The Shades of Time (44 page)

But you will
see her safe.

Yes.

Then prepare
yourself.

Friedrich must
not live.

I know.

Are you strong
enough…?

I am strong
enough for this.

Hissing as he
stepped aside, taking his weight on his injured leg, the tall man
hefted his sword and angled away from the table on which Veluria
lay.

Nico challenged
the Duke, his voice resolute, "Let us finish this."

Friedrich
sneered, "As you wish." He followed Nico to the center of the room,
his sword held easily in his right hand. "It will give me great
pleasure to send my condolences to Cosimo. Such a tragedy to lose
two sons on the same day."

Whatever Nico
said was lost in the clang of steel and the clatter of bits of wood
hitting walls and floor. Andreas ran to the table on which Veluria
lay and tore at the unyielding straps. He pulled his stiletto from
the folds of his robe and hacked madly at the restraints, moaning
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," as he connected with soft tissue on her
wrists. When her hands were free, he pulled the gag out of her
mouth and set to work on her legs. After helping her to sit up, he
searched for something to cloth her battered body.

Veluria nodded
at a nearby chair and croaked, "My dress." He slipped it over her
head, carefully smoothing the soiled fabric along her petite
frame.

She pointed to
an ornate ladies' stiletto lying by Stefano's body. He shook his
head and said, "Leave it. We must hurry." Taking her hand he guided
her toward the tapestry and the escape opening.

This was not
how he imagined that first touch, that loving burst of sensuous
pleasure, fingers entwining in wicked warmth, exploring. Instead
all he felt was bile rising in his throat as he fought against the
anger threatening to consume him. None of them was worthy of her.
Even damaged she was more precious than gold.

He'd set in
motion what needed to be done. His last task in this world was to
save the only thing worth salvaging, even if he never touched or
saw her again.

This was the
truest test of his worth.

He would not
let her down.

****

Nico was only
barely aware that Andreas and Veluria had made their escape. The
Duke continued to taunt and tease him, inflicting minor damage,
weakening him until he had no recourse but commit a fatal
error.

He gasped,
"What did you hope to gain, you bastard?" Advancing, he pressed
Friedrich toward a pile of debris on the floor behind him but the
man cleverly sidestepped to a clear area.

Chuckling, the
man refused to engage, preferring to let his sword speak on his
behalf. It was a debate that for once Nico was not going to win.
Too late to dodge, his reflexes lost to pain and weariness, he felt
the blade slide in, aware only of a comforting warmth, not even
sure what part of his body bore the blunt trauma.

Sinking to his
knees he swung wildly, the weight a burden he could no longer bear.
Stars danced in his eyes as he awaited the final blow. He hoped
Tonio would greet him with forgiveness in his heart. For Stefano,
he simply prayed that God would show mercy for a misguided young
man.

Locking eyes
with the devil himself, Nico lifted his sword to parry the blow one
last time. Friedrich's dark eyes turned smoky, savoring the
pleasure, lips parted in anticipation, pink foam speckling his
cruel mouth as he sighed his last breath.

Stefano
released the stiletto jammed into the duke's throat and let the man
slide boneless to the floor. Sinking to his knees, he stared into
his brother's eyes and murmured, "Tell Papà I died well, Nico.
Don't let him know…"

Nico caught his
brother as he pitched forward. When Paulo and his men burst into
the chamber, he sat cradling Stefano's body, staring dry-eyed at
the wreckage of his life.

His last thought before slipping into oblivion was,
I did what you wanted. I hope to hell your world
is worth it.

Chapter
Thirty-Three

Andreas
nervously fingered the braided wool cincture loosely resting on his
hips.

"Hold still,
boy." Matteo fiddled with the amice, wrapping it around Andreas'
neck and shoulders. He smoothed the fabric over the long linen
garment, murmuring, "…helmet of salvation…"

Turning to face
Matteo, Andreas intoned, "…may I deserve nevertheless eternal joy,"
as his superior adjusted the long thin vestment over his narrow
shoulders. The words stuck in his throat. 'Eternal damnation'
seemed more appropriate to his situation.

