navona if I can. I ask that Riata makes no move against him either. I wish to reconcile the houses, and have peace.”

He lifted his head and gave her a curt nod. Without the scar and the patch, he would have been a handsome man, gray-eyed and fair-skinned like his son. “I will consider what you say. I promise you that much. I will consider.”

The pile of stones lay before the dais, under three boards, one roughly chalked with a castle, one with a dog-and-bear, the third marked with a crude dragon shape. The rocks nearly obscured the castle drawing, tumbling down from the steep sides of the pile until some of them joined the sparse stones under the other two boards. But there was no doubt that Val d’Avina had elected Elena di Monteverde to rule.

Elena. Not Elayne anymore. As she stood and accepted the oaths of the people, still dressed in the simple scarlet cotehardie given to her by Donna Grazia and wrapped in a fur-lined mantle that had come from someone in the crowd, she felt herself altered—as if with each murmured pledge, each kiss upon her hand, she lost Elayne of the summer fields at Savernake, of the island of Il Corvo, of Navona’s tower above the lake, and became another—a stranger— Princess Elena di Monteverde.

Her finger still hurt where he had taken the ring. She could feel it, a slight throb with each pulse, a spike at her heart.

Franco Pietro leaned upon a crutch, scowling while the stones piled up. Allegreto stood silently, apart, both of them under guard and still manacled by hand and foot. Dario held fast to Elena’s side, scanning every person who came near, tense and alert to protect her.

Couriers had gone out to the city. D’Avina was but one town, there was still the whole of Monteverde before her that must choose. She had written out the message to be read in the streets, using Ligurio’s words. She promised reunion, and a republic under her grandfather’s laws. She used his name with brazen authority; a return to a dream of better days.

Philip had read it, and nodded once. “You are a sweet-tongued rogue, Princess,” he said with approval, and set his men upon the road, escorting d’Avina’s beadle to cry her words in the city. A message and a generous gift of her grandfather’s emerald-studded goblet went also to the commander of the French condottiere lying at the pass to Venice, informing him courteously that Elena held the mint. Philip seemed to think that the Frenchman could reason from that information to the strings of his purse, and would do so with alacrity.

When she had greeted the people, down to the last broken beggar, she turned. “We will talk together now,” she said, sweeping a glance over the two men under guard. “Come.”

To a thousand cheers and balls of snow that soared in the air and splashed against the ground, they left the piazza and walked under the heavy archway of the mint. They passed through walls ten paces thick into the inner court. Around the perimeter were empty stalls with snow-covered counters and benches like the Rialto banks. Philip led them into the powerful mass of the mint itself, his keys jangling as he opened guarded, lead-bound doors. They entered a chamber lined with chests, supported by arches carved with leaves and flowers in soft white stone. The old bandit waited until Franco and Allegreto were inside, and then ordered his men out. Only Dario remained, standing behind Elena as Philip closed the door.

She sat at the head of the broad table. She was tired, her insides shaky from spending the whole night in conference with Philip and Dario over how to proceed. She had a document before her, and pen and ink set upon the board. There was red wax and a candle, and a seal of sorts hastily created from a Monteverde ducat attached to a stub of wood. She looked up at the two men before her. Neither of them had taken a seat at the benches along the table.

“I give you joy of your victory, Princess,” Franco Pietro said dryly, leaning one hand heavily on his crutch. “May you not live to regret it.”

Allegreto took a step toward him. The chain at his feet rattled. He stopped, staring darkly at his enemy.

“We are here because I wish to parley in private with both of you,” she said, ignoring Franco’s words. “I do not intend to release you until you have agreed to end the conflict between the houses of Riata and Navona.”

They were both silent, looking at one another with all the fondness and reconciliation they would feel toward toads and worms and pestilence.

Elena allowed the hush to lengthen. She left them standing like a pair of refractory boys on either side of the huge cracked slab of tree trunk that formed the table. The light from a high slitted window fell down between the arches, as if it were a church, though the room was lined with the silver hoard of Monteverde. Finally she said, “What would be required, my lord, for Riata to agree to this?”

Franco Pietro turned his look on her. “I do not see how it can be done, Princess. I said that I would consider, but I do not trust him. Look to what he has just done, tried to overthrow and murder me. You did not know his father, but Gian Navona’s malice bred true in his bastard whelp.”

She looked at Allegreto. “And what would be required for Navona to agree?”

