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Synopsis
With his rich evocation of the Italian Renaissance-like realm of Landfall, his uniquely appealing way with flawed yet empathic characters and his ability to write gripping scenes of both action and subterfuge, Den Patrick has already established himself as a new favourite for fans of Scott Lynch and Robin Hobb alike. Ten years have passed since the disappearence of Lucien and his protege, the young swordsman Dino, is struggling to live up to Lucien's legacy. Sworn to protect the silent queen Anea as she struggles to bring a new democracy to Demesne, Dino finds himself drawn into a deadly game of political intrigue as the aristocratic families of Landfall conspire to protect their privilege. Always ready to prove himself as a swordsman Dino is anguished to discover that in order to fulfil his vow he must become both spy and assassion. And all the while the dark secret at the heart of Demesne is growing towards fulfilment.
Release date: January 29, 2015
Publisher: Gollancz
Print pages: 417
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The Boy Who Wept Blood
Den Patrick
Great and Minor Houses of Landfall
HOUSE DIASPORA
Araneae ‘Anea’ Oscuro Diaspora
reluctant ruler of Demesne, a learned woman who yearns for a republic
Dino Adolfo Erudito
Superiore Maestro di Spada, bodyguard, and half-brother of Araneae
Achilles
Dino’s pet cataphract drake
Professore Falcone Virmyre
a scientist and friend to the Orfani
Domina Russo Maria Diaspora
Chief steward of Demesne
Fiorenza Giolla Diaspora
Housekeeper to the Domina
HOUSE FONTEIN
Duke Fontein
an elderly and conservative member of the nobility
Duchess Fontein
his notoriously bad-tempered wife
Maestro di Spada D’arzenta di Fontein
frustrated teacher of blades
Maestro di Spada Ruggeri di Fontein
laconic, to say the least
Capo di Custodia, Guido di Fontein
Duchess Prospero’s consort
Isabella Gollia Esposito
the Duke and Duchess’ reluctant housekeeper
Speranza di Fontein
a rarity, a woman messenger
HOUSE ERUDITO
Maestro Gian Cherubini
a bachelor of life, science, and the arts
HOUSE CONTADINO
Margravio Emilio Contadino
a noble of middle age, veteran of the Verde Guerra
Marchesa Medea Contadino
the soul of House Contadino, and of diplomacy
Lord Luc Contadino
just eleven, already the image of his father
Lady Isabella Contadino
a sparrow of nine summers
Massimo Esposito
the Margravio’s indispensable aide and rumoured assassin
Cook Camelia di Contadino
no-nonsense giantess of the kitchens
Nardo Moretti
a messenger and loyal servant
Maria Moretti
wife of Nardo, Housekeeper to Marchesa Contadino
HOUSE PROSPERO
Duchess Salvaza Prospero (formerly Fontein)
an ambitious and staunch conservative
Stephania Prospero
supporter of Anea, estranged from her mother, unmarried
HOUSE MARINO
Duke Lucien ‘sinestra’ Marino
Orfano, Kingslayer and ruler of San Marino, a town to south-east
Duchess Rafaela Marino
a commoner made noble through marriage
HOUSE ALLATTAMENTO
Lady Allattamento
rumoured lover of Duke Fontein, governs a House of varying fortune
Stella Allattamento
a devoted daughter keen to advance her station
Viola Allattamento
a theatrical and much spoiled daughter
Giolla di Allattamento
a niece and Lady-in-Waiting to Lady Allattamento
Angelo Allattamento
cocksure bravo and hothead
THE CULT OF SANTA MARIA
Agostina Desideria
self-proclaimed Disciple of Santa Maria
1
The Second Son of Allattamento
– 6 Giugno 325
Lady Araneae Oscuro Diaspora, formerly of House Contadino, known to her subjects as the Silent Queen, sat back from her letter-writing. Her nightgown was a pale grey silk that left her arms bare, alabaster skin almost luminous in the candlelight. As ever she wore a veil over the bottom half of her face, a neat triangle of matching fabric, a line of blue embroidery dancing along the topmost edge. Her kohl-stained eyes stared out of the lead-latticed windows; the town of Santa Maria slept in darkness beyond the glass. Blacksmiths slumbered, children snored faintly, while drunks mumbled and turned, beset by night terrors. Mothers and fathers dared dream of a prosperous, safer future.
The Silent Queen, known to those who loved her as Anea, regarded her reflection in the window. Just twenty-five, yet bearing a world of problems upon her slender shoulders. Her hair was a long and well kept mane of summer yellow, held up with a silver pin the thickness of her finger. Difficult to tell in this light if the beginnings of crow’s feet were forming at the corners of her eyes. Her desk was covered in correspondence: an endless litany of complaints from newly formed guilds, lesser nobles clutching at the crumbling vestiges of yesterday’s power. A glass of untouched red wine shone bloody in the twilight, reflecting light from thick, scented candles. Jasmine lingered on the air, calming nerves frayed by the day’s debates.
Our Lady Araneae, the great reformer, known to her opponents as the strega princess, or witchling by braver souls. Not that she had ever evinced any magic in the ten years of her reign. Anea regarded the room: finely crafted furniture and woven rugs of bright wool. The candelabrum was a simple but fine example of what House Prospero artisans were capable of these days. A framed diagram of a human body dominated the fireplace. The bookshelf stood to her right, yet opportunities to read for pleasure were few these days.
A key clicked in the lock, causing Anea to stand and turn, hands pressed against the desk. The door opened on greased brass hinges. Even Russo, her most trusted lieutenant, knocked before entering. There were three of them, sporting doublets in black with gold thread at the collar. The shoulders were slashed, showing deep red silk beneath. Black and scarlet, the colours of House Fontein. All three were male, filled with impetuous swagger, young bravos in their twenties sporting the cropped hairstyle of Maestro di Spada Giancarlo, dead these ten years.
And they were armed. Each bore the short flat blade that was so in fashion at the moment.
‘Good evening, my lady,’ said the nearest of them, a sneer on his lips. ‘Forgive me the late intrusion but I bring word from the nobili.’
His fellows stifled laughter at his mummery, Anea stared back, statue still.
‘It seems they have decided your schemes to empower the commoners do not serve their best interests. While those in the fields have begun to worship you, it is a cruel irony you are less popular here, in Demesne.’
The leader took a step forward, closing the gap between himself and the defenceless ruler. She pressed herself against the desk. He wasn’t much older than Anea. Likely half as intelligent, three times as pompous.
‘We know you won’t be turned from your dreams of a republic, so it falls to me to act. Still, hardly a reason we can’t have some fun? It’s not like you can cry out for help, is it, my Silent Queen?’
