The Shades of Time (15 page)

I do admire a
woman with wit and intelligence.

He continued to
press the issue, determined to instruct his youngest by pointing
out his failures in seeing through the obvious subterfuge. "Is it
not apparent that her so-called message of goodwill is as genuine
as the vapors on the canals in the early morn?"

Stefano
squirmed and appeared ready to debate that point. Surely the boy
did not still believe her a ward of the French court!

He was poised
to give his son a good tongue lashing when the young man
interrupted. "Even if she isn't all she claims, Papà, so long as
others think of her in that light, is it not still useful to us?"
He rubbed his chin, one of his few nervous gestures, generally
allowed only when with family.

Cosimo clapped
his hands with delight. "Excellent, my boy. And what else…?"

Stefano thought
hard for a moment. "She makes a useful, uh, item for trade?"

"Yes, well."
Cosimo knew better than to push his youngest beyond his limited
capabilities. Analysis would never be his strong suit, but at least
he had the manners and the trite phrases down pat. More importantly
he would follow directions to the letter when properly
motivated.

"Papà? As my
consort should she not also be accorded a measure of respect?"

"Consort?"

Cosimo tapped a
finger on his thigh. The boy's obsession with the woman ran deep,
perhaps deeper than he had realized. He'd turned the discussion
from usefulness to the family to his own selfish desires, something
neither of his older brothers would ever consider. It wasn't
unexpected but still, he was not happy with the turn the discussion
had taken.

Stefano stood
and paced the room. He had difficulty framing his next words. "I-I
… she's different, not like other women."

"How so?"

"She c-can
sense things. She, uh…"

"And you
discovered this how?"

"It was when we
were…" Stefano flushed bright red "… uh, when I was, we, uh…"

Cosimo laughed
out loud. "When you were fucking her? And exactly what epiphany did
you have at that most propitious moment, my son?"

Stefano
collapsed back on the seat vacated by Veluria. He stroked the
cushion, as if he could almost feel her residual energy through his
loins, his face relaxing as he drew comfort from the phantom
contact.

"She is like
Tonio and Nico, Papà. Not exactly the same, but close. That bridge
we all feel, one to the other, the one Nico and Tonio share the
strongest, that knowing. She has it."

Perhaps the boy
isn't as clueless as I thought.

He continued,
"Yes, I know, my boy. I felt it also, though she hid it well. That
one is wise beyond her years, I fear. Or she has had some training,
though God only knows who at the French court…" He held up a hand
and muttered, "…or wherever she's from." He continued with his
train of thought, "None of them has sufficient intelligence to make
use of such gifts, or even to recognize them for what they
are."

Stefano's voice
took on an edge of pleading. "We can use that can we not, Papà? If
she were bound to me, it would be a most useful pairing. Strength,
Papà. Just what we need now."

And there it
was. He would give the pup credit, he managed to twist the family's
fortunes with his own desires. Unfortunately it was past time for
the boy to assume the mantle of his responsibilities.

No matter how
diplomatic, how politic he couched his next words, Stefano would
not yield without considerable resistance. He girded himself for
the certain conflict.

"Hmmm, the
other day you might have convinced me of the merit of that
evaluation, but today the situation is different. Our priorities
must change to suit circumstances."

"But…" Stefano
half rose from his seat but Cosimo waved him back.

"I do not dispute the value of a
possible
favorable outcome from such a
match." Out of the blue he asked, "Is she by any chance carrying
your child?" It was a valid question, given the circumstances. He
sneered, "It wouldn't be the first time."

Stefano blushed
and mumbled, "I don't think so."

His escapades
from an early age had alternately vexed and delighted his brothers,
leading Cosimo to expend a substantial portion of his youngest's
inheritance on buying off or seeing to the dispatch of unwanted
offspring. Of them all he seemed blessed with potency that went
beyond all normal expectations. Tonio had laughed and patted him on
the shoulder and told him to be happy for his gifts and not have to
rue the unfortunate curse he and Nico bore in the service of
family.

