The Boy Who Wept Blood (23 page)

42

The Domina’s Secret
–
26 Agosto
325

Dino stood atop the roof of House Erudito watching a cart meander along the eastern road. Landfall appeared reduced and toy-like from this vantage point, although the games that played out were anything but happy ones. Very few would be setting out from Demesne at such an early hour. The Orfano swallowed in a throat dry with hangover, temples a dull pain from the previous night’s excess. Dino knew with absolute certainty who drove the cart, diminished as he was. He knew exactly where Giolla di Leona was heading, just as he knew he’d never see her again. Her words from the previous night returned, a mocking echo.

Let me guess. Too drunk, my lord? Or will you finally admit your true nature.

A vision of Massimo came to him – among the roses, covered in blood, a serene smile touching his perfect lips.

‘Huh. Doesn’t seem so long since Cherubini headed out.’

Dino hadn’t heard the messenger approach. He stood some twenty feet away, leaning against a chimney stack, fingers stuffing the bowl of his pipe with moonleaf.

‘It’s a month,’ said the Orfano, failing to keep the sadness from his voice. Dino turned his eyes back to the departing form of Giolla. ‘To the very day.’

‘Hell of a thing. Seems like we could use him right now.’ The messenger nodded at the cart on the road. ‘Friend of yours?’

‘No. Just the last of the Allattamento household leaving Demesne.’

‘Huh. Giolla.’ Not a question.

Dino nodded. ‘Did you know her?’

‘Not really.’ Nardo shrugged. ‘Was told she was a distant cousin of mine when I was younger. Everyone seems to be joined by blood in Demesne.’

‘Blood shared or blood spilled.’ Dino’s eyes remained fixed on the cart.

‘Those two aren’t always so different.’ The messenger blew out a plume of grey smoke then nodded toward the horizon. ‘She was taken in by Lady Allattamento not long after she was brought to House Fontein. Not much reason to speak to her after that. Always an unhappy sort.’

Dino shook his head. Duke Fontein had hidden his bastard right beneath their noses, even providing her with false relatives. A grim smile of grudging respect creased his lips.

‘How did you know I’d be up here?’

Nardo shrugged. ‘Seems like a good place to come to get perspective on things. Quiet up here without the ravens, though.’ The messenger took a drag from the pipe, breathed out a mist of smoke and cleared his throat.

‘What happened to them?’

‘Fewer and fewer of them with each passing year after Lucien left. No one paid them much mind, and then they weren’t here any more.’

‘Seems the
nobili
are going the same way,’ replied the Orfano. Nardo dragged on his pipe and for a moment the two men were content to let the growing heat of the sun suffuse them. Though neither of them would confess it, the night’s chill had left them restless and out of sorts.

‘What was said at the
taverna
—’

‘I’d rather not talk about it, Nardo.’

‘No business of mine who you lie with.’ The messenger looked down at his pipe, a wisp of smoke twisting and coiling. ‘I’m just … I just find it strange. You’ve always been a friend to me, and we’ve always carried out our duties. No reason we can’t be friends still.’

‘But?’

‘But there’s other people who won’t see it the same way. They’ll try and make you leave just the same as Cherubini.’ He nodded toward the cart trundling east. Dino’s mouth twisted in response, sadness pressing against his sternum like a fist.

‘Anea won’t let them send me away,’ he said after a pause, but there was little if any conviction to the words.

‘What will you do now?’

‘I’m still a
maestro di spada
. I should go and teach, although I doubt any of House Fontein will be pleased to see me.’

‘Huh. Into the teeth of the wolf,’ said the messenger.

‘And knock them out, every one,’ replied Dino, eyes lingering on Giolla di Leona’s cart.

Demesne had altered, a subtle alchemy, a shifting of architecture. Perhaps the very air had been transmuted in some way? Emilio Contadino’s death had ushered in an age of darkness despite the summer’s glare.

Guards in Fontein livery stood to attention at street junctions and gatehouses, slouching postures replaced with alert poses. Those who had been transparently bored wore looks of stern wariness. None of the soldiers had ever taken to Dino, who was too much the product of privilege, too strange as an Orfano yet envied for his position. Added to this list of sins was the rumour.