It was true. No sound had ever issued from behind the veil she wore. Some said she’d been born without a tongue, others claimed her witchery demanded silence, few knew the truth of it. The bravo stepped forward, hand reaching for the fabric hiding the lower portion of her face.
‘There’s no need for you to die with all your secrets, after all.’ He had almost grasped the veil, a savage grin making him grotesque. Anea remained motionless, green eyes flat with hatred. The faint sound of snapping wood and breaking glass startled everyone.
‘Time’s up,’ said a voice from behind them. The bravos turned as one, eyebrows raised in surprise. They quickly recovered themselves, retaining their swagger and bruised-knuckle nonchalance.
He’d been sitting in the deep leather armchair behind the door the whole time, listening to their petty theatre, enduring their poor intimidation. Deep brown hair swept to one side of eyes grey as a winter’s day, face impassive. His boots were a deep weather-beaten umber, each adorned with seven buckles in muted brass. He might have been carved from stone, attired as he was in a suit of sober grey. The scabbard lay across his lap like a death sentence. Unfussy, unadorned, it was a work of function not art. It was a container, nothing more, promising a blade long and slender. An hourglass had broken under the predations of his long clever fingers, fragments of crystal and wood littering his hands, sand ran free.
‘I should have known you’d be here,’ said the bravos’ leader, a second son of House Allattamento. He might have been called Angelo, or Antioco. He thrust out his chin and squared his shoulders, a curl to his lip. ‘It is unfortunate for you the guards outside your door could be bought so easily. Three to one.’ He flicked glances to his conspirators, who couldn’t match his bluster, looking less sure of themselves. ‘I dare say anyone in Demesne would choose such odds.’
‘I am not “anyone”.’
Dino Adolfo Erudito, Orfano and maestro superiore di spada of House Fontein, regarded the handful of sand and the broken glass with a look of dream-like introspection. A cataphract drake perched on his shoulder, staring across a flat snout with obsidian eyes. The lithe sepia-brown reptile scuttled onto the armchair and tasted the air. Dino set aside the broken timer, rising slowly, feeling the tiredness in his limbs, the itch of stubble left too long on his cheeks, the familiar icy calmness that seeped into him at times such as this.
‘The wolf spider,’ he said amiably, ‘otherwise known as Lycosidae, belongs to the order Araneae in the class of Arachnida.’
The youngest of the bravos took a half-step back, incredulity crossing his features, a question frozen on his lips.
‘It has a fine sense of vibration and particularly good eyesight, appropriate for a creature who hunts others by running them down.’ Dino stood before them with the scabbard in his left hand, looking no more threatening than a shepherd with his crook.
‘What is this shit?’ said the youngest bravo. Another second son from a minor house with nothing to lose.
‘However,’ continued Dino, undeterred, ‘many wolf spiders are content to wait for prey to pass their burrows, rushing out to attack them.’
Angelo Allattamento pulled on a grim smile and drew his sword.
‘The strega’s lost his mind.’
Dino glowered at him, wintry grey eyes shining silver in the candlelight.
‘You stepped in to my parlour. Fuckers.’
And then Dino was moving, coming forward without form, as if elemental. The scabbard darted out to one side, its tip hitting the door, which slammed shut. An outflung hand showered sand into the eyes of the bravo on his right. Curses fell from the man’s lips as he stumbled back, clawing at his eyes. His torso hammered into a bookcase, a selection of literary works raining heavily upon him. The bookcase pitched forward, knocking him to the floor.
Angelo had already struck before his co-conspirator hit the floor. Dino blocked the blow with the scabbard, stepping sideways to buy himself the extra moment to draw. When Angelo pressed in again he found his blade stopped by steel, the sound ringing in the silence of the night, a spiteful bell.
A snatched glance confirmed Anea had retreated behind her desk, putting herself beyond the immediate reach of the youngest bravo. He tried to follow, ashen-faced, blade held in trembling hand. She scanned the room for something, anything to fight back with. Her school days had been filled with more than just etiquette and sciences, but without a weapon she was greatly disadvantaged. Remaining empty-handed, she retreated further still, unable to call for help.
Dino struck low at Angelo, stepped in, taking advantage of the noble’s poor parry and his stumbling step back. Then the Orfano thrust. He expected to be turned aside, of course, but this was just a feint for the kick to the side of the knee. Angelo swore and lost his footing. He threw up another parry, which Dino batted aside with the scabbard still clutched in his left hand. His blade flickered, opening a deep gouge across the young noble’s thigh.
It had worked perfectly. He’d fought his way out of the corner and was now level with the youngest bravo, who was still summoning the courage to murder Anea. Dino mashed his pommel into the back of the young man’s head even as Angelo limped back, cursing in the old tongue. Anea’s attacker folded in on himself, clutching the back of his skull. The blade slipped from his fingers as he went down to one knee. Anea flipped the desk, the edge smashing into the bridge of her attacker’s nose. The Silent Queen circled the table, drawing the silver pin from her hair, green eyes full of terrible intensity.
Angelo of House Allattamento knew he was bested. Too wounded to run, too proud to surrender, he assembled a series of hasty strikes. Dino let him come forward, stepping aside when he could, parrying when he couldn’t, waiting, waiting.
Angelo’s vigour abandoned him just as the blood staining his britches did the same. He stumbled, exposed and unbalanced. Dino wrapped his sword arm across his body, tensing for a second, unleashing a broad swipe that ripped through the other man’s jugular. He felt the blade grind, grating against vertebrae. The second son of House Allattamento pressed a frantic palm to his undoing. His legs continued their duty for long seconds even as blood jetted hot and fierce.
‘You stepped into my parlour,’ whispered Dino, but it was regret rather than anger that gilded each word.
Angelo Allattamento hit the floor, eyes frozen wide in disbelief.
Dino turned to find Anea standing over her assailant, one hand clutching the top of his skull, the other a fist beside his throat. The man trembled and Dino stepped forward to help before realising Anea’s hair hung long and thick about her shoulders. She withdrew her fist, revealing the silver hairpin, now a slender length of scarlet. Anea stood wide-eyed, shaking with shock, staring at her red-stained hand. Blood spattered her silver-grey nightgown as it jetted from the man’s throat. The hem of her gown became a drench of gore as the man fell onto his ruined face.
The last of the bravos writhed free of the bookcase, regaining his feet amid a litter of books. He choked out an incredulous cry, eyes raw from the sand. The two Orfani turned to him, attired in the blood of his allies, gazes like flint and jade.
