The Shades of Time (37 page)

"Regretfully,
no. It seemed enough to establish the veracity of the claim without
pressing for unnecessary details." He gave the man a sly grin. "I
was, after all, occupied with other pursuits."

The Monsignor
laughed out loud. "So your … appetites continue to stand you in
good stead. Well done, Father." He stood and moved toward his
quarters but before exiting the chamber he asked, "Have you done
sufficient penance, my son?"

Heat pooled in
Andreas' groin, his cock responding to the implied promise. He
lowered his head and sighed, "No, Sire, I fear no penance shall
ever be enough."

"Well then,
retire to your quarters and rest. You shall join me on the morrow.
We make haste to Friedrich's court."

"You,
Holiness?"

"Hmm, yes. I
was fortunate enough to secure the Papàl Legate's charge to extend
best wishes on the happy union of those houses. Friedrich stands to
gain some importance now that Cosimo has singled him out for
Florence's special attentions." His tone turned sharp. "Our
interests, and those of Venice, must be seen to."

Andreas
muttered, "I understand," and turned to leave.

As he limped to
the door, the Monsignor called out, "Father? Should I send someone
to assist you with your meditations?"

Without turning
around, he simply nodded assent, a grin splitting his features.
With any luck his meditations would include the young novitiate.
For all her inexperience, he'd rather enjoyed that encounter.

In the
meantime, he would use the seclusion to concentrate on finding the
whereabouts of Veluria. Her presence was a palpable thing, yet he
knew she was not in the city, a fact that distressed him and taxed
his patience.

The Sisterhood's operative would have come to the same
conclusion as the Council. Whatever was about to happen was
centered on the Habsburg court.
She
would be there. He counted himself fortunate that
he understood the power of anticipation—something Matt had taught
him. Once he sorted out the major players and determined the
sequence of events, he would decide how best to secure the prize …
Veluria.

He'd almost
dozed off when a tap on the door roused him from the near slumber.
The same girl stood transfixed in the doorway, eyes lowered
demurely, but when he took her hand he sensed an eagerness that had
been lacking before.

He gently
removed the cape, pleased to find she'd been allowed to grow her
hair back, the dark brown curls a short cap on her lovely head.
Pressing her to her knees he parted his robe and fondled the silky
strands as her clever tongue explored with bold strokes.

He would not be
returning to this wretched time and place. There would be none to
care about a young sinner who succumbed to the joys of the flesh.
He fingered his stiletto, willing patience. The night was long and
there was no need to rush.

****

Nico lowered
himself from the carriage, surprised at how stiff and sore he felt.
He didn't like to admit it, but he wasn't the man he used to be. He
turned to assist Veluria, helping her gather the folds of the rich
gown to keep the hem from scraping on the wet stones.

She seemed
marginally better, the wounds finally healing after he'd insisted
she see a surgeon in Rome. The Pope had sent his personal aide once
Nico explained the need for discretion. He'd not planned on
revealing Antonio's death to anyone but Cosimo, but circumstances
dictated otherwise. Leo was his father's right hand, and owed his
position as pope solely to his family connections. Of the few
people in the world he trusted, his father's cousin was one of
them.

In a way,
telling Leo had taken the hard edge of pain away, not making the
telling any easier but at least it gave him a template to use once
he confronted Cosimo. His father would demand details and there
would be no way to hide his final solution. The man's powers would
never allow such a deception.

Are you
worried?

No … yes. I'm
not looking forward to this.

Do you wish me
to be there when you tell him?

No, sweetheart.
This is best done without you being there.

He chuckled and
felt a wave of relief when Veluria flashed him an answering smile.
The silent communication suited them, building a layer of trust,
one day at a time. Unfortunately their link was often unreliable, a
fact that irritated him more than Veluria. She seemed to find his
ability to penetrate her thoughts disconcerting at best.

What would she
think if she knew of his power to access that most secret of places
… her link with the woman she called Reverend Mother?