Invertito.

The slur was spoken aloud in darkened corridors as he passed, but when he turned he found only empty space. The authors of the insult were already drifting beyond another corner, another door, another curve of House Fontein’s dark walls. The rumours would settle down in time. The tormentors would soon tire of their game. He hoped.

The
capo
emerged from a door many feet ahead, immaculate as ever and bearing a look of contentment. He greeted a trio of guards on their way to morning practice and joined them. Dino slowed to remain undetected. Today might be the very occasion Guido drew steel against him. There would be no allies to stand beside the Orfano, no one to risk his life for the rumoured
invertito.
The doorway led to a place indistinct in Dino’s memory, if he’d ever bothered to investigate it before.

It was an unremarkable-looking portal: sturdy oak, frame stout, handle, lock and studs all cast in black iron. More unremarkable still for remaining unlocked, an opportunity afforded by Guido’s lack of attention. Simply because he couldn’t remember what was on the other side, Dino unhooked a lantern from the wall and went through. The corridor beyond was merely a landing, steps falling away into gloom. Whatever business had occupied the
capo
lay underground. It was damp here, despite the best efforts of the blazing sun and the drought that besieged the castle. There was a rank note on the air that spoke of things dying; Dino hoped he’d encounter nothing more sinister than decomposing rats.

A sliver of gold light ran across the floor ahead showing every imperfection of the rough flagstones, a sliver that escaped from under a door. Dino slowed his pace and lifted his heels lest his boots announce him. The lantern was switched to his left hand and held behind, while his right reached across his waist to curl about the drake-headed hilt of his sword. A soft mumble of conversation reached his ears. He urged himself closer, straining to hear. A score of ants scurried about, throwing tiny shadows across the light emerging under the door. They had no task other than foraging, as far as Dino could tell, yet they moved with steely assertion. And they were large, far larger than any ants he’d seen in the long months of drought and infestation. The Orfano resisted the urge to capture a specimen, rewarded with the words of the Domina, heard despite the heavy oak of the door between them.

‘As you can see, I’ve put the money Lord Erebus provided to good use.’ There was a pause before she continued: ‘I had to pay five of House Fontein’s finest blacksmiths in order to be ready in time. I also needed to buy their silence, one of Demesne’s more expensive commodities.’

Dino waited, expecting another voice to reply, but nothing came. His mind raced, wondering what lay beyond the door. Something undoubtedly made of metal, but what? And shown to whom?

‘Now that we have this many we can tell the Ravenscourt. There will be some unrest, but I’m confident we can contain it.’

The Domina’s one-sided conversation was odd. Was her companion someone who needed no words?

‘Anea. What have you done?’ he breathed, wanting to draw back, wanting to retreat to the stairs and the door that waited at their summit. He should be outside in the sun, teaching the blade, not trapped here underground, new secrets threatening to swallow him like a landslide.

‘The assassin is no longer in my employ. His fortunes are in decline, and his position becomes more precarious by the day.’

Dino’s blood ran cold.
In decline.

‘He’ll be a vocal opponent in the times ahead, but he’s a
maestro di spada
, nothing more.’

The Domina had no need to iterate Dino’s title to Anea. Whoever she spoke to couldn’t be her.

‘I’d rather consult Lord Erebus before acting with haste. There’s always a chance he’ll come over to our side.’

Another pause.

‘Stranger things have happened in Landfall.’

The golden sliver of light faded from beneath the door, leaving the Orfano with only the company of ants. The Domina and her silent accomplice had left by another exit unknown to him. Dino waited for long minutes before trying the handle with a cautious hand. It was locked, of course, likely bolted. The Domina’s secret would remain so for a little longer at least. Frustrated, the Orfano headed to a training chamber and practised alone. He’d need his skills soon, of that he had no doubt.

‘I’ll show you decline,’ he said as he concluded each exercise.

43

The Myrmidons
–
27 Agosto
325

Nardo found him the following morning, occupying the same perch above House Erudito. The Orfano sat cross-legged on a sloping roof beneath an eggshell-blue sky stained with gold. Achilles dozed in his lap, basking in the rising sun.

