Suicide Kings (28 page)

“God’s gifts have brought me only pain, not strength.”

“That failure is your own. You say you suffer because you were sent here. Why? Because you suffered under the blows of another woman? Because you were denied the comforts of a man’s embrace? How many suffer in the cold, without food, without shelter, and yet speak God’s name with love and grace. Are they not the ones who are truly strong?”

“Are you truly prepared to lecture me on suffering, with your perfumed hair and your painted lips, wearing a dress with a value in gold florins that would feed a peasant family for years.”

Diana felt blood steam the flesh of her cheeks. “At least I do not presume to think my suffering gives me license to murder innocent people who have done me no harm.”

Ophelia’s shoulders sagged, as if the fight went out of her. “We could spend all afternoon skirmishing but what good would it do either of us? I won’t do what you want. I won’t tell you who killed your mother. You can’t spare me Savonarola’s fires even if you were so inclined.” Ophelia looked down, reached into the folds of her black habit and produced from within a thick but short bladed knife.

At once the two Swiss drew their swords, the sound of metal sliding against leather becoming all too familiar to Diana. Diana stood still, watching. She knew Ophelia meant no threat. She understood only too well the other woman’s intentions.

Ophelia waved away the sword blades. “I mean your mistress no harm. It is my own path that has come to its natural end.” She placed the tip of the knife against her own breast. Her eyes fell on Diana, weary, sad. “I didn’t feel glad about slipping the nightshade into the food I brought Sister Francesca. Sometimes we must make hard choices that lead us to do things that are unsavory, wouldn’t you agree Lady Diana?”

Diana only shook her head, whether in disbelief or denial, she couldn’t be sure. “Why Francesca? Why not kill me when you had the chance?”

Ophelia grinned, although her eyes held no joy. “You’re not the first to ask me the very same thing. Suffice to say I am just an old woman, not an assassin. Surprise, indecision…I have nothing against you, nor your mother, misguided as she came to be. Besides, your attempts to avenge your mother were leading you in circles. What to gain by killing you? It was only after you mentioned Francesca’s visions I knew she could make you truly dangerous.”

Diana closed her eyes for a moment. “You tried to kill a poor frail girl over her delusions.”

“Best you think them so. She will only lead you down a path of darkness.”

“I am already on a path of darkness.” Diana experienced terrible sadness grip her. In mere moments Ophelia would make her watch her die. Diana had not the strength to try to stop her. For what purpose anyway—to spare her life now so she might face a more dreadful death at Savonarola’s hand? True, Savonarola might force names from Ophelia, but Diana felt she couldn’t quite go that far. She wouldn’t let herself become like Savonarola, even if it meant she would never discover who killed her mother. But suicide…what of its eternal cost? “Don’t do this. Better to let Savonarola burn you than risk your immortal soul.” Her own decision spoken aloud. Ophelia could not understand how personal those words were.

Ophelia laughed nervously and looked down at her own chest. “Could you tell me,” she muttered without looking up, “do I have the dagger placed properly? I’ll have only one chance to get it right.”

Diana ran one hand through her hair. She paused, and then said, “Move the blade down an inch. The heart is lower than where most people think it is.”

Ophelia looked up, her smile warm and genuine. “Thank you, Lady Diana for that small kindness. We might be enemies in this life, but I hope we will bask together in the Lightbringer’s warmth in the next.” She thrust the dagger into her own breast with both hands. A gush of magenta spurted across her fingers. She coughed, “Oh,” and then fell to the ground without a further sound. She hit the floor face first, her bloodied right hand quivering a bit.

The Swiss mercenaries sheathed their blades. Diana watched Sister Ophelia die for a few minutes, unsure what emotion she should expect to have.

With the help of the Swiss, Diana turned Ophelia’s cell inside out looking for anything of value. Unlike Maria Innocentia, Diana found no arcane drawings across the wall and ceilings, no signs of cancerous madness. The trappings were simple, miserable, pathetic, the possessions of an imprisoned soul. A Bible figured among the belongings, the spine still fairly crisp, the pages undamaged. Little else of value could be found, even tearing apart the bedding, and searching for loose stones in the walls and floor.

