The Shades of Time (36 page)

Now they both walked in the shadow of history, condemned to
repeat its mistakes. Nothing changed. Nothing ever would. Not
unless
he
did
something about it. She and his father had called him 'the key'. He
hoped to hell they were right.

Sitting on the
bunk, he lifted Veluria into his arms, gently cradling the still
form, rocking her as he would have done with the daughter denied
him for all time. She lived, though barely, the breaths coming
shallow, slowing imperceptibly and he feared she willed her life
force away.

"Veluria, don't
leave me, please," he whispered into her tangled mass of hair, one
hand stroking her cheek, the other pressed against her back.

With a start he
realized the fabric was sticky and when he pulled his hand away it
was slick with blood.

"Sweet Jesus,
what is this?"

Turning Veluria
over, he stared tight-lipped at the streaks of blood imprinted on
the thin blouse. With trembling fingers he took his blade and
sliced through the fabric, revealing pale ridges of welts in a
pattern he recognized. She'd been whipped, though not recently.
These were old wounds, healed over, yet now some split and opened
afresh, spilling her heart's blood.

Willing power
into her frail form, he crushed her to his chest and made a deal
with deities he did not quite believe in. Throat tight, he hummed a
lullaby he'd crooned to his daughter, the infant he'd held close—in
his mind and in his heart but never in his arms, kept away from his
child through spite and hatred and vindictiveness.

He'd vowed
never to shed another tear, yet as darkness fell and the woman
barely clinging to life continue to slip from his grasp, all he had
left were his tears. Pulling a worn blanket about her, he
determined to stave off the icy tendrils of death welcoming them
both.

"I'll do it.
Whatever it takes. Just tell me what to do, Veluria," his voice
cracked with emotion. Begging he cried, "Please. Don't leave me. I
don't want to be alone anymore."

****

Veluria
registered soft murmurings, a voice echoing down a long, dark
tunnel, then the sharp sting and burn, igniting her back in blazing
heat. Groaning, she cried out, "Stop! What the hell are you
doing?"

"Cleaning your
wounds, sweetheart. Be still. I know it hurts."

Hurt? 'Hurt'
didn't touch it. She squirmed but Nico had her in a vice grip and
wasn't letting go. What the hell had happened? He was obviously
treating wounds of some kind. Had she fallen? She couldn't
remember…

"This will feel
better." The man didn't sound as sure as she would have liked given
the extent of discomfort she suffered.

My back, what's
the matter with my back?

"Nico…?"

"I'm sorry,
love. I can't put you out like Tonio could. I don't know how." The
effort to speak his brother's name took an obvious toll as he
paused for several heartbeats before saying, "Give the tallow some
time to work."

She yelped in
surprise as the hot wax coated her raw flesh, his fingers carefully
spreading the cooling makeshift salve with a gentleness that
surprised and impressed her.

"Is that
better?"

She mumbled a
string of curses into the rough cloth of his jerkin then stopped
when he hissed a breath and went still. He carefully lifted her up
and set her down on the bunk, then rose and stood over her, a
peculiar expression on his face. She allowed her eye to travel down
his long torso, confirming what she suspected.

The tall man
picked up the bowl and soiled cloths and set them on the small
table. She thought he might withdraw but instead he came to kneel
next to her, lightly stroking her hair.

"Rest now."

"Nico, what
happened?"

"I'm not sure.
You have old wounds that opened. Almost as if they were new."

Dear Holy
Mother. Stefano. The willow stick. How could she have forgotten?
What was happening to her?

"Something's
wrong, Nico. None of this is right." She rose to her elbows with
difficulty, the tallow cracking and sloughing off but the pain had
lessened to where she hardly noticed it.

The man's face
was a terrible thing to observe. Anger and dismay and a thousand
other emotions played across his features.

"My brother did this." The man's eyes turned dark with killing
rage. He spat out, "
Both
of them."

