Queen of the Night (The Revanche Cycle Book 4) (8 page)

“The stakes are too high. We’re too close to victory to turn back now. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He fell into a pensive silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him staring at her.

“You have an odd look on your face. What?”

“I merely remember,” he said, “when I had to goad and cajole you to stick a toe into the shadows. Now you’re plowing into the dark like you were born there, and dragging me with you.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

He stroked his goatee, contemplating her.

“I’m not sure what I wanted.”

“At the end of the darkness lies the light, Dante. A new day. A new Church. Hope, and peace, and prosperity for all of the Gardener’s children.”

“And when the dawn comes, will you be there to greet it?”

She sighed and shook her head at him.

“How many times do I have to tell you?
I don’t matter
. This is all for the greater good.”

“For someone who doesn’t matter,” said a voice at their backs, “you’ve certainly made my life interesting.”

They hadn’t heard the approach. No footsteps, no crackling of fallen branches or rustle of grass, yet there they were: five people standing behind them, as if they’d been carried on a silent breeze.

“It’s nice to finally meet in person,” Nessa told her.

Livia took a half step backward. “You’re…her? The Owl?”

Nessa pushed her glasses up on her nose and smiled. “No masks today. I want nothing between us but honesty. What’s his problem?”

Livia turned her head. Beside her, Dante stared, thunderstruck, his mouth agape.

“Mari?” he whispered.

Mari inclined her head, her black leathers glistening in the sunlight. “Signore Uccello. I presume you’re putting your father’s letters to good use. Is the Church treating you well?”

“You two know each other?” Livia asked.

“My partner and I escorted Signore Uccello for a time,” Mari said. “He departed our company rather abruptly.”

“Mari,” he said, “what are you
doing
here? Why are you with
them
?”

Behind her, Vassili and Despina shared an amused glance.

“She’s found her higher calling,” Despina said, and Nessa rested a proprietary hand on Mari’s shoulder. Fingers curling tight. Her other hand, small and withered inside its sapphire glove, hung limp at her side.

“Mari…” He shook his head, looking pained. “You were supposed to become a knight. What happened to your dream?”

“I
am
a knight.” Mari frowned. “Not that it’s any of your business. Considering you abandoned our camp and fled in the middle of the night, I don’t know why you even care.”

“I hate to break up this fascinating reunion,” Nessa said, “but I think we had some business to discuss?”

Livia took a deep breath, steeling herself.

“The Empire has chosen to back my brother’s claim to the papacy. My only option is to take the Holy City and depose Carlo by force. Which I no longer have the military power to do. Not directly. I need your help.”

Nessa took a step closer. Her eyes glittered like a falcon on the hunt.

“Let me be certain I understand,” she replied. Savoring the moment. “You, Pope Livia Serafini, are beseeching the aid of my coven in conquering a city for you. Requesting—no,
needing
us to use all of the fell powers at our disposal to secure your throne. To employ our art to beguile, to deceive, to lay your enemies low. To kill, with forbidden and
most
sinful craft, in the name of your Church. Is that correct?”

An electric silence fell as the two women stared each other down.

“Yes,” Livia said.

Nessa held up one finger.

“A moment.”

She and her followers stepped back, gathering into a tight circle, debating in low voices. Livia glanced at Dante. Something in his expression threw her, something she’d never seen before.

Fear.

“I have everything under control,” she said. Trying to reassure them both.

“It’s not—” He shook his head, the words piling up in a logjam in his throat. “She shouldn’t
be
here.”

“The Owl? I invited her. I asked for this, Dante.”

“Not
her
.” Another frustrated shake of his head. His eyes fixed on Mari.

The circle unfurled, and the witches returned.

“How is my tonic working for you?” Nessa asked.

Livia shrugged. “It sustains my life. It’ll keep me on my feet long enough to finish my work.”

“You remember what I told you. The tonic will keep the Shadow in your veins from killing you. It will not stop the side effects. That’s a battle for you to fight alone.”

