The Outcast Blade (29 page)

“You can go,” Alexa said.

The girl bobbed her head gratefully. Alexa pretending not to see her shift her hips to dislodge Alonzo’s hand.

“What did you do that for?”

“I have news.”

“She wouldn’t have said anything.”

All the servants at Ca’ Ducale were well trained and, if training wasn’t enough, their families would suffer if they spoke out of turn. The girl would never have risked that.

“She’s a spy.”

“The Byzantine emperor?” Alonzo was so shocked he put down his glass of wine. After a moment he decided to pick it up again.

“Sigismund,” Alexa said. “So I’d be grateful if you could leave her alone.” It wasn’t true, of course. She was simply a girl from the Veneto whose father, a Levantine merchant, had bought her a place in the palace. Alexa allowed it to happen. Her father was the spy and it paid Alexa to keep his daughter close.

“What’s your news?” Alonzo demanded.

“It concerns Sigismund.” Alexa was glad about that. The German emperor’s involvement would confirm for Alonzo her words about the servant. It was, however, time to stop baiting him and see if he could be brought temporarily to her cause. Which she would present as their cause.

Like most of her husband’s race, Alonzo had little understanding of the subtlety needed to keep Venice safe from itself as much as its enemies. Alexa had long since decided Europe’s problem was having one god. (And so what if he was split into three, if those parts always agreed with each other?)

How could you learn how to appear to ask for one thing while really asking for another when there was so little need? The Khan’s empire had a dozen gods each of which needed to be cajoled
and placated, teased into delivering promises and made to feel more important than the others.

“Sigismund’s forcing the issue.”

“How?”

“Frederick is already on his way.”

She watched Alonzo play catch-up through his wine-induced haze. Laying bets with herself on how long it would take for his eyes to widen in shock. She was a second out, in his favour. “Another glass?” she suggested.

He held it out and she poured as if they were old friends, not enemies who’d happily see each other dead if they could find a way that wouldn’t leave them dead or disgraced themselves.

“How soon does he arrive?”

“I’m trying to find out. The boy’s bringing an army.”

Emperor Sigismund was also King of Hungary, Croatia and Germany. Lombardy and Venice were on the list of countries he’d like to add. His ambition was to force the warring popes to accept a single papacy. Thus earning Rome’s gratitude, and forgiveness for a multitude of sins.

He’d probably succeed in uniting the papacies. Only his God would know if he succeeded buying off his sins. Either way, Alexa had dedicated the last few years to keeping Venice out of his hands.

It looked as if her plans were failing.

Sigismund had no legitimate children and only two bastards. Leopold, now dead, and Frederick. It was said he adored both and had made them princes not because he wanted to offend his nobles but because he really wished Leopold could be his heir. Frederick was the younger. Sigismund was about fifty now so Frederick had to be eighteen or so. Alexa reminded herself to check. She’d need to discover something else, if Frederick was
krieghund
like his brother.

Neither could have taken the imperial throne. But he had acknowledged them both as his sons, created dukedoms for them
and granted them the title and rights of imperial princes. No father could do more.

“What would it take to buy Sigismund off?”

“What do you think…?” Alexa caught herself, shrugged apologetically. “Giulietta, of course. And through her, Venice.”

Alonzo’s mouth tightened behind his beard. This was not a conversation he relished, but perhaps he saw the truth in Alexa’s face, or maybe for once the wine dulled his obstinacy instead of stoking his anger.

Either way, he suggested she continue.

“Marco will not produce an heir.”

There, she’d said it. Alexa could see from Alonzo’s shock that this was something he’d never expected her to admit. She might pride herself on facing facts, but that fact was harder to face than most. She wondered if he could be that brave.

“And no child of mine will be legitimate?”

“To the best of my knowledge none of your mistresses has even fallen pregnant?” At her question, a grimace twisted Alonzo’s lips so fast a lesser woman might have missed it. The duchess felt her guts lurch. “Unless I’m wrong about that? Your new one… The Dolphini girl?”

“Not her.”

“Alonzo.”

“None of them.”

Alexa was surprised by the vehemence in his voice.