They hog-tied him in the end. Neither of the Orfani had the stomach for more death. The last of the bravos could wait until morning, when a sentence less final could be meted out. But the carrion stench and voided bowels of the fallen necessitated a change of quarters. The siblings haunted the corridors like shades, seeing assassins at every corner, lurking at every stairwell. This was not an unknown sensation; they’d shared a similar night ten years ago. Finally, they made the safety of Dino’s apartment in House Erudito, an orderly sort of place where weapons hung above the fireplace. Achilles slithered down from Dino’s shoulder, taking his usual perch atop the bookcase, where he stared down imperiously. Anea’s fingers began to flicker and dance.
I have not had to leave that room since the night of the fire.
‘I’d rather fight assassins than flames,’ said Dino quietly.
Do you have anything to wear?
‘Help yourself. Anything in the closet.’
She stalked out of the sitting room, head down, trying to still her nerves no doubt. Dino could still smell the iron tang of blood. Unsurprising, as he was evenly coated from the thigh down. None of it his own, fortunately. He shook his head, not able to believe the brazenness of the attempt. They hadn’t even worn masks. It wasn’t an assassination.
‘It was an execution.’
Anea emerged from the bedroom in old hose and a cerulean doublet he’d forgotten he owned.
‘Or a coup.’
She approached, slipping into his arms, pushing her forehead against his shoulder. She was shaking.
‘House Allattamento is about to see a significant reduction in its influence.’
She pulled away, fingers moving tentatively: The corruption of Landfall has spilled over into open violence. I suppose it was inevitable.
‘You need to send a message.’ Dino scowled. ‘We’ll tolerate no more of it.’
Anea nodded, but her gaze was elsewhere, lost to shocked remembering.
This does not feel like politics any more. Has war been declared? Were we too distracted to notice? Were we too arrogant?
‘The arrogance is all theirs.’
Spent and numb they approached the table where Dino took his morning repast on the rare occasions he wasn’t sleeping in Anea’s armchair. They sat at each end, feeling the distance between them.
Something was moving amid the dishes. Dino cursed. The maids hadn’t cleared the table. Not unusual as he often slept until noon with instructions not to be disturbed. His room had clearly been passed over by the staff entirely. A column of ants trooped to and from the remains of yesterday’s breakfast, carrying off fragments many times their own size. After the first wave of irritation Dino found himself quietly fascinated by their industry.
We’re infested on all sides it seems, signed Anea.
‘Looks that way. I’m not sure who are the worst pests, the ants or the nobili.’
At least the nobili are less numerous.
‘And two less as of tonight.’
Dino supplied a bottle of Barolo and two glasses from a cypress wood cabinet. They sipped wine by candlelight until the dawn arrived, watching the ants march away with their breadcrumb treasures.
2
A Letter to Lucien
– 7 Giugno 325
‘They made a pretty mess.’ Massimo cast an eye over the damage to Anea’s sitting room. Golden light filtered through the latticed windows, ablaze on the white plastered walls.
‘Anea and I were at least partly to blame.’ Dino looked down at the scattering of sand and the fractured hourglass. ‘It was Anea who threw the table, believe it or not.’
‘I can believe it.’ The swordsman grinned. Dino was caught up in the man’s expression. Being dour was its own challenge when Massimo was present. Margravio Contadino’s personal aide and messenger was shorter than Dino by a slight margin but heavier set. Some whispered he was no aide; rather his role was more akin to assassin. Dino had trouble believing such a thing. A soldier with a gentle soul, Massimo’s outlook was far from that of a jaded killer.
‘You’re awake early,’ added Massimo.
‘Not exactly. I couldn’t sleep.’
Dino watched the swordsman pick over the devastation. He was darkly good-looking, wearing an embroidered scarlet doublet. The slashed shoulders revealed the white shirt beneath. White and scarlet, the colours of his house providing a proud uniform, Massimo was rarely seen in anything else. A rapier slept in a scarlet-enamelled scabbard; a stiletto hung from his other hip. Dino was grateful that House Contadino was sympathetic to Anea. He didn’t relish the idea of facing Massimo should hostilities break out.
‘You’ve nothing to worry from me, my lord,’ said Massimo, face serious. He dropped his gaze to the pommel of his sword.
‘People are going to start talking about witchcraft if you keep reading my mind like that.’
Massimo smiled, all trace of his previous formality gone.
‘The only people accused of witchcraft are wilful women and Orfani.’
‘Anea is unfortunate to be both.’
‘Very much both.’ Massimo smiled again. ‘It’s what I like most about her.’
At twenty-six Massimo was the darling of the court. His manners were impeccable, his wit easy, wardrobe perfectly chosen. Dino felt somewhat shabby by comparison. And yet Massimo remained unattainable to every girl who fluttered fan or lashes at him. The swordsman often said his first love was duty, the blade on his hip reinforcing the claim.
‘Do people really think Anea can cast spells?’ asked Dino. ‘That’s children’s nonsense.’
Massimo shrugged. ‘The cittadini are ignorant, uneducated – they don’t know any better. I’d not be surprised if Houses Fontein and Prospero spread the rumours.’
Dino thought back to the three bravos and the guards who had abandoned their posts.
‘I sometimes think we’ll have to exterminate House Fontein down to the last drop of blood before we know peace.’
‘The Fonteins probably feel the same about the Orfani.’
‘I know they think the same about the Orfani.’
‘Well, in that case it sounds like a fair match.’ Massimo grinned again. ‘Shall we start with the duke and work our way down?’
‘You have no idea how tempting you are – I mean, how tempting that is.’ Dino turned away to cover his blushes. If Massimo noticed the slip of the tongue he declined to comment on it. Dino had always been this way around Massimo, ever since they’d been children, marching off to the Verde Guerra, the only war in Landfall’s patchy history.
Dino scuffed a boot at a bloodstain on the floor, recalling the previous night’s melee. Anea had killed a man on this exact spot with a silver hairpin and a steely resolve. It was a long silver hairpin on account of her long blond hair, etched with a repeating thorn motif, the wider end featured the illusion of rose petals. Dino knew the details of the piece well; he’d been the one to commission it, a present at last year’s La Festa.
‘It must have been quite a fight,’ said Massimo, noting the direction of Dino’s gaze. The Orfano nodded but remained silent. The bloodstain on the floor would need scalding water and plenty of soap. House Fontein guards had removed the bodies, but death lingered, an unseen shade. One was never too far from that dark spectre in Demesne.
‘I almost wish she did know magic,’ muttered Dino. ‘It might provide an answer to our problems.’
Massimo approached and clapped an arm round Dino’s shoulder.
‘Cheer up. I’ve not seen you this maudlin since Nardo sent that serving girl up to your apartment for your birthday.’
‘Yes. Thanks for reminding me.’ Dino shrugged off the aide’s arm and fought down a moment’s unease. The incident with the serving girl had left Dino facing some hard truths, truths he’d been avoiding ever since. Massimo grabbed his shoulder again and gave him a companionable shake.