Not even personal effects, no letters from family, no treasured reminders of a life she’d left behind her long ago. Ophelia had been a vacant soul. Unmissed, unmourned, sure to be quickly forgotten. Diana leaned against one wall of her cell as the mercenaries made their last futile efforts to find anything of importance. “She was unloved,” Diana observed. “It’s no wonder she felt God had turned his gaze from her.” She cast her eyes downward, entwining her fingers together before her lap.

The Swiss stood straight and together they shrugged. Nothing. Without further word, Diana turned and left the convent behind her for what she hoped would be forever.

****

A roaring fire kept them warm. Diana, Francesca, and Siobhan clustered beside it, blankets wrapped round them, keeping out the winter chill. Though no nearer her goal, Diana took comfort in their little cabal. She felt less alone than she had even the day before. More, she felt an odd surge in confidence, despite Ophelia’s taking her own life rather than divulging the name of the person who had ordered Francesca’s death. To think, if she’d been successful the night before, if she had reloaded the gun after taking the youth’s life…

Agathi brought them hot drinks, sweet with cinnamon, and the hot fluids helped them warm their bones. Outside snow came down once again. It seemed the winter would never end.

“Was it really so bad to live in a convent?” Siobhan asked, sipping at her drink.

Francesca looked down. She rarely met either of their eyes. Diana could tell her friend would take time to adjust to life outside the cloister. She couldn’t go back now. Diana hoped she never would. She was selfish to think that way. Francesca had been at peace as an anchoress. Diana couldn’t understand it, but that didn’t give her the right to wish her friend unable to return to that life. Nonetheless, Diana hoped Francesca’s days behind those walls were over. She couldn’t shake the opinion Francesca was wasted on such a life.

“It wasn’t so bad for me,” Francesca replied softly. “Sometimes the older sisters could be cruel. Not all of them, but some of them lost their way in Christ. Ophelia wasn’t one of those though, she always performed her obligations dutifully. I would never have imagined her a part of such a heresy.” She kept her eyes on the warm cup in her hands. “I always felt comforted in the embrace of God. Outside of that, I’m…lost.”

“I don’t think God lives only in a convent,” Diana said, “or a church. I don’t think he blesses you any less because you are here with us rather than in that place. I don’t feel you are any less holy than before.”

Francesca looked up, eyes sparkling in the fire, but said nothing.

“Diana’s right,” Siobhan added. “We’re all in very different places than we could have imagined even two weeks ago. Certainly things have been difficult at times, but you must imagine God has brought us together in a manner He intended. If not He could have let you die in the convent, couldn’t He?”

Francesca nodded. “What you say is true. Diana’s insights, which led to my rescue, bear the mark of God’s inspiration. His light shines brightly in you.” She smiled at Diana.

Greater warmth spread through Diana than made possible by warm drinks or fire or blankets. She had no doubt Francesca remained the prime source of God’s inspiration if any of them enjoyed such a blessing.

Siobhan apparently thought the same way. “Diana, Ophelia said that Francesca was poisoned because of the visions she saw on your behalf.”

Diana nodded, watching the other girl.

“Clearly your visions are making the Sacred Council nervous, Francesca. Perhaps you’ve been approaching closer to the truth than is comfortable for them.”

Francesca looked down again. “My visions seem to have brought more trouble than guidance.”

“That’s my fault,” Diana chimed in. “It was I who opened my mouth to Ophelia like a fool, nearly sending you to the grave.”

“And it was you,” Francesca reminded her, “who brought me back from the grave in an act the whole city is speaking of as a miracle.”

Diana blushed. “No miracle. I used good medical science.”

“Whatever your methods, I believe you were guided by God. I see no reason why God must work around science when science would do just as well,” Francesca observed.

“I think you should try another prophecy,” Siobhan suggested.

Diana felt a pit form in her stomach. Even if there was some truth to the notion that Francesca’s visions were inspired by God, and increasingly Diana thought there might indeed be some truth, she never found them pleasant. Francesca’s visions mainly foretold horrible things to come. The physical effects on Diana had also been unpleasant…dizzying, nauseating, finally knocking her unconscious the last time. Diana wasn’t sure she felt up for another round.

Siobhan’s eyes were wide, animated. Clearly she thought this would be a good idea.

