The Nascenza Conspiracy (27 page)

There were a dozen irreverent brotherly retorts he could have made, but instead he allowed himself to be hugged. “I’m glad to be back,” he admitted.

“And the girl!” Risa relinquished her hold and thrust him back to look him in the eye. “Tell me about the girl!”

“The girl? Guard Fossi?” Petro shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re a bad liar, brother.”

Risa would have said more, but the doors to the star chamber opened once again. Out strode Camilla Sorranto first, so tall and lean that no one would ever have guessed she’d given birth to her second child only three months before. She gave Petro a cheerful salute as she walked toward the hallway. Milo’s other advisors soon followed, hovering around Lorco Fiernetto, who seemed to be in a huff. Finally the insulas’ two elders emerged, standing out from the crowd in their gowns of saffron and deep gray.

“Divetri,” intoned Elder Catarre, the more somberly-clad of the two. “I believe a day or two at home is the norm after
…
incidents such as these. I pray you will enjoy them.”

“Thank you, Elder,” murmured Petro, bowing slightly.

She put a hand to his head and pulled back the hair he’d attempted to comb over the sorry mess that was his forehead. Worry and concern lined her mouth. “And, Aspirant Divetri,” she added, before heading back to her business. “Inform your cohort Ventimilla that given the circumstances, I shall excuse him from that thousand-word disquisition he owes me. Truth be told, I dreaded hearing it anyway.”

“Part of me still regrets not being able to go to the insulas,” said Risa as she watched the elders retreat.

“Gods! You shouldn’t!” Petro assured her heartily.

Last to emerge from the chamber were Emilia and King Milo. They exchanged a few last words in the doorway. She nodded, stuck out a hand to him, and then withdrew it hastily before nearly collapsing in a clumsy bow. Apparently, for the first time, she was unsure of the protocol of how to address the king. To Petro, the effect was charming. Milo bent over slightly, grinned, and offered her his hand to shake.

Risa had been watching Petro closely. “Nothing to tell, hmmm?”

He ignored her. All his attention was on Emilia as she drew near. Her cheeks sported points of natural pink and she seemed pleased. She offered only the most nervous of smiles to Risa, obviously still cowed by her. To Petro, however, she extended both hands so she could squeeze his fingers with excitement. “I’m to study with Camilla Sorranto herself for the next three months,” she announced.

Behind her, Milo nodded, then raised his eyebrows at Risa. “Look at him, so smug,” Risa said. “I was going to suggest the same thing, you know.”

“I know you were, my dear,” he told her. “You have every good idea there is. But I thought of it first.”

“I’m fairly certain I thought of it first,” Risa replied. “You merely got to suggest it before I.”

“I have a proposal for you that you didn’t think of first,” Milo countered. “If you would care to accompany me to my chambers.”

“If it’s about that Vico child and my family, I think you’ll find I’m completely in support of my brother,” Risa told him, adopting a contrary tone. “In fact
…
”

While they argued, Petro turned to Emilia. “Camilla Sorranto!” he exclaimed. “You’ve always admired her.”

Her color deepened. “And at the end of the three months, I’m to be promoted to captain.” She leaned in close so that neither the king nor Risa could hear, but they seemed too busy squabbling to notice. “They’re buying me off, I know, but I don’t care. I deserve it.”

“Of course you deserve it,” Risa said crossly, barging into their private conversation. “I was going to propose that, too.”

King Milo cleared his throat as he continued to address Risa. “The proposal I had in mind, my dear, was of a more personal nature. A
formal
proposal. The sort you would like. The sort that any normal girl would like, from her sweetheart.” Milo seemed satisfied when Risa suddenly dropped all disputation and allowed her mouth to collapse into a very small, surprised “o.” “I knew that would hush her,” he said to Petro with a wink. Then to Risa he said, with the utmost of sincerity, “May I ask you a very important question in private? It would gratify your king if you said yes.”

Risa only nodded, too surprised and in a dither to speak. King Milo took her left hand and, in a courtly manner, began to escort her away. They were very nearly clear of the room when, without warning, Risa dropped Milo’s hand, raced back to her brother, and whispered in his ear so that only he could hear, “If you tell Mama and Papa about my engagement before I do, I will mash you into a pulp. Oh, and one more thing.” She leaned in once again before running back to her lover’s side. “
That girl is four years older than you.
”

“Is he going to … ?” Once they were alone, Emilia let the question hang in the air.

Petro nodded. “I believe he is. The poor devil. Always treat your lovers as you would a hunting dog. That’s my motto, you know. With a firm hand and an air of authority.”

“If you say something about not sparing the riding crop when necessary, Divetri, I’ll thrash you soundly.” For a moment, Petro wondered why it was that the women in his life were always threatening him with bodily harm. Emilia crossed her arms and regarded him for a moment. “I made a request of the King, while we were alone.”

“Did you?”

She nodded, softening a bit. In fact, she seemed almost embarrassed to admit what she’d demanded. “I asked if I might be allowed to visit the prince regularly at your family’s caza. If he agrees to live there,” she said, affecting a neutral air. “And if your family doesn’t mind.”

“I’m sure they won’t.” Petro put his hands in his pockets and smiled at her, glad to hear of the proposal. “I know Vico would like it.”

“Maybe,” she said carefully, not looking at him, “we could visit him together. It might be
…
nice. If you were there.”

“Oh.” He smiled. “That sounds like a grand idea.”

A moment of awkward silence followed. Perhaps she expected to have to fight off another of his cumbersome declarations of devotion. Perhaps she would even have welcomed one, in a sideways manner. Petro was through with those, though. Let Emilia enjoy her good news without having to fight off a fifteen-year-old she thought infatuated. He didn’t intend to sully the moment.

“We’ll always be friends, Divetri. Good friends.”

He snorted in a way that indicated he knew that, and was surprised she didn’t. “You can wager on that, Fossi.”

When she took her leave a moment later, he watched her go without the slightest sense of regret. He hadn’t mortified her. He hadn’t asserted a clumsy claim over her, which she would have hated. They would see each other again, in the comfort of his caza, with his family around him and all the laughter and teasing and food they would provide for them both. No, he would not burden Emilia with any more declarations—for the moment, at least. In the future, however, all bets were off.

Four years lay between them now, but it was not so insurmountable a gulf. Four more years would bring great changes for them both, and by then the gap would seem even smaller. If need be, another four years after that would seem the narrowest of canals to be bridged. There would be practically no difference between them at all.

He turned to leave. As had happened ever since Petro began visiting the palace as a boy, guards flanked his sides, protecting both him and the palace’s priceless treasures as they escorted him out. Six crowded around him and marched him from the floor of royal residences. Four trooped him down the stairs, and two stayed by his side until he had cleared the doors of the side entrance and stood alone on the bridge over the royal canal.

It was all right to be by himself, for now. One day in the future, he knew with a certainty he couldn’t explain, he’d leave the palace with a guard to call his very own.

About the Author

V. Briceland wanted to be an archaeologist when he grew up. Instead, he has worked as a soda jerk, a paper-flower maker in an amusement park, a pianist for a senior citizens’ show-tunes choir, an English teacher, and a glass artist. He likes writing novels best of all. He lives in Royal Oak, Michigan, where there is a sad lack of ruins to be excavated. Visit his website at www.vbriceland.com.