She remembered. Livia thought back to her research, discovering the story of Gregor Werre in a forgotten book. The monk who’d found himself Shadow-stricken, just like she had. How he’d resorted to cannibalism because human flesh was the only thing that didn’t taste like ashes in his mouth. How crops withered and milk curdled in his presence. And his final depiction on the page, a towering black-eyed monster.

“I remember,” Livia said.

“Good, good. Because it would be just
terrible
if the leader of the Church succumbed to that kind of corruption. I can scarcely imagine how devastating that would be.”

Livia frowned. “Did you come here to help me or mock me?”

Nessa jabbed a finger at her. “
Manners
, Livia. Always remember your courtesies when speaking to a witch. Your mother should have taught you that. But I can be forgiving. After all, you’re one of us.”

“I am
not
,” Livia snapped, “one of
you
.”

Nessa laughed. “All evidence speaks to the contrary. I think you know that. And, as you are a beloved coven sister, we will be happy to help you. We just need payment in kind. Nothing onerous, nothing you can’t part with. Three little things. The first part of our fee lies in Lerautia. The Black Archives.”

“Beneath the library,” Livia said, a sudden hitch in her voice. “The vault for heretical manuscripts.”

“I knew you’d know it. That’s where you found Squirrel’s spellbook, wasn’t it?”

A faint nod was Livia’s only reply.

“I wonder,” Nessa mused, “how many times you approached the door, only to turn away at the last second. But you always knew you’d go inside eventually. You needed to see.”

“I was only trying to save my father’s life.”

“And just look at you now. At any rate, the archives: we want them. Full, unfettered, unquestioned access. You’ll give the librarians your personal approval, tell them we’re a special committee of researchers or something. Make up any story you like, as long as it allows us to conduct our studies undisturbed.”

“Why do you want it?”

“There’s a place called Wisdom’s Grave. Our birthright. Our paradise. It’s gone missing, you see, for a very long time. I intend to find it.”

“Meaning you’ll go away when our business is done?”

“Meaning we’ll go away and leave you to your holy and righteous rule, for however long it may last. So, the second part of our fee: two carriages, pulled by the stoutest horses in your stables. One for us to ride in, and the other to haul a chest of fine papal gold. Enough gold that we can travel far, far away, which—wonder of wonders—is exactly what you’ll want us to do. Everyone wins.”

“Deal,” Livia said.

Nessa wagged a finger at her. “One moment, not so fast. Do you understand what you’re committing to, Livia? Another thing you should have been taught: when you make a bargain with a witch, you’d best keep your word in letter and in spirit. We’ll help you win your throne, but if you even think of betraying us afterward, the consequences will be…severe.”

“I give you my word,” Livia said. “On my honor and my life. On my father’s name.”

“Then we are in accord.” Nessa glanced at Hedy. “Look, Mouse, now you can say you’ve met the pope. I told you we’d have fun today.”

Livia inclined her head to the girl and held up her bare hand. “I won’t ask you to kiss my ring,” she said with a faint smile. “Won’t have it, until I pluck it from my brother’s finger with your help.”

“True.” Nessa took her hand from Mari’s shoulder, holding it out to Livia. “But I do have one. Now offer a gesture of respect, if you please.”

Livia chuckled, until the irritation on Nessa’s face—and her expectant, unwavering hand—made her fall silent. A tiny pewter ring rested on Nessa’s finger, set with a pinpoint sapphire.

“You’re—you’re not joking,” Livia said.

“I said there were three parts to my fee. This is the third.”

“But…why? The other things you want make
sense
, but this—”

“I heard what you said as we approached. That none of this is about you? That you don’t matter? Let’s put that to the test, you and I. Let’s find out what’s more important to you: the ‘greater good,’ or your pride.”

“This is absurd,” Livia said. “You’re a witch. A heretic. A murderer. You’re the enemy of everything I’m fighting to uphold.”

“I am your gracious benefactor. You want Lerautia. I can serve it up on a plate. And all you have to do is offer me a token gesture of respect. But if it’s too much to ask, if it would hurt your precious feelings too much to endure, I suppose we can just pack up and leave.”

Livia took a deep breath. “Dante, go back to the camp.”

“I shouldn’t leave you alone with—”

“
Go
.”