"You need to
rest. The journey was not easy and I am concerned that you still
suffer those … episodes." Nico understood all too well what was
happening to his woman and he felt powerless to stop it. He hoped
his father—if he could get past his grief—would be able to shed
some light on how to deal with it.

"All right but
we'll need to talk, all of us together. Soon." She pinched her
mouth shut, the tension closing her eyes to dark slits.

"I understand
the need for haste. But we must have a plan. It serves none of our
ends to rush in without understanding all that has transpired." He
waved his manservant forward. "Take my lady to my quarters and see
to her comfort, Tomas."

The man looked
mildly surprised but recovered quickly and took Veluria's arm,
leading her into the palazzo and disappearing from view. Nico took
a deep breath and waited outside for his father's summons, muted
bird song and the distant sounds of gardeners tending to the
estate's grounds helped settle his racing heart.

"Sir?"

Nico startled
but gathered himself and followed Cosimo's secretary into his
father's private suite.

He looked
around with interest, as if viewing the space for the first time.
While his own taste favored a certain level of austerity, Cosimo
preferred the ornate flourishes so unique to the Florentine elite.
In truth, it had been years since he'd seen his ancestral home.
Much of his adult life had been spent in the service of rulers like
Carlos, or prowling the halls of power in Rome and Venice. As his
father's personal envoy, he represented his homeland, yet he was as
rootless and adrift as any vagrant. It took the grief of his
child's death, and the potential of the woman waiting for him in
his quarters, to underscore how much he'd missed in his life. Like
all of them, he felt the press of time.

A large window
overlooked the small gardens to the rear of the palazzo. In the
distance, clouds boiled over the rolling hills, dark and ominous, a
fitting tribute to his mood.

"Nicolo."
Cosimo's voice had an edge to it.

Nico waited for
his father to join him, delaying the inevitable. The man already
knew but he would need to hear the words.

"Father,
I-I…"

Cosimo took his
arm and led him to a bench seat near the fireplace, bidding him to
sit. He'd rather pace the room but his father would want to look
directly into his eyes, to assure himself that his son was not
trying to hide the truth. The elder settled himself stiffly and
glared dry-eyed for a long moment.

Nico opened to
the probing, laying bare all he knew, all he understood. He spoke
quietly and succinctly about that day, about his older brother's
final breath and what had passed between them. Holding back nothing
he shared his pain, the animal rage and the final act of
revenge.

Before he could
continue, trying to make sense of the impossible for his father's
benefit, Cosimo interrupted.

"Is she worthy,
boy?"

"Yes, father,
she is worthy."

Cosimo rose and
wandered back to the window, now streaked with rain coming down in
torrents.

"You see, my
son, the heavens shed tears for us."

Nico joined
him, the two men staring sightless, lost in their own thoughts.

Cosimo said,
"He's not really gone, you know." He touched a hand to his heart,
then reached over and pressed the palm against his son's tunic. "He
lives in you, he always has."

"Sometimes,
Papà, I wish it were not so."

"We seldom get
what we wish, boy. Now tell me what you know before the pain takes
me to my bed. My time on this earth grows short and there is still
much to do."

Nico quickly
recapped the dangers and opportunities as he understood them, then
waited while Cosimo processed the new information.

"I will not lie
to you, boy. I am distressed about Stefano and I fear for his
immortal soul if we leave him in Friedrich's hands."

"You knew the
rumors, father. Why did you send him in the first place? Surely
there were other options."

"Yes … and no.
You know how rumors operate, little lies and half-truths, sometimes
more but often less than the reality. I had no proof, no indication
that my boy would be…" he choked on the words, "…a willing
accomplice." Cosimo rubbed a hand across his eyes.

Nico asked,
"What do you wish me to do?"

"You will go to
Friedrich's and bring Stefano home."

"And if he does
not wish to come?"

Cosimo grinned
and said, "You are a negotiator. Convince him."

"And what
about…?"