She didn’t doubt they were still enemies. In the face of Sigismund’s ambition, however, if seemed even such enemies might become allies of covenience, albeit briefly in her experience. She risked a truth.

“I’ve thought of marrying Marco off, having some noble bed his wife. Or even announcing a pregnancy and substituting a child.”

“What stopped you?”

“The brat must be a Millioni.”

“Marco shows no signs…?”

“I’ve even put a boy in his bed,” Alexa said tightly. “To see if that was the problem. That small boy Atilo brought me. Theodore’s bastard. They played with toy boats in Marco’s washbowl. “We have to face it. If Marco dies Giulietta will be duchess.”

“And her son become duke?”

Something in Alonzo’s voice made Alexa look up.

What was she missing? The duchess had her veil, and Alonzo was three-quarters drunk, which made it hard for him to hide his feelings. As if he’d ever really been able to hide those from her. For once she found it impossible to know what he was thinking. Both waited for the other to speak.

“Her son is Leopold’s heir,” Alexa said finally.

“Which brings his lands.”

“And his lands border Giulietta’s own.”

“So we extend our power?”

“Possibly. But do we then give Venice to Sigismund? That’s the question. She can rule as a widow but Leo is Sigismund’s grandson, giving the Holy Roman Empire a claim to Venice in the future. John V Palaiologos is going to hate that.”

“Suppose we marry her to a Byzantine prince instead?”

“Then we’re back where we started. Only this time the Byzantine emperor has influence. Scylla and Charybdis, Alonzo. A rock and a hard place.”

“So we welcome Frederick?”

“Unless you have a better idea?”

“Not me,” Alonzo said. “You’re the thinker around here.”

“Are you awake?”

A candle burnt on her bedside table. A candle Lady Giulietta had blown out some hours earlier. Tycho sat at the end of her bed, watching intently.

He smiled when Giulietta reached for her sheet and she blushed. Her scowl said it was still late summer, how could she be expected to sleep in more than the shift she presently wore?

Tycho liked that shift best. It was the white one with embroidery down the front and ribbons at the neck. He particularly liked how thin the silk was.

“No wolves tonight?”

“Not for three nights now.”

“What do you think it means?”

“They’ve given up.” Tycho hoped that was the truth.

Outside the night was dark, halfway between midnight and dawn. Rosalyn would be out there somewhere. She’d tell him if anything changed. The stars that lit Alta Mofacon’s lands were slight, the moon a day past half full and hidden by mountains. Although Tycho knew where it was. He always knew.

“How long have you been here?”

“A few minutes.”

It wasn’t much longer than that. Just long enough to fix every line of her sleep-softened face in his mind. Alta Mofacon had been kind to her. She looked more grown up than when they first met, less strained, however.

Sun had flamed her red hair and bronzed her skin enough to produce the freckles she hated and he loved. Scratches from hop picking showed on the backs of her hands and she had dirt beneath her nails scrubbing hadn’t removed. He wondered what Duchess Alexa would say if she could see her now.

“What are you thinking?” Giulietta asked.

“Your hands are scratched.”

She examined them proudly. “Tomorrow sees the last of it. Then the maltster starts his work. I have a meeting with the brewer at the end of the week…” She stopped, seeing his smile. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He came further up the bed, took her face in his hands and kissed her gently, feeling his stomach somersault. After the third kiss, soft and small and entirely gentle, he felt her lips soften and her mouth open. His fingers reached for the ribbon at the front of her gown and though she tensed slightly she didn’t push his hand away. So he kissed her again and pulled at the first bow.

“No more…” Sitting up, Giulietta adjusted the neck of her nightgown and tied the three ribbons she’d let Tycho undo. She touched her hand to her lips. They were bruised enough to make her wince. She was grinning ruefully.

“You’re dangerous.”

Her words surprised him. “No, I’m not. Well, not to you.”

“Yes, you are,” she insisted. “I should know if anyone does. I’ve lived around dangerous people my entire life, you’re different dangerous.”

Tycho said nothing.

Wait and people will fill the silence. What they say might be what you need to know. What you need to know might save your life. Retaining your life will let you fulfil your mission
.

Atilo’s lessons remained with Tycho for all the old man was dead. Tycho had other reasons for waiting, however.

