The Boy with the Porcelain Blade (37 page)

‘Now get the fuck out of here before I chop your head off,’ growled Lucien. He spun the sword in his hand, keen to use it on the soaking fop. The
capo
fled, falling twice before he made the safety of the cemetery gates.

Lucien sneered after the fleeing figure, annoyed at anyone thinking he might be cowed with such paltry threats. His marriage to Stephania seemed all but inevitable now, but his reason to refuse it wouldn’t be blackmail. It would be Rafaela.

39

Coda
THE OLD
SANATORIO
–
Febbraio
316

Lucien sat in bed, his hair tousled, sleep crusted at the corners of his eyes, last night’s sweat faint and salty on his skin. Rafaela stood at the window, her scarlet skirt hanging from her hips, shoulders bare. Lucien admired the curve of her spine, the sweep of her back, her olive skin soft and inviting. Her hair had grown back but had yet to reach her shoulders.

‘What happened that night in the King’s Keep?’ The words had come unbidden, the thought leaving his mouth unconsciously. She stiffened but said nothing. He waited, chewing his lip, regretting the question.

‘You’re asking me that, now, a year later?’ Her eyes remained fixed on the world outside, her voice hushed.

‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

‘Seems a strange time to discuss that. I’d been doing my best to forget.’

‘Me too.’

He waited, wanting her to fill the silence, unsure he’d like what would come next. She remained at the window, ribcage rising and falling with the passage of breath. He knew every inch of her now. They’d been insatiable at first, their passion a hunger that had been denied far too long. The nine months since they’d been together had been heady, but the shadow of Rafaela’s night in King’s Keep had always darkened their time together.

‘I should have asked sooner, but I was scared—’

‘Scared?’ She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘You didn’t seem very scared when you fought Golia, or Giancarlo. Were you scared when you killed the king?’ Her eyes had none of their characteristic warmth, while her arms were folded across her stomach.

‘Of course I was scared when I fought, but it was a different kind of fear. When you walk into a fight you face your opponent and then you walk away. Or you don’t. But the truth? No one walks away from the truth.’

She softened at this, sitting at the end of the bed, folding her hands into her lap neatly. She addressed the floor, her gaze unfocused, remembering the night of her abduction.

‘He didn’t touch me, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘I—’

‘He
didn’t
touch me. He said I was no use to him. I was so scared. He said I was barren and too old.’ She pressed one hand to her mouth and swallowed, then took a breath. ‘He sniffed me like a dog, said I had a scent of sickness about me. He ridiculed me for not being able to bear children.’

Lucien attempted to speak, but she silenced him with an outstretched palm, eyes locked on the floor in front of her.

‘And then they took me to the
sanatorio.
And I was so glad, so grateful. Sitting there in the dark I realised how many girls, how many women, hadn’t had my luck. Every Orfani in Demesne is a testament to the king’s wickedness. Every Orfani is a marker for a life ruined, a woman preyed on.’

Lucien felt the familiar wave of guilt that washed over him at times like these. Being well acquainted with the feeling didn’t make it any easier to bear. The king had used devices to deliver his seed, but in the end his rape was as repellent as any other.

She paused. Her eyes hadn’t left the floor. Lucien watched her profile, the tightness in the jaw, the tension in her smooth shoulders. Her hands clutched at one another.

‘And I felt guilty,’ she whispered, ‘guilty that I should be spared something so horrible, so awful, when all those other women had suffered and were driven insane.’

‘I should have asked sooner,’ he said, shifting until he was kneeling next to her on the bed. She looked up at him at last, tears bright in her eyes and tracking down the soft curves of her face.

‘No, I’m sorry. I could have started this conversation – should have started it. I hoped it would go away, be forgotten about. But nothing ever goes away, does it?’

Warm hands found each other. They looked down at the union of their entwined fingers.

‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ said Lucien. ‘Who knows what any child of mine might look like. Simply birthing an Orfano might kill you.’ He chewed at his lip. ‘I couldn’t bear it. I nearly lost you once; I’ll not see you in danger again.’

A smile touched her soft lips, and then she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. They sat together for silent minutes, heads at peace on each other’s shoulders, arms wrapped firmly around one another.

‘Come on, time to get up. You’ve a big day ahead of you.’

‘Don’t say that; you sound like my nanny used to.’

‘Uncanny, isn’t it?’

‘You’d like her.’ He grinned. ‘Attractive, funny, smart. Kind too.’