‘Someone else leaving?’ asked the messenger.

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ The dark circles beneath Dino’s eyes spoke the truth of it. He’d spent most of the night failing to discover what the Domina was hiding behind lock and key. ‘I came to watch the sun rise.’

‘You were missed at House Fontein yesterday.’

‘I doubt it.’

Nardo shrugged.

‘Not smoking your pipe?’

‘Huh. No time. We have to go.’ The messenger nodded toward the great dome at Demesne’s centre. ‘The Ravenscourt is coming to session.’

Dino raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Achilles yawned and stared around, expression flinty.

The Ravenscourt was as full as Dino had ever seen it. The gallery teemed with
cittadini
, all focused on their betters below. The court itself contained representatives from every house. All ranks were present, from the lowliest messengers and pages to those with titles and illustrious family histories. The
capo
, surrounded by four bravos wearing House Fontein colours, regarded Dino with a drowsy smile.

‘Huh. What’s got him so smug?’

‘I think we’ll know by the time this session is done.’

‘No Duchess Fontein,’ remarked the messenger.

‘Perhaps she’s drowning her sorrows, or her self-pity.’ Dino couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone. His regret for the dead duke had faded, as if Giolla had scoured the guilt from him. It was no absolution, but that she understood his motive made the burden easier to bear.

‘You could have dressed for the occasion,’ grunted Nardo.

Several courtiers stared, openly gossiping. Dino silenced them with a glare. His appearance – jacket unbuttoned, shirt rucked, hair messy – was attracting attention. Daggers peeked from the tops of his boots; the scabbard he wore was an open invitation to the careless or the brave. A sombre suit of black damask indicated his mood, only the sash of turquoise at his waist declared his loyalty. In truth he found it harder to wear Anea’s colour with each passing day.

‘Not so many friendly faces,’ said Nardo.

‘Those divided and those ruled,’ commented Dino. The new
maestro
of House Erudito was present, but Dino couldn’t recall the man’s name. A swarm of
professori
stood harrumphing, all stilted small talk and awkward asides. Dino felt another pang of regret for the outcast Cherubini.

Stephania, flanked by her messenger and maid, offered a curt nod. The disciple of Santa Maria stood close, mismatched eyes calm above her veil. Her fingers counted out rosewood beads in a measured, unhurried fashion. Dino forced the sneer from his lips. She was only alive due to Massimo’s efforts.

Camelia stood with Nardo’s wife, Maria, doing their best to represent the much-depleted House Contadino. The Orfano and messenger approached, and Camelia took a moment to kiss Dino on each cheek. A few nobles spluttered, muttering under their breaths, becoming close-mouthed under Dino’s unflinching gaze. His hand on the pommel of the drake-headed blade was ample incentive to fall silent.

‘You’re getting thin,’ chided Camelia.

‘I’ll be sure to visit soon for a good feeding.’

‘Make sure you do; I’ve been worried about you.’

‘You’re always worried about me.’

‘That’s because you’re always in trouble.’

‘I can’t deny that.’ He smiled and felt the warmth of Camelia thaw the frost on his heart.

Medea’s absence was keenly felt, although paling beside the loss of Emilio. Medea at least had the opportunity to recover from her despair.

‘How are the children?’ Dino gave a tight smile.

‘They miss their parents,’ replied Camelia.

Duchess Prospero stood alone, hands clasped demurely at her waist, chin tucked in. She stared at the dais from underneath her brow, mien intent but neutral. The darkness about her eyes spoke of sleep lost to the ravages of worry; her gown was unusually conservative.

‘She looks lonely, no?’ said Nardo from behind a raised hand.

‘It’s an act,’ replied Dino.

‘Huh. How so?’

‘She could have brought a messenger, pages or a maid with her.’

‘But?’

‘But she chooses to stand alone. Perhaps she’s looking vulnerable in the hope someone will come to her rescue.’

‘Never thought I’d hear the word vulnerable used to describe Salvaza.’

‘No one stays strong for ever.’