"Then we shall
proceed as planned. The woman stays here for further evaluation."
He quickly added, "…as our guest." He stood and approached Stefano,
his face set in a hard line. "You, however, will have a somewhat
different role to play."

His son
blanched and croaked, "Role to play?"

"In light of
what Nicolo has brought to my attention regarding matters in the
French court and with Carlos' succession, it has been our singular
good fortune to arrive at an arrangement with a distant cousin of
the Gorizia's."

"But I thought
that portion of the Tyrol had been bequeathed to Maximilian and was
no longer of interest."

"Yes, that was
the case." And that situation lasted less than a week as alliances
shifted. He went on, "But let us, for a moment, consider a most
fortuitous bonding with the Habsburg lineage. This distant cousin
has three daughters, most fair of face, I am assured. One of them
will suit you. I am in negotiations with Duke Friedrich as we
speak."

"Bonding? You
mean marriage?"

Cosimo glared
at his youngest. They had been having a verbal sparring match for
months over Stefano's obligations to the family. Placing him in an
advantageous position within range of the power mongers surrounding
Maximilian would not only strengthen Florence's position vis-à-vis
her neighboring states and republics, but would also facilitate the
delicate negotiations his middle son conducted on the family's
behalf in Seville. And it would help fashion a measure of peace
with the Venezian contingent for whom war was simply commerce by
other means. That Florence had suffered from that ill-advised
business tactic on more than one occasion was forever etched into
Cosimo's memory. He needed peace to grow his interests, a commodity
increasingly difficult to fashion with so many players waiting in
the wings—almost all with drawn swords and cinquedeas.

Before his
youngest could offer up additional complaints, Cosimo stood and
stalked from the room. As he exited, he pronounced with finality,
"Get used to the idea, Stefano. This will happen in the very near
future. Best to prepare yourself as have your brothers. They each
know their roles and accept what must be done. As will you."

Cosimo left the
room with a heavy heart. Of all his sons, this one was still a
child in many ways, trusting to a fault, of good heart and cheerful
disposition. How unfortunate that God had graced him with the
talents so valued by the idiots at the Habsburg and French courts.
He had no choice but to send his son into what might prove to be a
lion's den. Clasping his hands behind his back, Cosimo paced the
long hallway leading to a salon at the rear of the Palazzo, brow
furrowed with worry.

He murmured, "I
hope Nicolo was wrong for once. If what he hints about Friedrich…"
One thing Cosimo knew. He must not let Antonio learn anything about
the rumors and innuendo circulating about the Duke. If he did, and
if even half of what Nico reported were true, he would not want to
be the one standing in his oldest son's way.

****

"Madame, this
way, if you will." Antonio held out a hand but Veluria brushed past
him into the small walled garden. Faint echoes of waves slapping
the stone abutment and the occasional skritching sound as pilings
and piers groaned in unison led her to peer over the smooth granite
cap lining the top of the barricade.

"This is
lovely," Veluria sighed, and truly meant it. Such retreats in the
heart of the city were indeed rare and precious, and most
unexpected in this, the center of the commercial and shipping
district. The Grand Canal commanded her attention off to the
southeast, and in the distance the stunning visage of the Rialto
Bridge gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun. A slight breeze brought
relief from the building heat. She felt a trickle of sweat along
her spine and twisted uncomfortably against the stays.

"Is something
amiss?" Antonio edged next to her, like a phantom morphing from the
shadows.

She would never
get used to the man's ability to materialize without warning into
her very personal space. Such closeness bespoke an intimacy she
feared and desired. She reached out for Stefano, seeking a measure
of comfort to ground herself and restrain her developing attraction
to the huge man who might hold the key for them all. Unfortunately
her connection continued to degrade and she no longer commanded
access to his thoughts or feelings. Why … she couldn't be sure.