She’d kissed him as fiercely as he’d ever wanted to kiss her, and had hooked one quivering leg behind his and pushed against him to lose herself somewhere he couldn’t reach as she buried her face in his neck and swallowed rolling gasps he definitely wasn’t meant to hear.

Something had changed between them.

His admission that he would have saved Leopold if he’d only known how… His coming to her for help when he had no one else to turn to… What had just passed between them. Tycho knew something had changed.

“My aunt poisons her enemies. My uncle…” Giulietta shrugged. “Killing people is the least of his sins. The Council hang, behead and torture daily. These are the people who brought me up, who have owned me. Yet I don’t fear any of them the way I sometimes fear you. You look as if you want to hurt me and then kiss me instead. What happens when it’s the other way round?”

“I’ll never hurt you.”

“You already did.” Her words were sharp.

“That was then.”

“And this is now? That’s meant to make it better? And already I’ve decided that somehow it does, that I should forgive you. See? What you are is hard to hide and, I should guess, difficult to fake.”

“And what am I?”

“As I said. Different dangerous.”

She slapped at his hand as he reached for her slip again, then let him undo the first ribbon when he insisted that was all he wanted to do. Sliding one finger under a chain, he lifted it until
the gold ring he’d found earlier between her breasts lay in his hand. It was warm from her body.

His silence was his question.

“Marco’s ring.”

“He wears it.”

“He wears the replacement.”

“That’s the original?”

Lady Giulietta sighed. “We’re talking about Venice. The ring he wears is now the original, this is simply an ancient copy. I took it with me the night I was abducted. It was meant to make my aunt and uncle come after me. I thought…”

“If they wouldn’t save you they’d save the ring?”

“Instead they ordered a replica.”

“And had the jeweller killed to keep their secret?”

“I imagine so.”

The heart-shaped sadness of the girl in the bed was enough to lock him in place and Tycho knew he loved her. Every man boasted he’d die for love.
I can offer more. I can live for it
. With her help he could keep the other him at bay.

“Tell me of your childhood.”

Tycho shook his head. “Tell me about yours.”

“I was very young when my mother died… When she was killed… When my father had her killed.” Giulietta forced her words to hold the full truth. “Although no one could prove that, no one doubted it either.”

“What happened to him?”

“Atilo had him killed.”

“And no one could prove that either?”

She smiled sadly. “Atilo brought me to Venice wrapped in a blanket and carried in his arms. Small, afraid and mostly snivelling. We travelled at night, through mountains. He made it seem an adventure. I realise now we were being hunted. He carved me a wooden bear…”

Tycho listened carefully, noticing the gaps and hesitations, the
quickening of her voice that carried her over those bits best left unspoken. No boy at court had ever caught her eye. Lady Eleanor was the closest she’d ever had to a friend until…
She met Leopold
. Tycho filled that gap himself

He didn’t say,
I can be your friend
, because he didn’t know if that was true. At least not in the sense Leopold and Eleanor were her friends. He would always want more. “There’s no chance Leopold’s the father?”

“I told you on the
San Marco
. I never… We never even came close. Didn’t you believe me when I told you?”

He shrugged, embarrassed.

“I don’t lie to you,” Giulietta said.

Outside a fingernail of moon crawled the rim of the upturned bowl of the sky, and the stars paled and grew afraid along the horizon where day threatened to chase them away. Only once after that did Lady Giulietta falter, her words running like water into sand. She’d been talking about the abduction. Finding herself unable to talk at all about the hours immediately before.

“That’s when…?”

She nodded, unable to say more.

Tycho’s first guess had been wrong. Leo’s conception had nothing to do with the abduction itself or the days following it. She was pregnant before being taken from the basilica.

Some days Rosalyn really hated the Millioni princess and her brat.

Eleanor’s arrival in Venice had been unhappy, the years following it miserable. She served Lady Giulietta as lady-in-waiting as best she could and Giulietta barely noticed. Oh, Eleanor loved her cousin, worshipped the older girl. It was just that sometimes Eleanor didn’t like her very much. Eleanor never said that. She didn’t need to. Rosalyn could read the silences between her words.