Elizabeth Gilligan - Silken Magic 01 by Magic's Silken Snare

Author:Magic's Silken Snare
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

XIX

“With foxes we must play the fox.”

—Thomas Fuller

The ship creaked and rolled. Stefano braced himself and watched the door to the cabin where the cardinal took his afternoon repose. Delia Guelfa stirred at his elbow.

“Will he come out, do you think?” della Guelfa asked.

Stefano shrugged and looked over the dense blue waters of the Stretto d’Messina. “He will choose his time.”

Della Guelfa nodded and turned away from the sea, shuddering. “I’d hoped to avoid this trip again for some time yet. The last time, I thought I had lost my dearest friend and senior officer.”

“Mind yourself now. No one yet knows he lives. If not for the duchessa, even I would not have known,” Stefano said, glancing at the others on shipboard. One of the other Escalade officers, seeing Stefano look in his direction, set his cards aside and, hand on saber, started to rise, but relaxed again when the duca shook his head.

“Do you believe that the cardinal is involved in this treason?” della Guelfa asked.

“What has di Montago told you?” Stefano asked, shifting anxiously. He leaned against the railing of the ship, but even as he did, della Guelfa tugged at his sleeve and motioned to the seats built into the capitano’s cabin.

“Mandero told us nothing then, only that we made the trip to Salerno with the cardinal,” della Guelfa said. He adjusted the gloves in his belt, straightening his coat, seemingly uncomfortable in civilian clothing.

“What has he told you since?”

Delia Guelfa stirred uneasily. “I am sworn to secrecy, Your Grace.”

“Of course, of course,” Stefano said. “But keep in mind, della Guelfa, that you are now acting as his agent and there may come a time when that information should be offered.”

His companion nodded, then his dark eyes narrowed and he motioned with his head to the cabin door.

Stefano followed his gaze and saw the cardinal bend his tall frame to exit the cabin. A young priest followed, looking worried and attentive. The senior ecclesiast straightened and adjusted his wine-colored robes, taking in long, gulping breaths of sea air. He looked ill. Stefano rose and approached.

“Good day, Your Eminence!”

The cardinal turned and looked even sicker. “Your Grace.”

The younger priest bowed to Stefano and moved quietly behind the cardinal.

“You do not look well, Your Eminence. Did your dinner not settle?” Stefano asked.

The cardinal looked cornered and queasy. “I did not take a repast,” he said slowly.

“Oh? Forgive me! I did not realize you were a poor traveler! The sea does not suit all and the Stretto, with its rough waters, even less.”

“Truer words were never said,” the cardinal agreed. “Aside from the Gospel of Our Lord.”

“Of course,” Stefano said, with a little bow. He nodded to the other priest who smiled tentatively, but remained silent.

The cardinal staggered to the hatch, waving off the attentions of the other priest, and sank down, adjusting his skullcap automatically as the wind ruffled through his thin, graying hair. “I’m surprised to see you, Your Grace. You’ve just returned from the Morean front, haven’t you?”

Stefano bowed.

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