He curled his lip. “To drive every Riata from the face of the earth,” he said coolly.

Elena put her fists together and leaned her forehead on them.

“Do not be naive, Elena,” Allegreto said. “This will not succeed.”

“Not while you live, Navona dog,” Franco said. “But it is a rare and noble hope she has. I do not fault her for it.”

Elena looked up in surprise at Franco Pietro, but he was frowning at Allegreto.

“What gallant words!” Allegreto said, with a disdainful flick of his good hand. “Lying whore.”

Franco took a noisy step, pounding his crutch on the tiled floor. “No more than you, you murderous harlot. What do you know of honor?”

“Nothing,” Allegreto sneered. “I am Gian Navona’s bastard, what do I know but iniquity? Kill us both, Princess, and be done with it. That will find peace for Monteverde.”

She looked at him. “Do you want peace?”

He cast a look back at her, a grim and impatient demon.
“Avoi,
I would die for it, is that not what I’m saying?”

She gripped her hands before her on the table. “That may be, but I will not kill you for it.”

He flicked his fingers toward Franco. “He will.”

Elena tilted her head, looking toward the Riata. “Would you?”

Franco glanced at her with an uneasy frown. “Is this a game, Princess? What questions are these? Yea, I would kill him, for he’d serve the same to me!”

Elena spread the pages before her. “I ask you both to reconsider. I have written here an agreement between you. It requires that you swear your loyalty first to Monteverde— and whoever is the elected prince of it. It states that you will not spill blood in any contest between the houses of Riata and Navona, or take hostages, or seek to overthrow the chosen prince. I would ask that you sit down and read it, and sign it, and abide by it, for the good of Monteverde and of yourselves and your own houses.”

Silence filled the chamber. Elena could hear Dario breathing deeply at her shoulder.

Franco Pietro moved first, banging his crutch as he scraped the bench back and sat. He reached out his hand for the documents.

Elena handed him one of the copies. She glanced at Allegreto.

For an instant, it almost seemed as if there was something besides derision in the shadowed look he returned her, a contact like a passing touch of his fingertips on her skin. But he set his mouth in a mocking smile and took the papers with a sharp sweep of his hand, sitting down across the bench with his back turned to her.

She had lost to him at chess. She doubted she could have defeated Franco, either. She watched their bent heads and thought they could be plotting anything; laughing at her feeble attempts to assert control.

After long moments Franco Pietro looked up, holding the page open with his hand. “I can agree to this. If he will.”

Elena felt a surge of surprise and hope.

“No,” Allegreto said. He tossed the crisp vellum onto the table. “Do not trust him.”

Even to her, such an easy capitulation by Franco seemed suspicious. “It is to be signed under solemn oath,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and certain.

“He’ll break his word before a fortnight has passed.”

Franco lunged up over the table, his face red. “You question my honor?”

Allegreto made a move, as if to reach for his dagger. The chains rattled over the edge of the wood. Dario stepped forward, his blade singing from the sheath. It came down between them, the point resting lightly on the tabletop.

Allegreto was frozen for a moment. He looked at Dario under his eyebrows, and sat back. “I question how much you relinquish by this,” he said to Franco in a quieter tone. “It is all sacrifice and no gain for you.”

Franco grimaced as he lowered himself. Dario lifted the sword from the table, but he kept it free and ready.

“She holds Matteo,” Franco said. “And what is to prevent you from poisoning me in my bed? I see no assurance at all to hold you in check!”

“Nay, I have nothing else to lose, do I?” Allegreto said. He looked to Elena with a bitter smile. “Nothing.”

Franco narrowed his one eye. “And I question what is between you and the princess—these telling glances that you give her. I would be fool indeed to sign this surrender, only to see Navona elevated by some bedroom trick.”

Elena pressed her lips together. She looked at the center of the table, and then at the pale carving that arched above the heavy door. She had been coming to this moment, inevitably. She had felt it like a great stone that slowly began to turn and roll and gather speed to crush her. She thought of the tower room, and the warm sheets; his body curled and tangled with hers. She thought of him smiling down at her as she counted for a game of morra. A fierce sweetness seemed to break inside her, a pain that drifted down her throat and settled in her heart, a dark silent crystal buried in her own blood and sinew.

“There is nothing between me and Navona,” she said, in a voice that sounded calm, a little thin, peculiar to herself. “I will be impartial between you.”