Matteo
muttered, "Where did I put the maniple?" as he searched through the
pile of vestments on the cot. "Ah, found it." He turned to stare
solemnly at Andreas but pride flecked his eyes with gold.

"Dammit, can
you help me with this?" Andreas tightened the rope holding the
vestments in place.

Laughing Matteo
said, "Don't forget the words."

"Yeah, yeah,
continence…" he grimaced, "and what was that other thing?"

"Chastity."

"Right."

He ducked his
head as the older man settled the heavy chasuble over his
shoulders. Matteo smoothed his unruly hair back behind his ears and
said softly, "It's just a traditional saying, Andy." Concern
creased Matteo's face.

Andreas knew
he'd been distant, moody, using the excuse that he needed
meditation after the trials of his mission. Although his injured
ankle was largely mended, the medics had recommended removing the
pins and subjecting him to the machinations of their torture
devices to strengthen the bones. He had welcomed the discomfort and
painful rehabilitation.

Matteo leaned
down and brushed his lips, his hand cupping his chin gently. It was
all he could do to not cringe in revulsion. The last thing he
deserved was this man's affection in light of his monumental
failures … and the secrets he now harbored in his soul.

Secrets he must
carry to his grave.

"Are you
ready?"

He wasn't but
he followed Matteo into the corridor prepared to lie through his
teeth. But about what he wasn't sure.

****

The Three were
the last to take their seats. Andreas knelt on the hard marble
dais, head bowed in respect. Once more he faced the full Council,
something few operatives ever encountered in their short working
careers, let alone twice in succession.

He had no idea
why he merited such attention. The debriefing had been, at best,
perfunctory, the half-truths he'd spewed sufficient to allay
concerns about his lack of detail. He'd had what the scribes called
'continuity issues' but he managed to gloss over the more glaring
holes in his recitation, alluding to the rigors of the flight from
the Habsburg territories and concerns over the failing health of
the Sisterhood's operative.

Matteo rose and
said, "Please take a seat, Father."

He moved to
comply, carefully arranging his vestments. The chasuble lay heavy
on his shoulders and he longed to remove the unwieldy garment.
Sweat pooled on his brow and ran in rivulets down his back. The
maniple lay across his lap. He briefly considered using it for its
intended purpose, to wipe away sweat, but decided against giving
them the satisfaction.

He glanced at
his superior but the man was in quiet conversation with two of his
colleagues. There was nothing about Matteo's demeanor to give him
pause, yet an undercurrent of suspicion lay like a pall over the
proceedings. As usual he listened with only half an ear while the
scribe reviewed the documents, reading his statement in measured
tones—a mere formality as the fifteen members would have fine-tooth
combed every phrase, searching for inconsistencies.

He'd allowed
for a sufficient number to give his story credibility. What he
could not account for were outcomes.

That's why he
was here.

"Can you please
tell us…"

"…and what
happened after…"

"How can you be
sure…"

With flat tones
he fielded each question, keeping his face blank, preparing for the
summary statement. Matteo would not be accorded that privilege,
given their acknowledged relationship. He'd gone into the
proceedings aware of that fact, yet it left him with a feeling of
disquiet. These men were masters of innuendo. Matteo's special spin
might have been all he needed to lay this matter to rest once and
for all.

His stomach
sank when the head of The Three rose and walked behind the row of
chairs on the dais, circling the bench and approaching his
position. He quickly bent his head to mask his dismay.

Instead of
stopping in front of Andreas, the stocky prelate walked over to a
projection table where a tech stood ready with a remote.

"I'll take
that…" The prelate reached for the remote, then turned and waved
Andreas to join him.

Somewhere off
to his left a voice instructed the attendants to clear the room.
For a moment he could swear everyone held their collective breaths
until the final soft swoosh as the chamber doors sealed.

