The Shades of Time (14 page)

His thoughts
still racing, Andreas settled on the two most likely explanations:
Nicolo either had a genetically similar energy as his brother
Antonio, or he had the capability to alter it to match the Dark
One.

The former was
cause enough for concern, and thought to be unlikely given that the
men were all half-brothers. Cosimo's genetic legacy would surely
have suffered dilution, though not so much with Antonio, who was
line bred through a close cousin reputed to be the love of the
elder's life. Nicolo was the result of a brief liaison with a
Habsburg beauty who died in childbirth. Cosimo had dipped into
Florence's merchant class for his final marriage, the result being
the brainless idiot, Stefano, whose powers—other than his good
looks and charming manner—had yet to manifest.

The latter
possibility, the one that suggested this Nicolo had that kind of
command over his psychic abilities, would send the statisticians
into an orgy of research as that capability could only be
engineered and controlled with implants in his own dimension.

Whatever the
explanation, Andreas knew he'd blown his plan to bring his quarry
and the woman together. His only chance to avoid the ire of the
Council, and even of the good Monsignor to whom he'd be giving an
abbreviated report as soon as he recouped his strength, was to
start over. He'd keep his musings about the middle brother to
himself for the time being. There was no rush as the man would be
off stage for the foreseeable future and no threat to the current
mission.

Right now he had to reacquire his targets. The Demon was still
his best option for finding Veluria. And
she
was his best option for solving
the equations and understanding the predictions that had motivated
the Council to violate their guardianship of the
gateways.

"Where would
you go, I wonder?" Andreas murmured and smiled slyly. "Perhaps to
Papà?"

He would need
best speed and walking on his still aching ankle did not appeal.
Andreas moved to the dock jetting into the shallow bay in search of
transport. A young man looked up expectantly, waving his hand to
indicate he was for hire. Andreas grunted his assent and climbed
down into the small skiff, settling onto the rough wooden bench
seat.

"Padre?"

Andreas stared
blindly at the oarsman, trying to recall the exact location of
Cosimo's current residence. The man kept several palazzos scattered
about the city but given the time of day and the demands of his
business, there was only one choice.

He muttered, "
Sestieri de Polo, e
rendere veloce. La residenza Ferrara
, do
you know it?"

"
Sì.
"

Andreas scowled
at the wide-eyed youth and turned to stare at the greasy water
slipping past the small craft. Unconsciously he fingered his beads,
the movement on the string registering one click at a time. The
shape and texture of the cold alabaster, the repetitive motion,
helped him focus. Time, he was running out of that commodity at a
fearsome rate. He would lay odds that the next move on the
chessboard would be Cosimo's. But how the chess pieces in the game
would align themselves was anyone's guess. He'd made enough moves
already, despite the missteps, to come close to taking the Queen
and neutralizing her.

That thought sent a frisson of lust to his groin. 'Neutralize'
wasn't exactly his intent, though it was a necessary prelude to the
release from his obsession.
She
was going to pay dearly for his indiscretions. His
fall from grace would not end on a whimper.

Embracing the ancient adage,
better to
ask for forgiveness than permission,
brought a small smile and reminded him that he needed more
analysis before engaging in any further moves.

The piece that
would be king, the 'key'? That piece had yet to reveal its
identity, let alone the nature of the opponent manipulating the
supporting assets. He'd had the Demon son pegged as an annoying
guardian of the clan, the knight as it were—expendable. Not
anymore. There was more at work here, more probabilities to
calculate.

Shadows within
shadows. Plots within plots. He stroked the blade hidden in the
folds of his robe, remembering the heat and sweet gush of
blood…

****

The harried man
glued to her side prodded Veluria toward an ornate walnut door at
the far end of a hallway carpeted with a thick Persian rug. Antonio
stood impatiently as her guide abruptly released her elbow and
scurried into the room. She brushed past the Demon and entered a
richly appointed, tall-ceiling space with a wall of narrow windows
overlooking the canal. Walnut wainscoting and palest cream stucco
gave the space dimension and intimacy. A heavy walnut desk occupied
pride of place at the far end, but in the middle a cozy seating
area invited conversation … and plotting.

Antonio
indicated a settee so she once more arranged her skirts while she
took the measure of the players arrayed about the room. Antonio
muttered something to the man who had accompanied them into the
salon. He hastily lay his burden of parchments onto the desk and
retreated quickly. Other footsteps followed, clearing the room.
That left her to face her newest adversary, known only by
reputation, and her Demon about whom she feared she knew far too
much already.

Well, this
should be interesting…

Cosimo settled
onto the chair opposite, waving his tall son to stand by the petite
woman in a show of dominance and power. He fully appreciated how
daunting Antonio could be without even trying. It gave him great
enjoyment to use his eldest as a weapon of intimidation,
particularly when it brought rosy coloring to the cheeks of an
especially attractive woman. He would have said 'girl' upon initial
examination, but this one had a world of experience in her demeanor
and a hard set to her eyes.

He would not
err on the side of frivolous disregard of certain feminine wiles as
had his youngest. He fully intended to plumb her depths before
allowing any further missteps. She and Stefano might make a pretty
couple, but he had plans for the silly young man that did not
include mystery French whores and their petty court intrigues.

"Monsieur, it is my understanding that your son has effected a
rescue … of sorts. For that I am, of course, grateful, as will be
my cousin,
François.
"

Tonio, standing
behind Veluria, raised his brows in surprise and motioned to his
father to continue the questioning. Cosimo twitched a finger
imperceptibly, their code for shared knowledge and a need for
further interrogation.