‘Come on, Dino! We’ll get through this. I promise it on my life. And give yourself some credit. You defended her from three bravos who came here, key in hand. This was planned; this was a conspiracy.’
‘She defended herself too. No mean feat when you’re unarmed. Something I intend to remedy. I’m going to insist she carries a weapon and resumes her blade practice.’
‘She won’t like that much.’
‘I dare say she’ll prefer it to being dead.’
‘In that case I’d best sign up for this practice too. Do you know any good teachers?’ Massimo’s grin was broad. ‘I’ve heard the superiore is good.’
‘As if you could learn anything from me.’ Dino rolled his eyes.
‘Best to not get complacent. I’ll only keep my edge by practising with equals.’
‘Now you’re flattering me.’
Massimo shrugged and looked away. ‘What will you do about all this?’
‘I just …’ Dino regarded the bookcase that had fallen on one of the hapless bravos. ‘They had the key and they paid off the guards. All the skill in the world counts for nothing when corruption is this prevalent.’
‘You’ve given word to question the guards on duty?’ said Massimo.
‘Of course, but they’ve not been seen since last night. Whoever paid them off did it well. They’ll have absconded to the countryside to live on a fat purse.’
‘Early retirement,’ said Massimo.
‘And all they had to do was abandon Anea.’
Massimo crossed to the door before glancing back over his shoulder. ‘I’m going to fetch Virmyre. I suggest you meet us in the piazza for some sunshine and a drink. That’s the only cure for this black mood of yours.’
‘I can’t, I should—’
‘Dino, you protected her, you fought well, you have allies. Come and raise a glass to living another day. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll invent a way to live a few more?’
‘You make a lot of plans when drunk, do you?’
‘Rash decisions, mainly.’ The swordsman grinned again. ‘But you can never predict when inspiration will strike.’
‘I’ll see you there. I promise.’
Massimo exited the room, Dino’s gaze lingering on the doorway long after he’d left. Lord Contadino’s aide was his closest friend since Lucien had departed, yet there was much that Dino could not bring himself to speak of. He dropped his gaze to the bloodstain at his boots and saw a scrap of parchment beneath a rosewood box. Curiosity demanded he retrieve it, then demanded he read the fine hand that formed orderly rows of looping letters.
Dear Lucien,
I hope things are peaceful in San Marino. How I envy the full support you enjoy. The remnants of House Fontein have become even more troublesome of late. Duke and Duchess Fontein argue over every variable of the law. The remaining soldiery answer to Russo, the capo, and Dino, but I fear the old loyalties still exist. I think I will be forced to recruit soldiers directly into my own house at some point, or create a new independent army. Russo is a commanding presence and has settled into her role better than I could have hoped for.
House Prospero remains the most productive and yet the most fractious of all the houses. Stephania opposes her mother at every turn and is a worthy ally. The duchess continues to be an outspoken critic of a republic. She is still stringing Guido along but refuses to marry him. Rumours persist he grows restless.
More of House Contadino’s cittadini turn to the new religion with every passing week. I wonder if the king’s abolition of religion was such a bad thing. The converts to the faith are an unknown quantity, and while their adherents do a lot of good in the town I worry at their agenda. How do you strike a balance with the Sisters of Santa Maria in San Marino? Are they as aloof there as they are here?
Margravio and Marchesa Contadino continue to aid me where they can. A small mercy. The children are growing all the the time and are delightful.
If it weren’t for House Erudito I might despair completely. Maestro Cherubini continues to win over the minds of the lesser nobles with concise and articulate arguments. And Virmyre, of course, has been invaluable in my research with the king’s machines. Every moment I am away from my studies is a moment I fear I am failing the people who look to me. The secrets we have uncovered! Lucien, I know you distrust everything the king stood for, but if we could use that power to better everyone, rather than elevate a few … the implications are breathtaking.
Virmyre has suggested we visit the coast and I would dearly love to. I know seeing you would lift Dino’s spirits. The nine years since you left have passed all too quickly. Please give Rafaela my warmest affection. Tell your houses that Aranea Oscuro Diaspora wishes them a fine summer and a prosperous harvest.
Yours ever faithfully,
Anea
It was only as Dino reached the bottom of the page he realised the edge was red with dried blood. Two ants clung to the thick paper, marching in opposite directions before turning, unsure how to leave the island of parchment. Dino tilted the letter, regarding the insects for a few moments. They were larger than any ants he had seen before. He let the parchment fall to the floor and looked up to find Anea standing in the doorway.
I suppose I shall have to write a new letter now.
Dino nodded, feeling a pang of shame she’d caught him reading it. No secrets existed between the siblings – there had never been any cause for deception – but he felt wrong about reading her missive all the same.
Perhaps I will just add a second page.
She looked tired.
‘Did you come here alone?’
She shook her head.
‘I’m going to need you to carry a weapon. And there’ll be blade practice.’
She nodded without energy, a resignation in the set of her shoulders.
I saw Massimo. He told me he was taking you out for some air.
‘Wine would be more accurate, but I imagine there will be air involved too.’
Be careful. Although I dare say you will be safer in the town than you are in the castle.
‘Perhaps you should come too?’
I have too much to do. Go now. I will send if I need you.
Dino crossed the room and heard the crunch of glass as it broke beneath his boots. Anea smoothed out his jacket across the breast, then held him close for a moment.
‘We should go to the coast. Let these fools rule themselves – they all deserve each other.’
All?
‘No, I suppose not.’ Dino smiled. ‘Not all of them.’
As long as good men serve Landfall I will remain here, Dino. Tyranny was the rule for three hundred years.
‘I just hope it doesn’t take three hundred years to amend it, you know?’
Anea held him close again, then shooed him away with a hand.
Off with you.
‘I won’t be long.’
And be sure to trade in that long face.
‘I doubt I’ll get much for it.’
Before leaving, he watched her enter her ruined sitting room and begin to re-order the books.
3
A Bad Vintage
– 7 Giugno 325
‘And then the figlio di puttana had the audacity to claim diplomatic immunity, as if being the bastard son of Giancarlo would grant him some protection. Buco del culo.’
‘I see you’re in fine humour today,’ said the professore in his usual deadpan. He was nearing sixty, movements slowed by the passage of time. Dino had thought the walking stick an affectation at first, but Virmyre had come to rely on it more heavily with the passing of the seasons. His blue eyes were just as sharp, but the black hair was now shot through with silver, his beard the same. The once fine eyebrows were now overgrown. Another sign of time’s advance.
‘What will Anea do with him?’ said Massimo. The three of them had been sitting in the midday sun for an hour now, sipping white wine, picking at morsels of bread and ham, plucking olives from a bowl. The market on the piazza churned slowly, the shoppers too hot to move at anything more than a meander.