‘Too bad she’s already taken.’

A knock came at the door.

‘You’re late,’ came a peeved voice from the other side. Unmistakably Dino.

When Lucien had washed and dressed, he found the younger Orfano outside. He was taller now, hair cut short in a rakish sort of way, and festooned with daggers. He’d adopted a suit of pale grey since Demesne’s reformation and taken to wearing his boots unbuckled, sword cane clutched in one hand, lacquered and polished.

‘You know, you’ve had all year to get under her skirt, and now when you’re summoned, you’re
still
at it.’ Dino shook his head and rolled his eyes.

‘One is not “at it” with a woman like Rafaela.’

‘Sleeping in, were we, my lord?’

‘You’ll be the same one day.’ Lucien grinned. ‘Just you wait and see.’

‘I doubt it.’

They walked in silence for a moment. Dino had often visited the
sanatorio
, which Lucien had claimed for himself, turning the place into a school. The previous tenants had been moved to a new
sanatorio
nearer the coast with better conditions and a score of nurses. Banners the colour of newly turned earth flapped and rippled in the wind behind them, suspended from each of the gargoyles on the building’s roof. Seven triangles in turquoise ran down the left side of each flag, a device of Lucien’s own design.

‘How’s it going in there?’ Lucien gestured to Demesne. He’d not been back in a year, busying himself with the school and Rafaela. The corridors held memories he was in no rush to revisit.

‘It’s all piss and vinegar,’ replied Dino casually. ‘Anea has curtailed House Fontein’s influence somewhat. The guards answer directly to her. Duke and Duchess Fontein have attracted a clique of blacksmiths and armourers, most of whom they had to poach from House Prospero. They still have the
Maestri di Spada
. They’re an academy and an armoury now, nothing more.’ He smiled at the older Orfano before continuing.

‘Duchess Prospero is up in arms of course. The
capo de custodia
looks like he can’t tell his arse from his elbow. Nothing new there. And there’s talk of a new Majordomo being appointed.’

‘Sounds like something you could do,’ said Lucien, waiting for the riposte.

‘Not likely,’ replied Dino. ‘I’m only thirteen. Besides, look what happened to the last one.’

‘Good point.’

They were outside Demesne now, not any of the houses but the gates of King’s Keep itself. A triumphal arch led from the gates to the exterior doors of the keep.

‘Don’t think I’ve ever passed this way before.’

‘Probably as a good a day to do so as any. Long live the king.’ Dino laughed. There was a flicker of movement at one of the narrow windows two floors up, and then the mighty wooden doors were opening outwards, pushed by teams of men, each four strong.

‘All this for me?’

‘They call you the Jack of Ravens now,’ said Dino.

‘And what do they call you?’

‘Well, Virmyre calls me “that bastard Orfano who swears too much”, but it’ll never catch on.’

‘He could shorten it to “bastard”.’

‘Yes,’ said Dino, ‘and I could shorten his life expectancy. And yours.’

‘I’ve heard you’re the quite the prodigy.’

‘I know the hilt from the blade. I find that helps.’

‘Such modesty in one so young.’

‘Shut up, Lucien.’

The doormen bowed and the man and boy entered the yawning portal. It was a vast and ornate threshold with six colonnettes on each side, each sporting a raven etched in stone. New additions since the king’s demise. No sooner had they passed under the arch than the doors were drawn shut again.

The circuitous corridor was barely recognisable. Oil lamps lit every alcove and new tiles had been laid in turquoise and white, Anea’s house colours. The doors to the king’s chambers had been replaced and painted white. Outside stood a hooded figure in deep crimson, clutching a silver staff. Lucien fought down a shudder of grim remembrance. The Majordomo had worn similar robes the day he’d been sworn in as a Fontein. And at Duke Prospero’s funeral.

A slender hand reached up to draw back the hood, revealing Russo’s oval face.

Dino let out a low whistle. ‘I guess I should have seen that coming.’

‘Surprised?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Just glad she didn’t ask me to do it.’

‘Hello, Lucien.’ Russo smiled warmly

‘Anea found you a new job then, did she?’

‘You’re not afraid of women on top, are you, Lucien?’

‘Not at all, just ask Rafaela.’

Dino rolled his eyes. ‘Can we go now?’