Dino’s eyes sought his sister, wondering how deep the cost of the king’s machines had been. Anea sat on the oak throne, looking much improved but different to how Dino remembered her. Had it really been so long? Had the endless hours of research wrought some subtle change to her features?

‘She looks different,’ he whispered to Nardo.

‘Huh. She looks like she’s eating again. Not before time.’

‘She was dreadfully thin,’ agreed Camelia.

The Domina stood at one side of the dais, silver staff in hand, new scarlet robes immaculate, the circular biretta making a merely tall woman an imposing one. She too looked in better health, less tired certainly. The Domina was flanked by five figures shrouded in robes of grey. Dino searched the sea of anxious faces sweltering in the morning heat. Not a single halberd rose above the assembly; no breastplates gleamed amid the throng.

‘Someone missing?’ said Nardo.

‘There’s a distinct lack of House Fontein guards.’ Dino’s subdued spirits sank further; Virmyre too was absent.

The Domina’s silver staff boomed three times. A breathless hush descended, the nobles dropping to one knee in unison.

‘This session is now in progress.’ The Domina’s voice rang to the edges of the Ravenscourt, lost only to the great dome that rose above their heads. Dino’s eyes were drawn back time and again to the five grey-robed figures. Sweat prickled at his brow. The Domina stretched open a rolled parchment and began to read.

‘In the light of recent attacks and the repeated failure of House Fontein and Margravio Contadino to protect our granaries, I have decided to create a new army to protect Demesne.’

Agitated words ran amok across the Ravenscourt. Emilio’s death was still painfully sharp for his allies. The gallery was a scandalised susurrus.

‘Furthermore, it is the order of Lady Diaspora that a curfew be introduced between sunrise and sunset in Santa Maria.’

Another round of seething whispers, more words unleashed from incredulous mouths.

‘Where are you getting your new soldiers from?’ shouted a man in the gallery. The Domina ignored him. Dino’s eyes were now locked on the figures behind the Domina. A terrible certainty gripped him, holding him fast in the dizzying heat of the Ravenscourt. The chamber was now drunk with outrage. The silver staff boomed down on the dais. Once. Twice. Three times. The Domina passed an excoriating gaze over the assembly.

‘These are the wishes of Lady Araneae Oscuro Diaspora. It is her wish we join together in this time of hardship.’

‘What of House Fontein?’ This shout from the gallery brought a murmur of support.

‘We spoke of this,’ Dino said quietly to Nardo. ‘Spoke of creating a new army, one we could trust.’

‘The days of that house are at an end,’ the Domina all but snarled, fixing the
cittadini
with an icy gaze.

‘What do you mean, “new army”?’ Nardo frowned.

‘Watch.’ Dino nodded toward the dais.

One by one the robed figures revealed themselves. All wore unnatural, insect-like dark brown breastplates and sleek helms. Short swords were belted at the hip, scabbards enamelled in matching dark brown. They stood at wary attention, thin wiry limbs under heavy grey garments.

‘Did you know about this?’ asked Nardo, an edge of mistrust to the whisper.

‘No! Of course not.’ Dino frowned. ‘I’m as shocked as you are.’

‘They’re not Fontein guards?’

The Domina was struggling to make herself heard over the din. ‘And how much does it cost to outfit a new army?’ bleated one of the nobles.

‘You need to talk to Anea,’ said Nardo. Dino chewed his lip, ignoring the messenger’s angry glance. How had he not seen this coming? How had they kept such a project secret?

‘I’m not sure I know her any more,’ admitted Dino. ‘All that time spent in the
sanatorio
has warped her senses.’ The crowd around them jostled. Dino locked eyes with Anea, but the look she returned was devoid of recognition or interest. He held up his hands and flashed a series of gestures.

We need to talk.

Her brow creased in confusion and she turned her eyes to the Domina.

‘Our new guards are called the Myrmidons. They will answer directly to me. There will be no more violence in Demesne, no more raids.’ She was all but shouting now. ‘We will pull togeth—’

Dino didn’t hear the rest of her words. His eyes had found the gallery, which was thinning fast, anxious glances thrown over shoulders. In perhaps a quarter of an hour word would have spread throughout Santa Maria. And then, at the far end of the gallery, he spotted the reason for the
cittadini
’s hurried exit: one of the Domina’s new Myrmidons. He wore two short swords across his back and lacked the sleek helm of his comrades, instead opting for a veil. His dark brown hair was ragged, long and tied back. Dino almost drew his blade on instinct. The veiled Myrmidon looked down, meeting Dino’s gaze with dispassionate eyes.