‘She’ll send him off to a farm to work off his penance, most likely,’ said Dino.
‘That is a fate worse than death.’ Massimo grinned, suppressing a laugh. ‘A nobile forced to do an honest day’s work.’
Virmyre joined his laughter but it was cut short.
‘Porca miseria, he’s guilty of treason.’ Dino’s voice had risen. ‘He tried to kill the queen.’ This last through gritted teeth.
‘But she’s not the queen, is she?’ said Virmyre,
HOUSE DIASPORA
Araneae ‘Anea’ Oscuro Diaspora
reluctant ruler of Demesne, a learned woman who yearns for a republic
Dino Adolfo Erudito
Superiore Maestro di Spada, bodyguard, and half-brother of Araneae
Achilles
Dino’s pet cataphract drake
Professore Falcone Virmyre
a scientist and friend to the Orfani
Domina Russo Maria Diaspora
Chief steward of Demesne
Fiorenza Giolla Diaspora
Housekeeper to the Domina
HOUSE FONTEIN
Duke Fontein
an elderly and conservative member of the nobility
Duchess Fontein
his notoriously bad-tempered wife
Maestro di Spada D’arzenta di Fontein
frustrated teacher of blades
Maestro di Spada Ruggeri di Fontein
laconic, to say the least
Capo di Custodia, Guido di Fontein
Duchess Prospero’s consort
Isabella Gollia Esposito
the Duke and Duchess’ reluctant housekeeper
Speranza di Fontein
a rarity, a woman messenger
HOUSE ERUDITO
Maestro Gian Cherubini
a bachelor of life, science, and the arts
HOUSE CONTADINO
Margravio Emilio Contadino
a noble of middle age, veteran of the Verde Guerra
Marchesa Medea Contadino
the soul of House Contadino, and of diplomacy
Lord Luc Contadino
just eleven, already the image of his father
Lady Isabella Contadino
a sparrow of nine summers
Massimo Esposito
the Margravio’s indispensable aide and rumoured assassin
Cook Camelia di Contadino
no-nonsense giantess of the kitchens
Nardo Moretti
a messenger and loyal servant
Maria Moretti
wife of Nardo, Housekeeper to Marchesa Contadino
HOUSE PROSPERO
Duchess Salvaza Prospero (formerly Fontein)
an ambitious and staunch conservative
Stephania Prospero
supporter of Anea, estranged from her mother, unmarried
HOUSE MARINO
Duke Lucien ‘sinestra’ Marino
Orfano, Kingslayer and ruler of San Marino, a town to south-east
Duchess Rafaela Marino
a commoner made noble through marriage
HOUSE ALLATTAMENTO
Lady Allattamento
rumoured lover of Duke Fontein, governs a House of varying fortune
Stella Allattamento
a devoted daughter keen to advance her station
Viola Allattamento
a theatrical and much spoiled daughter
Giolla di Allattamento
a niece and Lady-in-Waiting to Lady Allattamento
Angelo Allattamento
cocksure bravo and hothead
THE CULT OF SANTA MARIA
Agostina Desideria
self-proclaimed Disciple of Santa Maria
1
The Second Son of Allattamento
– 6 Giugno 325
Lady Araneae Oscuro Diaspora, formerly of House Contadino, known to her subjects as the Silent Queen, sat back from her letter-writing. Her nightgown was a pale grey silk that left her arms bare, alabaster skin almost luminous in the candlelight. As ever she wore a veil over the bottom half of her face, a neat triangle of matching fabric, a line of blue embroidery dancing along the topmost edge. Her kohl-stained eyes stared out of the lead-latticed windows; the town of Santa Maria slept in darkness beyond the glass. Blacksmiths slumbered, children snored faintly, while drunks mumbled and turned, beset by night terrors. Mothers and fathers dared dream of a prosperous, safer future.
The Silent Queen, known to those who loved her as Anea, regarded her reflection in the window. Just twenty-five, yet bearing a world of problems upon her slender shoulders. Her hair was a long and well kept mane of summer yellow, held up with a silver pin the thickness of her finger. Difficult to tell in this light if the beginnings of crow’s feet were forming at the corners of her eyes. Her desk was covered in correspondence: an endless litany of complaints from newly formed guilds, lesser nobles clutching at the crumbling vestiges of yesterday’s power. A glass of untouched red wine shone bloody in the twilight, reflecting light from thick, scented candles. Jasmine lingered on the air, calming nerves frayed by the day’s debates.
Our Lady Araneae, the great reformer, known to her opponents as the strega princess, or witchling by braver souls. Not that she had ever evinced any magic in the ten years of her reign. Anea regarded the room: finely crafted furniture and woven rugs of bright wool. The candelabrum was a simple but fine example of what House Prospero artisans were capable of these days. A framed diagram of a human body dominated the fireplace. The bookshelf stood to her right, yet opportunities to read for pleasure were few these days.
A key clicked in the lock, causing Anea to stand and turn, hands pressed against the desk. The door opened on greased brass hinges. Even Russo, her most trusted lieutenant, knocked before entering. There were three of them, sporting doublets in black with gold thread at the collar. The shoulders were slashed, showing deep red silk beneath. Black and scarlet, the colours of House Fontein. All three were male, filled with impetuous swagger, young bravos in their twenties sporting the cropped hairstyle of Maestro di Spada Giancarlo, dead these ten years.
And they were armed. Each bore the short flat blade that was so in fashion at the moment.
‘Good evening, my lady,’ said the nearest of them, a sneer on his lips. ‘Forgive me the late intrusion but I bring word from the nobili.’
His fellows stifled laughter at his mummery, Anea stared back, statue still.
‘It seems they have decided your schemes to empower the commoners do not serve their best interests. While those in the fields have begun to worship you, it is a cruel irony you are less popular here, in Demesne.’
The leader took a step forward, closing the gap between himself and the defenceless ruler. She pressed herself against the desk. He wasn’t much older than Anea. Likely half as intelligent, three times as pompous.
‘We know you won’t be turned from your dreams of a republic, so it falls to me to act. Still, hardly a reason we can’t have some fun? It’s not like you can cry out for help, is it, my Silent Queen?’
It was true. No sound had ever issued from behind the veil she wore. Some said she’d been born without a tongue, others claimed her witchery demanded silence, few knew the truth of it. The bravo stepped forward, hand reaching for the fabric hiding the lower portion of her face.
‘There’s no need for you to die with all your secrets, after all.’ He had almost grasped the veil, a savage grin making him grotesque. Anea remained motionless, green eyes flat with hatred. The faint sound of snapping wood and breaking glass startled everyone.
‘Time’s up,’ said a voice from behind them. The bravos turned as one, eyebrows raised in surprise. They quickly recovered themselves, retaining their swagger and bruised-knuckle nonchalance.
