Private Tutor to the Duke’s Daughter: Volume 12 [Parts 1 to 4] by Riku Nanano

Author:Riku Nanano
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 2

“Damn! What the blazes is the church thinking?!”

For the umpteenth time that night, my panicked shout filled my office in this villa on the city outskirts. Considering that my ailing wife was still sleeping in the next room, I—Carlyle Carnien—should have stayed in my house on the central island. And yet...

I roughly swept the papers off my desk with my right hand, then clutched my head. I couldn’t restrain my darker impulses.

“Who could have guessed that apostle’s ‘plan’ was to murder Robson Atlas and lead the principality into a separate peace? So this is how the Church of the Holy Spirit operates—any means to achieve their ends!”

Assaulting the four southern marchesi, I could at least understand. But driving an ally into the enemy’s arms went beyond the pale. I couldn’t believe it.

No, it’s too late for doubts. Far too late.

The church’s desires had always differed greatly from ours. They didn’t crave territory, only the “Cornerstone” deep within the Old Temple. I wanted the Saint to heal my wife, whose mysterious illness kept her asleep.

Even the Committee of Thirteen must have been beneath their notice at this point. Of the five pro-war northern marchesi, Atlas had defected, while the remaining four had their hands full dealing with the Leinsters. All except Atlas had left the city. As for the six southern marchesi, the four who favored peace had likely died fighting. Only my sworn friend Fossi Folonto and I commanded significant forces in the city. Doge Pirro Pisani and Deputy Nieto Nitti had yet to mobilize in earnest.

Come Darknessday, the only flags flying in the city of water would belong to Carnien, Folonto, any who decided to back our winning horse...and the Church of the Holy Spirit. Victory stared me in the face. But could I really trust the church’s apostles and their Saint?

I was still brooding when light shone in through the window.

“Morning?” I murmured.

Just a few days earlier, the advent of the demisprite apostle Io Lockfield had withered most of the beautiful garden into which my wife had poured her heart and soul. I wondered what Carlotta had meant when she’d called it “atonement.”

Staggering to my feet, I opened the window. A clean breeze rustled my hair, belying the reeking, blood-drenched battlefield the city would become tomorrow.

I recalled what Fossi had said on his visit here the night before:

“Don’t waver, Carlyle. The die is cast. We bet on the church—on the Saint. You for your wife, I for the league’s future. We’ve come too far to turn back now. Unless we triumph, we are doomed. We’ll lose our titles, and the blame will extend to our whole houses—your wife included.”

I looked up at the cloudless dawn sky. Seabirds weren’t the only creatures circling above the city.

Leinster griffins? Surely not.

Fossi had accepted my wild explanation that the church’s Saint might be able to save Carlotta, and he’d even agreed with my plan to capture the city. He had drawn Marchesi Atlas and Bazel and many others into the plot. I couldn’t pull the rug from under him.

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