"Yes, and my salutations and best wishes to him and his new
bride. Claude? Of Brittany I believe." A manservant approached with
goblets and a plate of meats. Cosimo waved him off and leaned
forward intently.
François
stood in line to inherit
the French throne, sooner rather than later if the rumors from Nico
were correct, and Nico seldom steered them wrong.

He had sent his
son packing to Spagna only hours after his arrival from France
based on the hints about Carlos the woman had dropped in Stefano's
ear. Carlos, the heir to the continent, and one with whom he would
curry favor.

Settling his
bulk on the edge of the chair, he waited to see what direction this
most interesting conversation was headed.

Veluria was
impressed. Her world's modern communications often seemed clunky
and slow compared with the nuanced intelligence that spread like
wildfire through the court gossip network. While Stefano had
accepted her subterfuge as emissary from the French court, his
father did not. He was too smart by half and she'd best be on her
toes around him.

Veluria raised her eyebrows and said, "
Si, signore
," pausing with classic
Gallic disdain, "Claude." She had no idea whether or not it was a
good match, but expressing an opinion gave her an edge and the aura
of having insider's information.

While Cosimo
waited expectantly, she prevaricated to gain a measure of control
over the competing energies washing through and around her. The
Demon and his father formed a straight line broadcast path aimed
directly at her core—the effect was uncommonly intense and
uncomfortable. Because the two men seemed to be doing it
unconsciously reinforced her appreciation of the raw, undisciplined
nature of their abilities. It was far easier to control a
disciplined mind once she'd determined the architecture of the
neural pathways than one with such an organic nature that its
complexities were not easily identified, let alone amenable to
statistical analysis.

Off to her left
she felt the faint stirring of a weaker signal, most likely
Stefano. Having him close gave her a measure of relief. In the back
of her mind she'd been concerned about him, about his mental state.
Tonio gave no indication that he knew his brother was in the same
house. She'd love to be a fly on the wall if and when the brothers
came together to work out whatever had caused Tonio so much guilt
and shame.

Keeping her
face a mask of pleasant acquiescence to the Capo's hospitality,
Veluria selected a goblet of wine and sipped daintily, allowing the
drama to play out while she examined probabilities. Lost in
thought, she didn't hear the door opening.

Cosimo shifted
in his seat, exclaiming, "Ah, Stefano! Come and see who graces our
presence this fair morning."

Stefano?

She twisted
slightly to get a better look but halted mid-turn when Antonio's
hand gripped her shoulder so tightly she hissed in pain.

He murmured,
"I'm sorry," and released her but moved in close enough she could
feel the heat from his huge frame.

She listened to
Stefano's steps moving around his brother and realized the young
man could not see her with Tonio hovering so close. Cosimo waved
his youngest forward with a genuine smile of affection, then
gestured in her direction, his grin now sly. For Tonio he leveled a
pointed glare and a warning.

With all eyes
on her, the air left the room and she could have cut the silence
with a knife. From a constant ambient hum of energy it was like
being dumped into a sensory deprivation chamber. Not even the sound
of her heartbeat registered.

Stefano broke
the trance with a hesitant question, "Veluria?" He breathed a sigh
of relief and said, "Thank God, you are safe."

Sensation
rushed back with a roar: Tonio moving away, leaving her back
exposed—in more ways than one; Cosimo shifting in his seat, a
calculating expression on his face; Stefano approaching with an air
of relief and anticipation tempered with reluctance. Was that
because his brother still loomed near?

Or is it
me?

The young man
bent to brush his lips lightly on her brow, but withdrew quickly
when he detected a less than wholehearted welcome. Her miniscule
cringe had caught not only him by surprise, but also Antonio whose
satisfaction rolled in waves over her.

Cosimo smiled benignly, clearly entertained by the interplay
and jealousies. He waved to his manservant, "I believe I will have
some wine after all." Cosimo tilted his goblet and gave her a
toast. "To you, my dear, and to
all
your many interests."

Chapter
Eleven

"Antonio, why
don't you take our guest for a tour of the Palazzo while I have a
word with our layabout here." Cosimo grinned but no one in the room
misconstrued it for less than the veiled threat it was. From
paternal indulgence to angry displeasure, Cosimo's mercurial
changes of mood were legendary.

Stefano
shuddered, then squared his shoulders, approaching his father
cautiously as one would a lion guarding his kill.

Antonio held out a hand but Veluria managed a graceful exit
off the hard cushion and waited patiently for the Dark One to lead
her from the room. The Demon,
her
Demon, swept the contingent of servants and guards
hovering outside the door in the hallway out of their way before
quietly closing the double doors with a perceptible
snick.

"Sit."

"Papà, it was
not my fault…"

"Quiet, my son.
This matter is of little consequence at this time. We shall let
your brother work his particular charms. Whatever mysteries she
shelters will not last long in his expert hands."

Cosimo
chuckled, fully aware of his son's unique talents in extracting the
minutest piece of information from both enemy and ally.

"I don't want
her hurt, Papà." Stefano tried to hide his dismay and fear by
appealing to cold logic. "She is, after all, a ward of the French
court, and as such is a valuable asset if, and when, Francis
succeeds to the throne."

"An asset
how?"

"As our guest,"
Stefano emphasized the word 'guest', "she brings a measure of
respect to our house, having sought us out to deliver a personal
message of goodwill, rather than to the Duke and his flunkies. She
pays homage to Florence in this matter, rather than Venice. A good
thing, no?"

Cosimo barely
avoided barking out a laugh. "May I remind you that she did not
seek us out? I seem to recall your brother mentioning allegations
of kidnapping." He chuckled at that. The woman had cleverly avoided
an unpleasant accusation in favor of reworking the episode into a
negotiable commodity. How kind of her to place a non-existent
family obligation on the bargaining table.