He’d been sitting in the deep leather armchair behind the door the whole time, listening to their petty theatre, enduring their poor intimidation. Deep brown hair swept to one side of eyes grey as a winter’s day, face impassive. His boots were a deep weather-beaten umber, each adorned with seven buckles in muted brass. He might have been carved from stone, attired as he was in a suit of sober grey. The scabbard lay across his lap like a death sentence. Unfussy, unadorned, it was a work of function not art. It was a container, nothing more, promising a blade long and slender. An hourglass had broken under the predations of his long clever fingers, fragments of crystal and wood littering his hands, sand ran free.
‘I should have known you’d be here,’ said the bravos’ leader, a second son of House Allattamento. He might have been called Angelo, or Antioco. He thrust out his chin and squared his shoulders, a curl to his lip. ‘It is unfortunate for you the guards outside your door could be bought so easily. Three to one.’ He flicked glances to his conspirators, who couldn’t match his bluster, looking less sure of themselves. ‘I dare say anyone in Demesne would choose such odds.’
‘I am not “anyone”.’
Dino Adolfo Erudito, Orfano and maestro superiore di spada of House Fontein, regarded the handful of sand and the broken glass with a look of dream-like introspection. A cataphract drake perched on his shoulder, staring across a flat snout with obsidian eyes. The lithe sepia-brown reptile scuttled onto the armchair and tasted the air. Dino set aside the broken timer, rising slowly, feeling the tiredness in his limbs, the itch of stubble left too long on his cheeks, the familiar icy calmness that seeped into him at times such as this.
‘The wolf spider,’ he said amiably, ‘otherwise known as Lycosidae, belongs to the order Araneae in the class of Arachnida.’
The youngest of the bravos took a half-step back, incredulity crossing his features, a question frozen on his lips.
‘It has a fine sense of vibration and particularly good eyesight, appropriate for a creature who hunts others by running them down.’ Dino stood before them with the scabbard in his left hand, looking no more threatening than a shepherd with his crook.
‘What is this shit?’ said the youngest bravo. Another second son from a minor house with nothing to lose.
‘However,’ continued Dino, undeterred, ‘many wolf spiders are content to wait for prey to pass their burrows, rushing out to attack them.’
Angelo Allattamento pulled on a grim smile and drew his sword.
‘The strega’s lost his mind.’
Dino glowered at him, wintry grey eyes shining silver in the candlelight.
‘You stepped in to my parlour. Fuckers.’
And then Dino was moving, coming forward without form, as if elemental. The scabbard darted out to one side, its tip hitting the door, which slammed shut. An outflung hand showered sand into the eyes of the bravo on his right. Curses fell from the man’s lips as he stumbled back, clawing at his eyes. His torso hammered into a bookcase, a selection of literary works raining heavily upon him. The bookcase pitched forward, knocking him to the floor.
Angelo had already struck before his co-conspirator hit the floor. Dino blocked the blow with the scabbard, stepping sideways to buy himself the extra moment to draw. When Angelo pressed in again he found his blade stopped by steel, the sound ringing in the silence of the night, a spiteful bell.
A snatched glance confirmed Anea had retreated behind her desk, putting herself beyond the immediate reach of the youngest bravo. He tried to follow, ashen-faced, blade held in trembling hand. She scanned the room for something, anything to fight back with. Her school days had been filled with more than just etiquette and sciences, but without a weapon she was greatly disadvantaged. Remaining empty-handed, she retreated further still, unable to call for help.
Dino struck low at Angelo, stepped in, taking advantage of the noble’s poor parry and his stumbling step back. Then the Orfano thrust. He expected to be turned aside, of course, but this was just a feint for the kick to the side of the knee. Angelo swore and lost his footing. He threw up another parry, which Dino batted aside with the scabbard still clutched in his left hand. His blade flickered, opening a deep gouge across the young noble’s thigh.
It had worked perfectly. He’d fought his way out of the corner and was now level with the youngest bravo, who was still summoning the courage to murder Anea. Dino mashed his pommel into the back of the young man’s head even as Angelo limped back, cursing in the old tongue. Anea’s attacker folded in on himself, clutching the back of his skull. The blade slipped from his fingers as he went down to one knee. Anea flipped the desk, the edge smashing into the bridge of her attacker’s nose. The Silent Queen circled the table, drawing the silver pin from her hair, green eyes full of terrible intensity.
Angelo of House Allattamento knew he was bested. Too wounded to run, too proud to surrender, he assembled a series of hasty strikes. Dino let him come forward, stepping aside when he could, parrying when he couldn’t, waiting, waiting.
Angelo’s vigour abandoned him just as the blood staining his britches did the same. He stumbled, exposed and unbalanced. Dino wrapped his sword arm across his body, tensing for a second, unleashing a broad swipe that ripped through the other man’s jugular. He felt the blade grind, grating against vertebrae. The second son of House Allattamento pressed a frantic palm to his undoing. His legs continued their duty for long seconds even as blood jetted hot and fierce.
‘You stepped into my parlour,’ whispered Dino, but it was regret rather than anger that gilded each word.
Angelo Allattamento hit the floor, eyes frozen wide in disbelief.
Dino turned to find Anea standing over her assailant, one hand clutching the top of his skull, the other a fist beside his throat. The man trembled and Dino stepped forward to help before realising Anea’s hair hung long and thick about her shoulders. She withdrew her fist, revealing the silver hairpin, now a slender length of scarlet. Anea stood wide-eyed, shaking with shock, staring at her red-stained hand. Blood spattered her silver-grey nightgown as it jetted from the man’s throat. The hem of her gown became a drench of gore as the man fell onto his ruined face.
The last of the bravos writhed free of the bookcase, regaining his feet amid a litter of books. He choked out an incredulous cry, eyes raw from the sand. The two Orfani turned to him, attired in the blood of his allies, gazes like flint and jade.
They hog-tied him in the end. Neither of the Orfani had the stomach for more death. The last of the bravos could wait until morning, when a sentence less final could be meted out. But the carrion stench and voided bowels of the fallen necessitated a change of quarters. The siblings haunted the corridors like shades, seeing assassins at every corner, lurking at every stairwell. This was not an unknown sensation; they’d shared a similar night ten years ago. Finally, they made the safety of Dino’s apartment in House Erudito, an orderly sort of place where weapons hung above the fireplace. Achilles slithered down from Dino’s shoulder, taking his usual perch atop the bookcase, where he stared down imperiously. Anea’s fingers began to flicker and dance.
I have not had to leave that room since the night of the fire.
‘I’d rather fight assassins than flames,’ said Dino quietly.
Do you have anything to wear?
‘Help yourself. Anything in the closet.’