"Not today, my
boy. I wish to retire. You will bring me the Frenchwoman in the
morning…" He held up a hand and muttered, "Yes, yes, I know she's
not French, but allow me that small anchor. What you bring to me is
an improbability, something for which we could all burn at the
stake."

Nico escorted
his father to his bedchambers and bid him good evening but before
he left Cosimo said, "You do believe her, don't you." It was more a
statement than a question.

"Yes, Papà, I
do."

"Then the
danger is real."

"Very real. But
I shall make sure our family is safe. You have my sacred trust,
Papà."

Nico hurried
through the darkening house. An odor of simmering stew wafted from
the kitchens, reminding him they hadn't eaten since morning. Though
his stomach rumbled at the tempting aromas, he hastened up the
stairs. He needed to speak with Veluria, to prepare her for her
meeting with Cosimo. He trusted her but his father did not. She
would have to earn his consideration, otherwise the man would hold
her hostage, even in the face of a disaster he'd envisioned in
nightmares.

Nightmares made
manifest by the appearance of beings out of time and place, like
avenging angels, ready to wreak vengeance on the folly of those who
sought to harness history to their own ends.

No stranger to
retreat, he knew this time it was not an option. Be that as it may,
he had no intention of letting history gain the upper hand.

****

Veluria
indulged in the luxury of a bath, soaking away the grit and grime
of travel over rough roads. Her subconscious followed the interplay
of energies between Nico and his father, using her abilities to
interpret emotion, intent, desire, if not actual words. That was an
intimacy she enjoyed only with Nico, albeit at the whim of a very
erratic gift.

Drying herself
with plush cloths, she slipped into a silk robe left for her by one
of the maids. She chuckled to herself. Even in a time when both men
and women were far shorter than people in her time, she was still
diminutive even by those distant standards. Bunching the robe about
her waist, she tied it off with a soft cord to keep the hem from
tripping her as she glided across the ceramic tiled floor.

Nico's quarters
were simple and elegant. A large bed commanded one end of the long,
narrow room, a wardrobe and chest on the west facing wall and a
writing desk and chair by the tall bank of windows that let in the
morning sun.

Someone had
come in while she bathed and lit candles, their flickering shadows
on the stark white walls giving the room an ominous air, though the
intricate wooden paneling on the ceiling softened the effect. As in
Venice, thick oriental rugs gave the space warmth and character. It
was very much a man's room, lacking any feminine touches.

Nico entered
the chamber in a rush, but paused long enough to take in her still
damp hair hanging in clumps about her shoulders. She felt suddenly
frumpish and awkward, why she wasn't sure.

She was about
to ask him how his meeting with Cosimo had gone but the man brushed
past her and began to disrobe. She watched with interest, her belly
aflutter with possibilities. Though not nearly as tall as Antonio,
he was still an imposing figure at close to six feet, well-muscled,
his chest peppered with sandy brown curls.

When he
approached, she bowed her head and asked, "Is this the time? Will
you finally find comfort in my arms?"

Nico pulled at
the cord, loosening the robe and slipping it off her shoulders. He
ran his fingers through the damp tresses, separating strands until
they lay straight down her back.

He tilted her
head up with a single finger and solemnly said, "No, madam. Not
today."

A surge of
disappointment and dismay flooded her veins but before she could
voice the question … the complaint … he scooped her in his arms and
carried her to the bed.

There was no
mistaking his interest, the feral look in his eyes—the blue of the
Aegean replaced by darkening pools of lust—and a hunger so intense
it threatened to consume her. For all her training and experience,
she knew that this time would be her first for he would command her
body and own her soul and she would willingly submit.

He hissed,
"Look at me."

As if she could
take her eyes off him … yet she hesitated, the frisson of fear at
what she was about to do sent a thrill of anticipation down her
spine. He touched her cheek, the intimacy and gentleness so
profound she could have cried from the sheer joy of it. Leaning in
he brushed her lips, tenderly at first, then demanding as his
tongue explored her essence, probing with punishing force until she
gasped and fought for a breath.