Sputtering,
"No, don't ," her throat caught as she struggled to say the man's
name, "don't blame Antonio."

She sat up with
an effort, all too aware she bared her breasts to his hungry gaze.
He reached down and pulled the blue-black tresses forward,
arranging the long strands carefully to cover her nakedness. His
fingers grazed the soft flesh, sending a chill up her spine, heat
pooling between her legs. It was an unexpected consideration, an
unexpected … pleasure.

"Forgive me,
M'lady, I ruined your garment. I will find something else for you
to wear." He spoke stiffly and she worried he had reason to be
angry with her though she couldn't figure out why.

"No, M'lady. My
anger is for Antonio who unleashed the corruption in Stefano."

She'd forgotten
he could read her thoughts when her defenses were down. Everything
she'd been taught, all that had come automatically, a result of
training and discipline, flew in the face of the man's superior
power. In the deepest recesses of her mind, the one place she still
controlled, she wondered if this man, the key, was more powerful
than all of them.

The man's face remained grimly stretched tight over
sharp-edged cheek bones, dark stubble adding danger and allure in
equal measure. Fine lines radiated from wide-set blue-grey eyes,
the brows coming together in a stern expression. With his thin lips
set in a straight line he looked like a man who faced life with a
dour austerity, yet she'd seen him relaxed and at ease with his
men, laughing and joking. She'd liked that man.
This
one she wasn't as sure
about.

"It wasn't his
fault, Nico. The darkness in Stefano was always there. It would
have come out no matter what." She grimaced, remembering the subtle
signs that she'd used to her advantage to bind the young man to
her. Of them all, she'd been the most culpable. She'd awakened the
beast. Antonio had simply opened the door.

Reverend
Mother, I should not be here. Bring me home before I lose
myself.

When the time
is right, my child. Only then.

Nico stared at
her oddly, as if he could almost hear that particular conversation,
one designed to be a closely guarded secret. But that wasn't
possible. Even linked, he should not be privy to those most covert
thoughts.

His mouth
curled upward in a cruel parody of a smile. He said softly, "There
is blame enough to go around, M'lady."

She was growing
weary of the formality, the incessant use of 'M'lady' in an effort
to distance himself from his desire. Every instinct dictated that
she unleash her wiles, force him to acknowledge and move on his
lust. At least then she would be on familiar footing, and not
engaged in a cat-and-mouse game of reluctant seduction.

"Be careful
what you wish for, Veluria." He stood over her and stared, his blue
eyes crystalline and sharp, hard as diamonds. At that moment in
time he looked like he hated and loved her in equal measure. When
he finally spoke, the threat pierced her like an icicle through the
heart. "You won't like me that way."

"You said 'when
we find comfort in each other's arms'. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I
remember. But today is not that day." He turned and left the cabin
so quickly she barely registered his leaving.

****

Damn his
foolish heart. The woman vexed him, tempted him beyond a man's
endurance. He was beginning to appreciate why both his brothers had
fallen under her spell. But he was not them.

He knew a thing
they had not. Veluria was destined to be his … but on his terms,
not hers. And nothing, no one, would stand in his way. He planned
to possess her and keep her safe, even if he had to destroy both
their worlds to make it so. When she'd nearly slipped away, he'd
been shocked and dismayed at the level of his despair. Whatever
happened, losing her was not an option, but he wasn't foolish
enough to think he controlled his own destiny.

What do I need
to do to convince you to stay with me?

She'd been sent to safeguard
her
world.
His
destiny lay on a different path.
He must vouchsafe his house and his lineage, and Veluria was the
means to accomplish that. Cosimo understood that better than any of
them, his gift of prescience shared the night before he'd embarked
for Spagna. Yet, as with all things, there was a murkiness to the
prognostication that left far too much room for interpretation and
misguided judgments.

She thought
them all naïve and unschooled, unable to understand the
particulars—and in some ways she was correct. But the more time he
spent with her, the more he penetrated her powers, the easier it
was to adjust to a new mindset.