She stalked out of the sitting room, head down, trying to still her nerves no doubt. Dino could still smell the iron tang of blood. Unsurprising, as he was evenly coated from the thigh down. None of it his own, fortunately. He shook his head, not able to believe the brazenness of the attempt. They hadn’t even worn masks. It wasn’t an assassination.
‘It was an execution.’
Anea emerged from the bedroom in old hose and a cerulean doublet he’d forgotten he owned.
‘Or a coup.’
She approached, slipping into his arms, pushing her forehead against his shoulder. She was shaking.
‘House Allattamento is about to see a significant reduction in its influence.’
She pulled away, fingers moving tentatively: The corruption of Landfall has spilled over into open violence. I suppose it was inevitable.
‘You need to send a message.’ Dino scowled. ‘We’ll tolerate no more of it.’
Anea nodded, but her gaze was elsewhere, lost to shocked remembering.
This does not feel like politics any more. Has war been declared? Were we too distracted to notice? Were we too arrogant?
‘The arrogance is all theirs.’
Spent and numb they approached the table where Dino took his morning repast on the rare occasions he wasn’t sleeping in Anea’s armchair. They sat at each end, feeling the distance between them.
Something was moving amid the dishes. Dino cursed. The maids hadn’t cleared the table. Not unusual as he often slept until noon with instructions not to be disturbed. His room had clearly been passed over by the staff entirely. A column of ants trooped to and from the remains of yesterday’s breakfast, carrying off fragments many times their own size. After the first wave of irritation Dino found himself quietly fascinated by their industry.
We’re infested on all sides it seems, signed Anea.
‘Looks that way. I’m not sure who are the worst pests, the ants or the nobili.’
At least the nobili are less numerous.
‘And two less as of tonight.’
Dino supplied a bottle of Barolo and two glasses from a cypress wood cabinet. They sipped wine by candlelight until the dawn arrived, watching the ants march away with their breadcrumb treasures.
2
A Letter to Lucien
– 7 Giugno 325
‘They made a pretty mess.’ Massimo cast an eye over the damage to Anea’s sitting room. Golden light filtered through the latticed windows, ablaze on the white plastered walls.
‘Anea and I were at least partly to blame.’ Dino looked down at the scattering of sand and the fractured hourglass. ‘It was Anea who threw the table, believe it or not.’
‘I can believe it.’ The swordsman grinned. Dino was caught up in the man’s expression. Being dour was its own challenge when Massimo was present. Margravio Contadino’s personal aide and messenger was shorter than Dino by a slight margin but heavier set. Some whispered he was no aide; rather his role was more akin to assassin. Dino had trouble believing such a thing. A soldier with a gentle soul, Massimo’s outlook was far from that of a jaded killer.
‘You’re awake early,’ added Massimo.
‘Not exactly. I couldn’t sleep.’
Dino watched the swordsman pick over the devastation. He was darkly good-looking, wearing an embroidered scarlet doublet. The slashed shoulders revealed the white shirt beneath. White and scarlet, the colours of his house providing a proud uniform, Massimo was rarely seen in anything else. A rapier slept in a scarlet-enamelled scabbard; a stiletto hung from his other hip. Dino was grateful that House Contadino was sympathetic to Anea. He didn’t relish the idea of facing Massimo should hostilities break out.
‘You’ve nothing to worry from me, my lord,’ said Massimo, face serious. He dropped his gaze to the pommel of his sword.
‘People are going to start talking about witchcraft if you keep reading my mind like that.’
Massimo smiled, all trace of his previous formality gone.
‘The only people accused of witchcraft are wilful women and Orfani.’
‘Anea is unfortunate to be both.’
‘Very much both.’ Massimo smiled again. ‘It’s what I like most about her.’
At twenty-six Massimo was the darling of the court. His manners were impeccable, his wit easy, wardrobe perfectly chosen. Dino felt somewhat shabby by comparison. And yet Massimo remained unattainable to every girl who fluttered fan or lashes at him. The swordsman often said his first love was duty, the blade on his hip reinforcing the claim.
‘Do people really think Anea can cast spells?’ asked Dino. ‘That’s children’s nonsense.’
Massimo shrugged. ‘The cittadini are ignorant, uneducated – they don’t know any better. I’d not be surprised if Houses Fontein and Prospero spread the rumours.’
Dino thought back to the three bravos and the guards who had abandoned their posts.
‘I sometimes think we’ll have to exterminate House Fontein down to the last drop of blood before we know peace.’
‘The Fonteins probably feel the same about the Orfani.’
‘I know they think the same about the Orfani.’
‘Well, in that case it sounds like a fair match.’ Massimo grinned again. ‘Shall we start with the duke and work our way down?’
‘You have no idea how tempting you are – I mean, how tempting that is.’ Dino turned away to cover his blushes. If Massimo noticed the slip of the tongue he declined to comment on it. Dino had always been this way around Massimo, ever since they’d been children, marching off to the Verde Guerra, the only war in Landfall’s patchy history.
Dino scuffed a boot at a bloodstain on the floor, recalling the previous night’s melee. Anea had killed a man on this exact spot with a silver hairpin and a steely resolve. It was a long silver hairpin on account of her long blond hair, etched with a repeating thorn motif, the wider end featured the illusion of rose petals. Dino knew the details of the piece well; he’d been the one to commission it, a present at last year’s La Festa.
‘It must have been quite a fight,’ said Massimo, noting the direction of Dino’s gaze. The Orfano nodded but remained silent. The bloodstain on the floor would need scalding water and plenty of soap. House Fontein guards had removed the bodies, but death lingered, an unseen shade. One was never too far from that dark spectre in Demesne.
‘I almost wish she did know magic,’ muttered Dino. ‘It might provide an answer to our problems.’
Massimo approached and clapped an arm round Dino’s shoulder.
‘Cheer up. I’ve not seen you this maudlin since Nardo sent that serving girl up to your apartment for your birthday.’
‘Yes. Thanks for reminding me.’ Dino shrugged off the aide’s arm and fought down a moment’s unease. The incident with the serving girl had left Dino facing some hard truths, truths he’d been avoiding ever since. Massimo grabbed his shoulder again and gave him a companionable shake.
‘Come on, Dino! We’ll get through this. I promise it on my life. And give yourself some credit. You defended her from three bravos who came here, key in hand. This was planned; this was a conspiracy.’
‘She defended herself too. No mean feat when you’re unarmed. Something I intend to remedy. I’m going to insist she carries a weapon and resumes her blade practice.’
‘She won’t like that much.’
‘I dare say she’ll prefer it to being dead.’
‘In that case I’d best sign up for this practice too. Do you know any good teachers?’ Massimo’s grin was broad. ‘I’ve heard the superiore is good.’