"No,
signore
,
I am quite well,
gracie
. Such beauty," Veluria waved a hand to encompass the vista
spread before them, "gives me chills."

What gave her
greater chills was the brush of flesh against flesh as the Demon
moved in close. He'd rolled up his sleeves in deference to the
growing heat of the day, revealing deeply tanned muscular forearms.
The brief touch seemed more deliberate than incidental.

"My father's
interests lay to the north." Tonio pointed to a mass of imposing
warehouses where the canal opened out onto a bay that fed
eventually into the Adriatic. The sway of masts heralded the fleet
of ships awaiting cargo. "Our mills in Florence require that we
maintain a presence here in Venice."

Veluria nodded
with interest. She well understood the intricate interweaving of
commerce, politics and war that dominated the fabric of the city
and its denizens. The tall man, and his threatening visage, should
have made him a natural fit in this theatre of avaricious pursuit
of power, but somehow Veluria detected a depth to his character,
something off-kilter, that had nothing to do with his heritage or
the unusual 'gifts' he and his brothers wielded so adeptly.

"And exactly
what is your role in all this?" Veluria decided to begin the
inevitable interrogation on her own terms. She needed to define
this man's position, determine exactly how and why his energy so
swamped her own abilities, before she could mine him for the
location of the key, whatever 'the key' was. Euphemisms, the Holy
Mother gloried in them.

Find the key,
daughter, and save us all.

Well, she was
convinced she had found the one who could lead her to the object of
power, but what she would or could do with it remained to be
seen.

Antonio's gaze
followed the petite woman's, taking in the wall of algae coated
stone across the canal. He drifted closer, drawn by the set of her
shoulders and the graceful curve of her neck as it flowed like
peach satin into the square-cut bodice. He approved of her lack of
pretension, eschewing the bouffant sleeves and exaggerated skirts
so common to Venezia. Unlike his brothers who seemed inordinately
well-versed in fashion, Antonio preferred simplicity and elegance
to the frippery and extravagance of his peers, male and female. He
liked the cut of her gown, clinging to a narrow waist with just
enough flare to accentuate her slim figure.

Without a
thought he fingered the leather lacing on her bodice, his mind
racing as he imagined pulling the narrow thongs through the
eyelets, slowly, enjoying the exquisite feel and the soft shushing
sound—the promise of what lay beneath the smooth fabric. He
imagined releasing her breasts into his hands, slipping the ribbed
fabric away to drop carelessly to the ceramic tiled floor. Imagined
undoing the braid that circled her beautifully shaped head, freeing
the blue-black tresses to fall about her rosy-hued shoulders.
Imagined cupping her chin in his rough hands, dark against light,
pressing into the flesh until she bent back to receive his
mouth.

The memory of
their brief kiss still taunted him. That anyone could taste so
sweet defied explanation.

As he reached
to pull a strand of hair off her neck, Antonio caught himself,
appalled at what he was about to do.

Mio dio, what
is this? Where has my mind gone? This is insanity.

Insane indeed.
This was his brother's woman, as much as Cosimo might dispute that
fact. Antonio had seen the looks exchanged between his brother and
this woman. He didn't need special skills to detect the connection
they had with each other. That his beloved brother was entirely
besotted by her concerned him, but he would do everything in his
power to make sure that Stefano would have all that he desired. If
this woman proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was worthy of
Stefano's trust and love, Antonio swore to himself that he would
personally thwart his father's grandiose schemes to see the lovers
pulled asunder.

He owed Stefano
that. It might be the only thing he could do to make amends for his
rash and vicious attack on the boy.

"
Perdonatemi, mio
signore
, your father wants a word with
you." Cosimo's manservant approached circumspectly, as if intruding
on an intimate moment. That would surely give the man pause since
in his long years of service he'd probably never once seen him so
much as look at a woman, let alone engage in polite conversation on
the terrace.

"
Gracie
,
Paulo. Please stay with Madame until I return."