The Shades of Time (19 page)

Quietly Cosimo
said, "That's not all. Please, Tonio, sit. My head pounds so I
cannot think. And I must be clear on this."

Antonio sank
back onto the cushion, his mind too agitated to focus clearly. He
nearly missed his father's next startling words.

"He has taken
her with him."

"Her."
Antonio's world tilted dangerously as he had had no warning, no
inner alarms to alert him to any of these events. That she could so
mask, not only herself, but Stefano as well spoke to a power only
hinted at. That troubled him far more than knowing she had run off
with his beloved brother. Stefano's feelings for the Frenchwoman
were no secret to any of them.

"She's no more
French than…" Antonio muttered.

"What?"

"French." He
paused, aware he was making no sense. He and Cosimo had to work
through this dilemma logically. He asked, "Is she French, Papà?
What do we even know about her? We have few contacts with François'
court, and not even Nico has succeeded in penetrating the layers of
protection about the King and his closest advisors."

"So, you suspect as do I … that she is not who she claims."
Cosimo waved his hand dismissively. "That does us no good now. The
question remains. Where did he go, where did
they
go? We must bring him back into
the fold, Tonio. He is too valuable an asset to risk having him
taken."

Antonio
clenched his jaw, rose to his feet and stared down at his father.
Voice tight, he stated with deadly calm, "An asset."

Is that what the old bastard thought about his youngest son? A
fucking
asset
? A
prized stallion to be farmed out like valuable breeding stock? He'd
accepted his and Nico's standing as mere cogs in the machinery that
was the Medici legacy. But for some reason he'd sensed a level of
affection for Stefano not accorded him and his brother.

Maybe we're
better off, Nico and I. What would either of us be like if the
bastard had actually cared about us?

Antonio glared
with loathing at the man to whom he'd sworn his loyalty and said,
"Yes, I agree. I shall find your asset, Cosimo…" he emphasized the
word 'asset' and with undisguised menace warned, "…and then we
shall have a discussion, you and I."

Unconcerned at
the threat, Cosimo said, "He will not be easy to track, boy.
Remember, he has gifts, not as strong as yours, but gifts all the
same."

"I only need to
loosen a few tongues, Father. Remember, it is what I do best."

As he exited
the salon, Antonio resisted the urge to slam the heavy walnut door
shut, not so much in deference to Cosimo's distress, but to prove
to himself he could control the almost overwhelming need for
violence. He curled his fists into tight balls and let the pain
wash through him. It was out of Cosimo's hands now.

Now it's my
turn.

****

"You have done
well, my son." The Monsignor offered his ring as Andreas bent to
pay obeisance to His Holiness.

Andreas had
expended what few energy reserves he had left in constructing an
elaborate web of lies, innuendoes and suppositions that would keep
the Monsignor busy chasing down phantoms and off his back. So long
as he could continue as a hand-selected operative of the church,
his cover would afford him access to channels well-insulated from
the public eye. None were as secretive as the minions of the
Papacy, especially when in pursuit of political and economic
advantage.

His
misinformation would stir the pot and give the Monsignor sufficient
fuel to stoke the flames of discord within the church hierarchy.
Better yet, they could call into question the motivation of the
monolith that was the Medici family. He had no qualms about
prodding the beehive. The Brotherhood's statisticians might enjoy
flipping coins and waiting to see how the probabilities fell out.
He was amenable to a more proactive approach.

That would
require a few Hail Marys but not nearly so many for what he had
planned.

With false modesty he said, "
Gracie,
gracie
. If I may, I would like to spend the
evening in prayer. I feel the need to restore … my
soul."

The Monsignor
gave him a sly smile and murmured, "Of course."

Andreas nodded
respectfully as he turned to leave, but he paused as the Monsignor
called out, "The chapel will have no visitors this evening. Feel
free to use it at your leisure."

Andreas
hastened through the dark corridors searching for the small
entryway into the vestry. He smiled at the bald-faced lie. Yes, he
had needs, not for his soul, but needs that pressed heavily on his
groin, pressure so great he could barely function, his mind
clouded. Perturbations in the energy fields niggled at his
consciousness, and he knew he ought to pay attention, but he had
priorities. One priority now. Find a vessel and recharge. The
Monsignor's offer was more than generous.

Andreas slipped
into the small chapel, entering through the side door nearest the
altar. Weak light from the votive candles near the statue of the
Virgin cast shadows onto the ceramic tile floor. Two elongated
shadows, one steady, one wavering, caught his eye. He sighed with
relief. The good Monsignor was not without compassion for his
flock.

He spoke softly
to the kneeling figure. "Come with me, my dear. Your time in prayer
has been well-spent. Now you shall reap the rewards for your
devotion."

Andreas lifted
the small form off her knees, more roughly than he intended, but
the demands of his body were great and he had little patience left
for the niceties the prioress expected. He led the novitiate out of
the chapel and down the hall to a cubicle set aside for
contemplation and privacy.

He motioned for
the girl to enter. "In here."

When she
hesitated, he shoved her roughly inside, then closed and securely
latched the door. A single candle burned steadily on a rough-hewn
round table. A cot with wood planks normally supporting a mattress
lay bare but for a single woolen blanket bunched at the foot of the
bed. The stone walls were free of adornment, not even a cross, and
would insulate any sound. Satisfied he would be undisturbed, he
turned to the novitiate.

"Let me see
you."

He tilted her
chin so that the veil molded to her face. Andreas pulled at the
wimple, sliding it back off her shaved head and exposing a face
rapturous in anticipation. He slipped the scapula and wimple off,
then grimaced with distaste. A girl, not much more than a child.
The prioress had her nerve sending him one so young, and most
assuredly a virgin. He had hoped for someone with experience who
could pleasure him without the tedious need for instruction.

