The Boy Who Wept Blood by Den Patrick

Author:Den Patrick [Patrick, Den]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2015-01-29T05:00:00+00:00

31

A New Republic

– 14 Agosto 325

Dino entered the Ravenscourt, Massimo following at his shoulder. They were both unkempt, shirts unbuttoned, jackets slung on moments before entering. The sweat of their travails glistened on skin, Dino’s brow beaded with perspiration, Massimo’s hair damp. The crowd drew back, all eyes on the Orfano and swordsman. The pair approached the dais feigning a show of bravura, reluctance following at their heels. Duchess Prospero grinned behind a fluttering fan, silken gown revealing every curve of her voluptuous frame.

‘So good of you to join us,’ she cooed.

‘We were sparring.’

‘A pretty name for it.’ The duchess flicked her gaze to Lady Allattamento, who covered a smile with a fan of her own.

‘The only name for it,’ replied Dino.

‘I see you’re suitably attired for the Ravenscourt,’ said the duchess. The capo sniggered and folded his arms.

‘And you for the bedroom, Duchess.’ Dino curled a lip. ‘I hear that’s where you do most of your business.’

A half-dozen sharp intakes of breath. The duchess’s eyes narrowed and she forced a tight smile. ‘I do so enjoying gaming with you, my lord.’

Dino turned his back on her.

‘Do I look to be in a gaming mood?’

‘Just promise me you won’t kill anyone,’ replied Massimo.

‘I can’t promise anything, least of all that.’

Dino crossed to where the Contadinos stood with Nardo.

‘This is very irregular, Lord Erudito,’ said Medea quietly without meeting his eye. Dino said nothing, jaw clenched, fists the same.

‘Apologies, my lord.’ Massimo sketched a bow to his master. ‘Lord Erudito and I were training, in light of the recent—’

‘Very good, Massimo.’ The words confirming anything but. ‘Don’t let it happen again.’

A susurration of commentary issued from the gallery above, joined by pointed comments from the floor of the Ravenscourt. Dino nodded to Nardo, hoping for an ally in the crowd. The messenger looked away, face blank. Chagrined, Dino smoothed down his shirt and began to button his jacket, a sneer on his lip. His eyes alighted on Stephania, a vision in purple and black despite the heat. She curtsied to him with a smile touching her lips. Behind her were the familiar faces of her retinue, her black-haired messenger and her maid Mea. Added to these was a figure Dino barely recognised, such was her transformation.

She was dressed in a modest yet immaculate long-sleeved gown of purest white. A cord of pale blue encircled her waist, matching her headscarf and slippers. Her face was veiled with white, just as it had been the day he’d met her in the cemetery. No trace of the gutter prophet remained, only the mismatched eyes, piercing him with their strangeness. That a disciple of Santa Maria had gained entrance to the Ravenscourt was unprecedented. That she escorted Stephania, not Medea, was stranger still.

Duchess Fontein stood to the right of the dais, a column of black. Grief suited her poorly, making an already sallow and pinched woman ghoul-like. Her maid Isabella stood behind, hands clasped neatly. She blinked and looked down at her feet as Dino met her gaze.

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