He stepped away, slowly, his eyes fixed on Mari. The knight didn’t give him a second glance.

Once he’d ambled down the hill, Livia squared her shoulders. “Fine,” she said. As she leaned in, though, Nessa yanked her hand away.

“No.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the grass at her feet. “Get down on your knees first. Where you belong.”

Gritting her teeth so hard they ached, Livia sank to the grass. Cold morning dew spread through her gown, like fingers of ice along her legs. She closed her eyes. Feeling Nessa’s icy, hard ring against her lips, and the soft curve of her fingers.

“Now say, ‘Thank you, Dire Mother,’” Nessa told her.

“
Thank
you,” Livia growled, forcing out the words, “Dire Mother.”

“Very good. Oh, Livia. How you must hate me right now. But do you understand the lesson I’ve just taught you?”

Livia opened her eyes, glaring up at Nessa.

“Lesson?”

“Yes. Most people will pretend otherwise, but they value their pride more fiercely than they value their flesh and blood. And many say they’re willing to do anything to win, but give them a tiny push and their resolve buckles like a house of cards. You didn’t buckle. And when you are tested again—as you surely will be by the forces standing against you—you’ll remember this moment. And it will give you the strength to push through.”

Livia stared at Nessa, silent.

“You have my permission to stand up now,” Nessa told her. “And yes, you have our support. The Holy City is in for a string of
most
unpleasant surprises.”

CHAPTER NINE

General Baum hated surprises. Surprises like the stream of Murgardt refugees flooding in along the Road of Olives, haggard and hungry with their meager belongings stuffed into bindles, if they had been allowed to leave Mirenze with anything at all. He paced his office in the papal manse, hands clasped behind his ramrod-straight back, brow furrowed in concentration. The Imperial scout, still dressed in his uniform leathers, fidgeted at the open door.

“And the rest of your squad?” Baum asked.

“Gone, sir. We tried to get a closer look. Scaled a curtain wall and infiltrated from the west. It’s not just the citizens. I mean, they’ve gone mad, barricading the city for a siege they’re convinced is about to descend. We were prepared for that.”

“What happened, then?”

The scout swallowed hard, his cheeks pale.

“The women, sir.”

Baum stopped pacing.

“The women?”

“Five…five of them, in gray. Wearing mourner’s veils. They hit us from the shadows. Fast. You’ve never seen anything so fast. Gereon was dead before we knew we were under attack. They threw a silk noose around Marwin’s throat and hauled him down an alley, kicking and screaming all the way. Two of them grabbed hold of Kord and…squeezed him.”

Baum tilted his head. “Squeezed him?”

“One…one put her hands on the sides of his head, and the other his stomach, and…”

The scout’s voice broke as he ran to the window, hurling it open and leaning over the sill. He heaved until nothing was left but a trickle of bile. Baum stood and waited, impassive, calculating.

“They weren’t human.” The scout pushed away from the windowsill and wiped the back of his hand across his glistening lips. “I swear it on my mother’s grave, sir. They weren’t human.”

“And how did you escape?”

The scout shook his head, casting his gaze to the floor.

“I didn’t. They let me go. They said they’d been expecting us, and they needed to leave one of us alive. So I could give you this.”

His trembling hand clutched an envelope, sealed with a glob of bold, blue wax bearing the imprint of the Banco Marchetti’s heraldry. Baum took the envelope, cracking the seal and tugging out the note within.

“
Perhaps next time
,” Lodovico’s handwriting read, all tight black loops and whorls, “
you’ll send a diplomatic envoy by day rather than killers by night. I won’t be so merciful as to leave a sole survivor next time. Understand this: Mirenze stands under a flag of freedom, as it will until its final days. We reject the Murgardt Empire. We reject its colonial madness, its mindless grasping for land and power, and we will rise up to fight any attempt at stealing what is rightfully ours.

“
You know who I am. You know what I’ve done. You know what I’m capable of doing. Here’s one last thing you should know if you still feel inclined to demand my life:

“
If I die, I’ll take this entire city with me.

“
Yours affectionately, Lodovico Marchetti, Duke of Mirenze.
”

The letter crumpled in Baum’s fist.