‘As if you could learn anything from me.’ Dino rolled his eyes.
‘Best to not get complacent. I’ll only keep my edge by practising with equals.’
‘Now you’re flattering me.’
Massimo shrugged and looked away. ‘What will you do about all this?’
‘I just …’ Dino regarded the bookcase that had fallen on one of the hapless bravos. ‘They had the key and they paid off the guards. All the skill in the world counts for nothing when corruption is this prevalent.’
‘You’ve given word to question the guards on duty?’ said Massimo.
‘Of course, but they’ve not been seen since last night. Whoever paid them off did it well. They’ll have absconded to the countryside to live on a fat purse.’
‘Early retirement,’ said Massimo.
‘And all they had to do was abandon Anea.’
Massimo crossed to the door before glancing back over his shoulder. ‘I’m going to fetch Virmyre. I suggest you meet us in the piazza for some sunshine and a drink. That’s the only cure for this black mood of yours.’
‘I can’t, I should—’
‘Dino, you protected her, you fought well, you have allies. Come and raise a glass to living another day. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll invent a way to live a few more?’
‘You make a lot of plans when drunk, do you?’
‘Rash decisions, mainly.’ The swordsman grinned again. ‘But you can never predict when inspiration will strike.’
‘I’ll see you there. I promise.’
Massimo exited the room, Dino’s gaze lingering on the doorway long after he’d left. Lord Contadino’s aide was his closest friend since Lucien had departed, yet there was much that Dino could not bring himself to speak of. He dropped his gaze to the bloodstain at his boots and saw a scrap of parchment beneath a rosewood box. Curiosity demanded he retrieve it, then demanded he read the fine hand that formed orderly rows of looping letters.
Dear Lucien,
I hope things are peaceful in San Marino. How I envy the full support you enjoy. The remnants of House Fontein have become even more troublesome of late. Duke and Duchess Fontein argue over every variable of the law. The remaining soldiery answer to Russo, the capo, and Dino, but I fear the old loyalties still exist. I think I will be forced to recruit soldiers directly into my own house at some point, or create a new independent army. Russo is a commanding presence and has settled into her role better than I could have hoped for.
House Prospero remains the most productive and yet the most fractious of all the houses. Stephania opposes her mother at every turn and is a worthy ally. The duchess continues to be an outspoken critic of a republic. She is still stringing Guido along but refuses to marry him. Rumours persist he grows restless.
More of House Contadino’s cittadini turn to the new religion with every passing week. I wonder if the king’s abolition of religion was such a bad thing. The converts to the faith are an unknown quantity, and while their adherents do a lot of good in the town I worry at their agenda. How do you strike a balance with the Sisters of Santa Maria in San Marino? Are they as aloof there as they are here?
Margravio and Marchesa Contadino continue to aid me where they can. A small mercy. The children are growing all the the time and are delightful.
If it weren’t for House Erudito I might despair completely. Maestro Cherubini continues to win over the minds of the lesser nobles with concise and articulate arguments. And Virmyre, of course, has been invaluable in my research with the king’s machines. Every moment I am away from my studies is a moment I fear I am failing the people who look to me. The secrets we have uncovered! Lucien, I know you distrust everything the king stood for, but if we could use that power to better everyone, rather than elevate a few … the implications are breathtaking.
Virmyre has suggested we visit the coast and I would dearly love to. I know seeing you would lift Dino’s spirits. The nine years since you left have passed all too quickly. Please give Rafaela my warmest affection. Tell your houses that Aranea Oscuro Diaspora wishes them a fine summer and a prosperous harvest.
Yours ever faithfully,
Anea
It was only as Dino reached the bottom of the page he realised the edge was red with dried blood. Two ants clung to the thick paper, marching in opposite directions before turning, unsure how to leave the island of parchment. Dino tilted the letter, regarding the insects for a few moments. They were larger than any ants he had seen before. He let the parchment fall to the floor and looked up to find Anea standing in the doorway.
I suppose I shall have to write a new letter now.
Dino nodded, feeling a pang of shame she’d caught him reading it. No secrets existed between the siblings – there had never been any cause for deception – but he felt wrong about reading her missive all the same.
Perhaps I will just add a second page.
She looked tired.
‘Did you come here alone?’
She shook her head.
‘I’m going to need you to carry a weapon. And there’ll be blade practice.’
She nodded without energy, a resignation in the set of her shoulders.
I saw Massimo. He told me he was taking you out for some air.
‘Wine would be more accurate, but I imagine there will be air involved too.’
Be careful. Although I dare say you will be safer in the town than you are in the castle.
‘Perhaps you should come too?’
I have too much to do. Go now. I will send if I need you.
Dino crossed the room and heard the crunch of glass as it broke beneath his boots. Anea smoothed out his jacket across the breast, then held him close for a moment.
‘We should go to the coast. Let these fools rule themselves – they all deserve each other.’
All?
‘No, I suppose not.’ Dino smiled. ‘Not all of them.’
As long as good men serve Landfall I will remain here, Dino. Tyranny was the rule for three hundred years.
‘I just hope it doesn’t take three hundred years to amend it, you know?’
Anea held him close again, then shooed him away with a hand.
Off with you.
‘I won’t be long.’
And be sure to trade in that long face.
‘I doubt I’ll get much for it.’
Before leaving, he watched her enter her ruined sitting room and begin to re-order the books.
3
A Bad Vintage
– 7 Giugno 325
‘And then the figlio di puttana had the audacity to claim diplomatic immunity, as if being the bastard son of Giancarlo would grant him some protection. Buco del culo.’
‘I see you’re in fine humour today,’ said the professore in his usual deadpan. He was nearing sixty, movements slowed by the passage of time. Dino had thought the walking stick an affectation at first, but Virmyre had come to rely on it more heavily with the passing of the seasons. His blue eyes were just as sharp, but the black hair was now shot through with silver, his beard the same. The once fine eyebrows were now overgrown. Another sign of time’s advance.
‘What will Anea do with him?’ said Massimo. The three of them had been sitting in the midday sun for an hour now, sipping white wine, picking at morsels of bread and ham, plucking olives from a bowl. The market on the piazza churned slowly, the shoppers too hot to move at anything more than a meander.
‘She’ll send him off to a farm to work off his penance, most likely,’ said Dino.
‘That is a fate worse than death.’ Massimo grinned, suppressing a laugh. ‘A nobile forced to do an honest day’s work.’
Virmyre joined his laughter but it was cut short.
‘Porca miseria, he’s guilty of treason.’ Dino’s voice had risen. ‘He tried to kill the queen.’ This last through gritted teeth.
‘But she’s not the queen, is she?’ said Virmyre,
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The Boy Who Wept Blood
Den Patrick
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