The prelate
said, "Well then," and clicked the remote.

The image
danced and wavered, too pixelated for clarity. The prelate cursed
and adjusted the gain, but the projection stayed out of focus.

"Does anybody
know how to use this damn thing?"

Matteo jumped
down from the dais and took the device away from the frustrated
man. With deft fingers he altered the settings, then handed the
device back to his superior. The prelate grunted his thanks and
waved Matteo back to his seat. His superior moved past him, a hand
lovingly brushing his back. The small gesture gave him a measure of
comfort.

It was
immediately dispelled when he turned to the holographic image.
Blood drained from his face, leaving him light-headed and nauseous.
He doubted he was the only one.

The head of The
Three nodded respectfully and said, "Reverend Mother. Kind of you
to join us today."

The woman
smiled warmly and replied, "My pleasure, Jules. It's been too
long."

'Jules'? To his
knowledge no one, absolutely no one, had ever spoken with, let
alone seen the Church's head. Apparently he'd been wrong. He risked
a backward glance at the rest of the Council members. Only the
remaining two members of The Three were not in a state of
shock—everyone else sat with mouths agape.

Andreas fought
the urge to step behind the prelate, out of line of sight. Flight
was not an option, though it crossed his mind.

The man he now
knew as 'Jules' continued the exchange of pleasantries, directing
the woman's attention to each member of the Council. She nodded to
each in turn, then said firmly, "I understand you have good news
and bad news for me."

"Um, yes." He
gripped Andreas arm, anchoring him in place. "We've secured an
accord with the competing factions, each allowing oversight." That
was clearly the good news.

"But not
disarmament…?" The woman looked both displeased and resigned with
the state of affairs. Jules looked like he agreed with the woman's
assessment.

Regretfully,
the man answered, "Yes, Madam, but under the circumstances, perhaps
the most logical outcome."

The woman asked
Jules, "Is this the one?" and focused her attention on Andreas.

The man called
Jules released Andreas' arm and backed away, leaving him to face
his judge, jury and executioner alone.

"Tell me…"

****

The morning air
still held the bite of autumn, Andreas' breath hanging in a soft
grey mist as he panted from the exertion of carrying Veluria
through the dense forest.

They'd run the
horses to exhaustion, finally resorting to staggering through the
woods on foot. Andreas' bare feet ached from the cuts and bruises
but he knew his discomfort was nothing compared to the pain that
Veluria silently endured. He'd been aghast at the amount of blood
she'd lost, the back of her dress sodden. Not for the first time he
wished he'd stayed and killed the bastard who'd violated her rather
than delegating that task to Nicolo de' Medici.

He needed to
find shelter and food, yet the district remained devoid of human
habitat, not even a stray sheep herding cabin to offer respite from
the elements.

Tenderly he
laid the frail form on a nest of pine needles. She shivered, still
unconscious, and he sensed her life force draining away.

An opening to
his right gave promise to a break in the endless tract of pine and
rocky soil. They'd been on a downhill slope for hours. He prayed
he'd find a village, a stream, something that would offer up a
smattering of hope.

****

"But you are
certain that the assassination was carried out?"

"Yes, Madam. As
I said, I procured transport and continued on to Tuscany." He
paused, trying to recall the exact sequence of events.

"And…?"

"The woman,
Veluria, was … damaged. Beyond my capacity to help." He allowed
tears to moisten his cheeks. "She was brave to the end, Madam. You
and the Sisterhood can be proud of her contribution."

Reverend Mother
gave him a strange look, a mixture of sadness and regret. Shuffling
on the dais reminded him he needed to continue.

"I stopped at
an inn close to Florence. The news had already arrived. The death
of the Duke, the de'Medici boy. Of Nicolo I had no information
other than lack thereof, so I assume he still lives."

Lived
. His head ached and his ankle
still throbbed. Somehow he suspected the woman was not buying any
of it.

Jules
interjected, "That would be consistent with our current
situation."