The captain of
the vessel interrupted his thoughts. "We'll be making port by
morning, sir. Is there anything you need before then?"

"Um, yes. Do
you happen to have any women's clothing on board?"

The captain
gave him a sly smile and nodded yes.

"Well then,
bring what you have. My lady desires clean clothes before
disembarking." He motioned to the cabin and said, "Leave them by
the door. I will see that she gets them."

The captain
tipped the brim of his cap and turned away.

Nico continued
to stare at the rolling waves, the weather still unsettled, causing
the ship to pitch uncomfortably. He was hungry, his belly growling,
but the hunger extended far beyond that.

Yes, I
remember, M'lady. But I want more than comfort, more than simple
sexual release. I don't want your false promises.

What I want is
a sacrifice I do not deserve. I want you to choose.

I want you to
choose … me.

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

The Monsignor
looked displeased enough to give even Andreas pause. Much resided
on the man's ambitions, and connections, to ease his path. If he
withdrew his patronage, Andreas would be forced to secure other
means to insinuate himself into the Habsburg stronghold.

The sense of
urgency, of time speeding up, had engulfed him with an almost
physical presence when he'd exited the gateway, wiping away the
satisfaction of his lover's embrace. It was a rude reminder that
the games he played had consequences—and he'd been removed from the
chessboard long enough that he was now at a disadvantage.

"It's been
weeks. I hope you have something worth my time, Andreas."

"Your Holiness,
please forgive me, but…" he parted his robe to expose the still
weeping wound on his leg, "…I was injured in my travels and was
forced to seek shelter until I healed enough to return to Venice."
Silently he thanked Matteo who had come up with the excuse, and his
scientists with their clever devices.

"Return to
Venice?" The Monsignor raised an eyebrow in interest.

"I had
intelligence from a reliable source that the Demon had pursued his
younger brother to Spagna in order to bring him back to the fold."
He gave the prelate a quizzical glance, not sure how much the man
knew about Cosimo's plans for the pup.

"Explain."

Andreas
launched into what he knew about the flight, filling in details
where necessary but leaving it vague enough that should the man
hear the real story he could lay any misinformation at the feet of
unreliable rumor.

"By the time I
had healed sufficiently and managed to reach Castile, it was too
late to determine what actually happened. All I knew was that the
Demon was headed west, toward the Portuguese border. I decided to
follow that lead as per your instructions." He sighed with regret,
"I fear I do not know the fate of the youngest Medici."

"Cosimo's
youngest is now firmly entrenched at Friedrich's court." The man
did not look happy at that state of affairs. With Florence and the
Papàl States all currying favor with the nominal rulers of half the
continent, the Monsignor's understanding with Siena looked to be on
shaky ground. With Habsburg backing, the Famiglia Medici stood to
make Tuscany a major economic and political power in the
region.

Andreas merely
said, "Ah," and continued with his report. While the scribe
diligently recorded pertinent details, the Monsignor looked bored
and inattentive. That changed abruptly when Andreas said, "The
Demon is dead, your Holiness."

"Antonio de'
Medici? Dead?" He leaned forward, palms splayed on the mahogany
desk, and growled, "Are you quite sure about that?"

"Yes."

"And you know
this … how?"

Andreas paused before continuing. The Order had nothing
substantial he could use to explain how and why the Demon had died,
just that he had—and the location. He knew all too well that the
devil was truly in the details and that plausibility rested solidly
on perception. The Monsignor was canny
and
perceptive. For that only the
truth would suffice.

"Only by rumor,
Holiness." He moved toward the desk, glancing furtively left, then
right. Whispering so that only the prelate could hear, he said,
"The young one's brother was part of it. She had no reason to
deceive me for how could she possibly discern my interest?"

With a wave of
his hand, the Monsignor dismissed the scribe. When they were able
to talk freely, the Monsignor asked, "Do you have any details?"