Russo turned to the gates, producing the two-pronged key that Lucien had wrested from the old Majordomo. Some things hadn’t changed after all. They entered the library, where Virmyre leafed through an old tome while he waited for them.

‘Remarkable,’ he whispered to himself.

‘Find anything interesting?’ asked Lucien.

‘Interesting?’ Virmyre turned to the Orfano. ‘Everything in this library is interesting, Lucien. There are things written here we couldn’t have imagined.’

‘How have you been keeping?’

‘Good. Anea has been keeping me busy.’

‘Don’t you mean Lady Diaspora?’ Anea had made a lot of changes in the last year, most notably reinventing herself.

‘Come on, she’s waiting,’ pressed Russo.

The king’s chamber had been transformed, the laboratory on the upper level dismantled. White drapes cascaded from the ceiling, running down the walls. The floor had been tiled, polished and waxed. It was a place of light and beauty now. Three score nobles stood and preened. Duchess Prospero whispered to Lady Allatamento. Lucien ignored her, nodding politely to Stephania instead. Stephania returned a tight smile and looked away, fanning herself.

‘She hates me, doesn’t she?’

‘It’s not your fault, but she’s not exactly drowning in suitors.’

The
capo
glowered at the Orfani as they passed. Lucien smiled cheerfully back.

‘Didn’t he throw you in the oubliette?’ enquired Dino.

‘I’d forgotten that minor detail.’

‘We could still arrest him, you know.’

‘I
wish
you would arrest him,’ grumbled Virmyre.

‘
You
could still arrest him,’ said Lucien. ‘I don’t live here any more, remember?’

‘I’m just saying. I don’t like him,’ added Dino.

‘Another thing we all have in common,’ said Virmyre.

In front of them was Araneae Oscuro Diaspora, ruler of Demesne and all of sixteen years old. There was no throne or sceptre, no crown or tiara, not even a banner to proclaim her authority. She’d carefully avoided the trappings of power while wielding it absolutely. A pair of pageboys lurked nearby, but there was meagre evidence that she was the island’s ruler. Her turquoise gown was belted by a white silk sash which matched her veil and gloves.

Russo joined Anea, nodding politely to her. ‘Lady Diaspora welcomes you back to Demesne, where you have been sorely missed.’

Anea’s eyes flickered with amusement above her veil. Smiles and greetings were exchanged and then the group retired up the staircase that led to the gallery. Below them the nobles muttered and seethed.

‘I see the Orfani are as popular with the
nobili
as ever,’ said Lucien, remembering a time he might have been tempted to spit over the railings.

‘They’re anxious,’ said Russo, her staff tapping out a regular rhythm on the wooden floor. ‘They know that taking power from House Fontein is just the start.’

‘The Contadini don’t care much for the other houses,’ said Virmyre. ‘They might prove useful in the years ahead.’

Anea took Lucien by the hand and led him to an alcove off the dome. Sunlight streamed in around them. He looked down, unable to believe this was the same place he’d confronted the king. Russo, Virmyre and Dino waited at the railing, talking between themselves.

In the alcove was a plinth carved from pure white marble, a rosewood box four feet long resting on it. Lucien instinctively knew what it was. He turned to Anea and she nodded, her eyes filled with happiness. He reached forward and undid the brass clasps, lifting the lid reverently. Inside was a replica of the blade he’d carried into his final testing, perfect in every way. It could have been the same blade. He ran his fingers over the smooth ceramic and looked at Anea.

‘It’s beautiful.’ He lifted the weapon out of the case, remembering how Giancarlo had destroyed the previous incarnation. He returned the blade to its case.

Anea brought a notebook out from one of her sleeves, turning to a page marked with a black ribbon. Lucien looked down at the words she’d prepared for him:
I wanted you to have these also.

She circled the plinth and stooped, retrieving a smaller rosewood box. Lucien waited, unsure of what to expect. He took the container and opened it, feeling his throat grow thick with emotion. Inside were the porcelain ears that Raul da Costa had made him when he was twelve. They were smaller than he remembered them. Pitiful and yet perfect somehow, despite their ruin.

‘You kept them all this time,’ he breathed. ‘You kept them even though I was awful to you, or neglected you or failed you.’

She hurriedly wrote something in her book, then turned it to him:
You never failed me. You saved me. We saved each other. And from now on I think I’d like to call you brother.

Lucien lent forward and kissed her on the forehead.

‘You know, if we accept that we’re brother and sister, we have to accept Dino as part of this too.’