There was
nothing for it. She would have to do since he was out of time and
nearly out of energy. Unfortunate for both of them. He pointed to
the cot as he parted his robe.

"Bend over and
lift your habit. And, girl…" Andreas gave a small concession to her
inexperience, "…there will be pain." Her whimper of fear, then
expulsion of breath, brought a smile to his face. He fingered the
stiletto, then cast it aside. Best not to be tempted. He had the
entire night ahead of him to recharge.

****

Antonio
finished handing out pouches filled with gold coins to the five men
he trusted most in his company.

"You know what
to do. I want answers by tonight. The longer we wait, the less
chance we have for recovery. Go. Now."

Antonio knew
with certainty that his brother and the woman, Veluria, would rush
to the safety of France. Even if she were not actually tied to the
French court through marriage or blood, the Medici family influence
carried sufficient weight that just the mere presence of his
youngest brother in those territories would offer innumerable
opportunities to exploit a fragile political truce.

The Venetian
propensity to instigate hostilities was a never-ending source of
irritation for all concerned. François would do most anything to
insure a measure of peace, at least in the short term until the
matter of the Spanish succession was put to rest. Offering to
negotiate the return of his brother in exchange for some as yet
unnamed advantage would suit all parties involved.

That was the
problem—that his brother would be returned, with or without
Veluria. Antonio needed to mediate in such a way that he gained
control over Stefano's destiny. If the French woman was what he
wanted, then he would have her. If he could mount a retrieval
before they crossed the border into French territories, he would be
in a position to dictate terms. Once in France he would need
additional leverage to extricate the pair. It wasn't a matter of
where they were going, it was a matter of how.

Antonio had
dispatched his men to seek out which ships had set sail on the tide
and which were readying within the next two days. Overland was
fraught with dangers, though he knew his brother to be a fine
horseman. If it were him, he would opt for keeping a low profile
and have the woman masquerade as a boy servant—her petite frame and
young features would surely serve her well in that role. He prayed
his brother would eschew the inconvenience of an extended trip by
horseback, or even by carriage, in favor of a more comfortable
voyage on a well-appointed ship.

The violent
fluttering in his gut convinced him he was on the right track,
though the strange sensations in which he normally placed his
utmost trust seemed askew. Dovetail joints just slightly out of
plane. He sensed another energy, faint but building in
strength—familiar, yet alien. It had a congruence with his own
energies that he had felt in the corridor two nights ago when all
this had started and he had found his existence complicated, turned
upside down, by a petite vixen.

Veluria's
intelligence, her beauty, her arrogance and fearlessness—all might
have caught his attention on their own merits. But there was
something more, something that prodded those private places deep
inside, where his heart sheltered from his world of violence and
mayhem.

Cosimo had been
quite right. The family had made him what he was: soul-less, adept
at deception and manipulation, cruel in the pursuit of the higher
good—that of the family—and methodical in his application of force
to achieve his desired ends. He understood power above all else.
But until he had met Veluria, with her peculiar hold on him, he had
not permitted anyone, leastways a woman, to gain a foothold into
the one thing he most feared—his heart.

Only his
brothers had access to that secret place. He'd vowed to protect
them at all costs yet with a single act of youthful stupidity
Stefano had managed to unleash the demon who threatened them
all.

He could almost
justify lashing out at his youngest brother, given the nature of
the game they played and the stakes involved. It was far too easy
to say Stefano had brought it on himself with his foolish actions.
But in his gut he recognized the demon for what he was—a creature
that derived satisfaction from administering pain to another, even
his own brother.

His own mixture
of guilt and regret, however, were far less troubling than the
perplexing and unexpected way Stefano had reacted to the
punishment. The act had brought a wash of … pleasure to his
brother. The boy's body had vibrated with such sensual ecstasy that
he'd been reluctant to stop, to put an end to sharing such
exquisite torture. Only the presence of his men, and their
collective horror at what he was doing, had imposed some semblance
of sanity. He'd released his brother to his squad and left because
he simply did not understand the dynamics. He'd become painfully
aware that Stefano's actions that evening had left a lasting
impression, had in fact changed something elemental in his
make-up.

"Damn!" Antonio
heaved a chair against the wall. Such introspection served no
purpose other than to agitate and distract him. He needed
answers.

He needed to
trace the energy signature gaining strength by the hour. Grabbing
his cape he strode into the cool night, sniffing like a hound on a
scent and opening himself to every sensation, every energy.
Convinced he was correct, he turned left and strode purposefully in
the direction of the Cathedral.

****

Andreas
rearranged his robes, wishing fervently for a basin of water and a
cloth. He despised his unclean state, the rough wool on his aching
cock, the incessant throbbing in his ankle that transmitted all the
way to his hip.

He glanced at
the girl lying huddled on the wooden boards. He'd covered her with
the nondescript woolen blanket, though it did little to stem her
shivering. Too inexperienced, she'd been barely adequate for his
needs. It hadn't helped that his damn sixth sense had set off
incessant alarm bells that interfered with his pleasure.

It was time to
return to Cosimo's palazzo. He had a suspicion events had unfolded
while he'd been otherwise occupied. Fingering the stiletto he
allowed himself a moment to indulge his fantasy, then shrugged and
told the girl, "Stay here until morning. The prioress will come for
you."

With a smile
Andreas slipped out the door and turned left, hastening toward the
rear stairwell that led past Monsignor's private apartments. As he
rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, he stopped, curious,
all senses on high alert.

I know that
energy. It belongs to the Dark One. What in God's name is he doing
here—in this corridor, in the middle of the night?

The only
satisfactory answer was that the Demon was seeking him. And that
should not be possible. All their research indicated his powers,
though impressive, should have been limited. He should not be able
to track others of his kind.