Francesca looked over at Diana. “Before I had performed them when I felt inspiration. I’m not sure what might result if we ask…”

Diana sucked in a deep breath. “I won’t deny feeling some trepidation. I don’t seem to take them well. And I can never seem to riddle out their puzzles. Still, I suppose it is better to have information than not to have it. Between the three of us, perhaps we could figure out their meaning better than I have been able to do alone.”

“Great!” Siobhan exclaimed as if Diana had given a full endorsement. “How do we do this, then?”

Diana looked to Francesca for guidance. The older girl drew into herself a bit like a spring flower in a late frost. “Well, before the prophecies came at God’s behest, on his time. This time we’re asking Him for one. He tells us only what He wants to tell us, when He wants to tell us. We may certainly pray for more, but it is within His right to deny our request.” Francesca met Diana’s eyes, “You should prepare yourself for the possibility that you were never meant to succeed in finding who killed your mother. Sometimes we can learn much more from failure than from success if we open ourselves to learning life’s hardest lessons.”

“I can’t let myself believe that.” Diana closed her eyes for a moment. “I must try with every fiber of my being until I have nothing left to give this quest.”

Francesca nodded. “Very well. Give me your hand.”

Diana reached out hesitantly. Whenever she touched Francesca in this context it brought her pain of one sort or another. This felt like trying to force herself to touch a hot stove. Francesca took her hand before Diana could pull back. No jolt of pain surged through her. Francesca’s hand was cold, the fingers little more than bones. Francesca closed her other hand over the top of Diana’s. The older girl closed her eyes.

Before, a trance had overtaken Francesca almost immediately. Now Francesca seemed to be doing little more than meditating.

“Anything?” Siobhan pleaded after a moment of silence.

“Siobhan, please!” Diana barked as much from frustration as irritation with Siobhan.

“All right, the more impatient we get, the less likely this is to work,” Francesca observed. “Let us try to clear our minds of anything negative, any fear, any worries, any doubts. We must be receptive to whatever message God is willing to deliver.”

“I don’t suppose we could put forward our questions in advance?” Siobhan asked.

“Siobhan, we’re not playing animal, vegetable, mineral with God!” Diana hissed.

Siobhan closed her mouth tightly.

“You two, please,” Francesca chastised. She tightened her grip on Diana’s hand and returned to her quiet meditation. Diana tried the same, closing her eyes, trying to excise all the dark thoughts from her mind. Be receptive, be receptive to the voice of God. Please, oh please, God, tell me what to do—how to find my mother’s killer.

A moment later Francesca let out a sharp exhale. “I’m sorry, Diana. I just don’t think we can call upon God’s visions at will. If He wanted to impart particular knowledge on us, He would do so without our prompting.”

Diana nodded, shoulders slumped. She couldn’t deny a profound disappointment. It must be irrational to find disappointment in God. Everything that happened did so at His beckoning, didn’t it? It was silly to hope that some prophecy would miraculously turn everything around for them.

Siobhan patted Francesca on the shoulder. “You did your best.”

Diana stared at the fire. “The truth is, I’m at an impasse. If the Council is clever, they could simply disburse for the moment, go underground. It won’t be long before Savonarola tires of me, withdraws his support. The Council could reemerge later, stronger, and I’d just be none the wiser. I have no other good ideas.”

Minutes passed in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Only the crackling of the fire cut through that silence.

A gentle rap at the door interrupted their contemplation. Agathi poked her head into the room. “A gentleman here to call on you, lady,” she whispered.

Diana’s eyebrows shot up at the announcement. Rather late for a caller. Niccolo perhaps? Unlikely…he’d seemed rather cool toward her not long ago. Wait. Could it be… “Is it Bernardo?” she asked.

Agathi nodded. “The young Don Tornabuoni, indeed lady.” She withdrew from sight, her message delivered.

Diana looked over at her two friends. Francesca was uncomprehending, but Siobhan gave her a little smirk. “Diana has a male admirer,” Siobhan explained. “Well, two really!”

Francesca smiled shyly, looking down.

Diana shook her head. “I think Niccolo is done with me. He’s been a witness to too much negativity between my mother’s tomb and my deal with Savonarola.”