‘He was in the woods when Emilio was killed,’ breathed Dino, ‘and he nearly bested me in the Contadino courtyard.’

‘Who?’ Nardo was all but crushed against him as the Ravenscourt descended into chaos. More of the Myrmidons had appeared, looking all too keen to wield the weapons given to them by the Domina. Anea rose from the throne and exited by the back door, a wall of Myrmidons protecting her from the calls and protests of the court. The
capo
and his retinue made to leave, but not before Guido closed with those loyal to Contadino.

‘It seems neither of us will become Duke Fontein,’ said the
capo
with a smirk.

‘It does seem that way, doesn’t it?’ replied Dino, too shocked to form a more biting response.

‘I heard you failed to protect Margravio Contadino. How embarrassing, what with you being
superiore
.’

Dino lunged forward, but the bravos at Guido’s side interposed themselves.

‘We all make mistakes, Dino.’ The
capo
grinned.

‘And what will happen next time you fail?’ asked Dino. ‘Do you think she’s the kind to suffer fools gladly?’ Dino flashed his eyes toward the Domina, Guido stiffening as he followed the direction of the Orfano’s gaze. ‘Do you think she suffers fools at all? You’re being played, Guido.’

The
capo
spent a moment constructing a riposte, but the moment was gone and he knew it. He swept out of the Ravenscourt, his bravos shouldering those too slow or too proud from his path. There was a fresh outburst of agitated voices.

‘I preferred it when he was keeping company with Salvaza,’ said Nardo.

‘I trust him less now he’s taken up with the Domina,’ added Maria.

Dino and his companions pressed through the crowd, reaching the dais to discover the Domina had departed. He flashed a look up to the gallery, but the veiled Myrmidon had gone. The Ravenscourt had begun to empty.

‘What does this mean?’ asked Camelia. ‘For us? For House Contadino?’

‘It means we’re all fucked,’ said Dino.

‘What do you mean?’ pressed Nardo.

‘I mean if Anea has turned Demesne over to the Domina and these … Myrmidons, then there’s no telling what she has in mind for the remaining
nobili
.’

‘She wouldn’t—’ said Maria.

‘Her mind has gone.’ Dino spat the words. ‘The machines, the king’s secrets. I warned Virmyre. I told him to keep her safe.’

‘She wouldn’t kill the children,’ protested Maria.

‘Demesne is no stranger to killing children as they sleep,’ replied Dino, remembering his childhood.

‘I’ll go to them now,’ said Nardo.

They left together, crossing the polished marble of the Ravenscourt with anxiety gnawing at their heels. They were almost through the doors when a Myrmidon appeared. Dino made to draw but Nardo stilled his arm. The newcomer entered, summoning those guarding the Ravenscourt with a guttural shout. The grey men marched out in their deep-brown armour, boot heels tramping on flagstones.

‘Where are they going?’ muttered Nardo.

‘To put down a riot,’ whispered Dino.

They watched the unrest from the windows of Lucien’s old apartment. The town had fragmented into those trying to escape and those venting their rage at a change none had agreed to. Camelia clung to Luc as Maria held Isabella, shielding her eyes. Nardo and Dino looked down at the town powerlessly. The gates of all the great houses were locked and barred. All the portals to Demesne had been reinforced to repel the raiders, who now protected them with a spiteful zeal. Fire licked at the wood only to be doused with the buckets so thoughtfully provided by the now dead Margravio Contadino. The whole affair had the taste of a cruel joke gone terribly wrong. Pitchforks lay discarded in the street, their owners face down on cobbles slick with blood. By nightfall the anger had dissipated, its cost counted in lives.

‘I have to speak to Anea,’ said Dino.

Nardo nodded, too shocked to say anything meaningful. ‘Hell of a thing,’ was all he whispered.