Votive (23 page)

‘When you’re ready, Signorina,’ he said drolly.

‘Sì. Vero. It’s true,’ I said, more to myself than Baroque as I passed him. ‘This will change more than my eyes. I think if I use the potion directly, drop it into my eyes as your lady would, instead of extracting, it will last longer. I will try that.’ My voice was confident, but my insides were quivering like the houses Jacopo made from cards. With practice, I could, if I was careful, enter the world of Serenissima.

The puzzle of what to do about my eyes had been all that was ever going to prevent me from being seen in public; it was all that had been holding back the Maleovellis’ grand plans. Now that obstacle was all but removed.

Baroque had been right: even something that on the surface seemed evil contained some good. Another lesson learnt.

Not only had I solved a very serious problem, I had unwittingly engineered the next step in my education.

D
ANTE WIPED THE SWEAT FROM HIS BROW
and adjusted his stance. He lifted his sword in challenge. ‘Again,’ he demanded. ‘I want satisfaction.’

Alessandro bent over, hands gripping his knees, his blade lying at his feet. ‘No.’ he panted. ‘I surrender. I don’t know how you came up with that manoeuvre, but you’ve bested me once more.’

‘Alessandro,’ reasoned Dante, ‘you can’t surrender. I haven’t drawn blood.’

‘Not this time.’ Alessandro scooped his sword off the ground and wiped his hand across his brow. Dark streaks marked his forehead. ‘But you’ve still managed to shred my shirt.’ He held it away from his body and groaned. ‘Are you sure you never learnt to fence in Serenissima?’

‘You keep asking me that!’ laughed Dante and, with practised smoothness, sheathed his sword. He ran towards Alessandro, giving him a friendly slap on the back. ‘I tell you, I never lifted a sword until I came here. I was a chandler … and not a very good one. You just don’t like the idea that you’ve had hundreds of years to practise and a novice beats you.’

‘I wouldn’t describe you as a novice, Dante, not anymore,’ said Alessandro stiffly, but the twinkle in his eyes belied his apparent offence. His eyes followed
Dante as the young Rider strode to one of the numerous ponds that dotted the landscape. Kneeling at the edge, he unlaced his shirt and pulled it over his head. He dipped his face into the water and threw handfuls over his chest. The water flattened his dark hair and trickled over his torso and arms. Alessandro noticed how sinewy Dante was becoming; his daily workouts with the sword and general hand-to-hand fighting with daggers and a battle-axe were changing him. While his skin had taken on the hue of the Limen, it lacked the sickly pallor that defined so many of the Riders. His shoulders had filled out, his back had hardened and his muscles were becoming more pronounced. The scars that marked his body were also healing nicely, even the large puckered one across his palm, the one Katina had given him.

Alessandro couldn’t help the stab of betrayal that pierced him every time he thought about what she’d done, how she’d deliberately concealed her plans. He knew it was to protect him and Debora. But he’d thought their relationship was different, that they shared everything. He should have known better. Once the possibility of a Bond being fulfilled is realised, a Rider is subsumed. Everything else, even lovers, become secondary.

Watching Dante revelling in the water, unaware of the looks of admiration and envy he attracted, he knew the young man had a role to play yet. What he feared most was that it might be all too brief. So much rode on what the Council would decide. That they entrusted Dante’s care to Alessandro and Debora and that Elder Dandolo himself had ordered Dante be trained was a positive sign, surely? Elder Maggiore had taken a particular interest in how Dante was being instructed, which also struck Alessandro as unusual.

Alessandro wasn’t sure of anything anymore. All that
had been solid was now as ephemeral as the mist that defined their existence.

‘How was the session?’ Debora emerged out of the shifting veils of fog and joined Alessandro, giving him a kiss before pulling at his shirt. ‘You don’t need to answer, I can tell. Another one ruined. It will take you ages to stitch this back together.’

Dante waved to her and ducked his head in the water again.

‘He’s very good,’ said Alessandro quietly, though his heart lightened to have one of his partners there. ‘I would swear he’s done this before.’

‘I know.’ Debora looked over towards their charge. ‘It’s like he’s born to this life. His body has adjusted faster than anyone’s I have ever seen. Even his horse skills – it usually takes weeks for a Rider and horse to properly bond. With Dante and Argento, it was merely hours.’

‘And he was so anxious, after what happened on the ponticello back in Serenissima.’

‘Until he saw her.’

A slender silver mare broke away from the grazing herd and trotted over to where Dante knelt by the pond. She nudged him until he stood up and wrapped his arms around her neck and scratched her ears. They saw him slap her powerful flanks, running his hands over her smooth coat.

‘He named her for the Estrattore.’

‘How could he not, with that silver colour? She practically glows in the mist.’

‘Do you think it’s something to do with the Obbligare Doppio? That somehow, he’s absorbed Katina’s skills when they shared a Bond?’

Debora shrugged. ‘Who knows? That’s what the others are saying.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘They’re
jealous, you know. Of what he can do – of how easily he’s adapted.’

Alessandro followed the direction of her gaze. Clusters of Bond Riders cleaning weapons or grooming horses could be seen through the haze. Their tents rose like a swelling ocean. A few were turned to observe Dante. When they caught Debora and Alessandro looking at them, they hurriedly returned to their tasks. ‘Aren’t we all?’ said Alessandro wistfully.

The thunder of hooves broke the relative calm. Alessandro and Debora spun round. Dante was immediately alert, his hand moving over the pommel of his weapon. Bursting through the trees came a mounted Rider. He pulled at the reins, the horse skidding to a halt sending detritus into the air.

‘We’re summoned to the palazzo,’ he cried. ‘The trial of the traitor begins.’ The Rider wheeled his horse and disappeared through the trees, the fog swallowing him in seconds. His voice carried as he made the same announcement over and over, mustering Riders to the Council of Elders.

Alessandro and Debora exchanged a long look.

‘They’re calling her “traitor” openly now,’ said Alessandro grimly.

‘It’s as if they’ve already condemned her,’ agreed Debora.

Dante pulled his shirt back over his head and joined them, Argento in tow. ‘They’ve made a decision then, have they?’ His great black eyes sparkled.

‘Sì,’ whispered Debora. She reached for Alessandro, twining her fingers around his.

Dante nodded gloomily. A rough hand gripped his shoulder.

‘Prepare yourself, Dante’ said Alessandro. ‘For it’s not only Katina’s fate that’s about to be decided.’

Dante fell silent. His eyes grew distant.

‘Come on,’ said Debora, aware the other Riders were on the move. ‘Let’s get to the palazzo. Katina needs us now more than ever, no matter what the outcome.’

D
ANTE SQUEEZED BETWEEN
A
LESSANDRO
and Debora, sitting on one of the crude benches that lined the cave walls. As the brown-garbed Bond Riders filed past him, jostling for a seat, he was astonished at how many people there were. Looking around, he saw well over five hundred men and women grabbing chairs and stools and facing the long, stone table behind which sat ten sombre-faced men and women. Eight for each of the casas on Nobiles’ Rise and two extra to mirror the Council of Ten back in Serenissima. Bond Riders might eschew the titles that Serenissians so enjoyed – the hierarchy that ordained daily living – and pretend that bloodlines didn’t matter, but that didn’t stop them replicating it. Life in the Limen was governed by many rules, by petty power struggles and, he thought as he looked around, complex sexual ones as well.

Most of the Riders cast virulent looks in his direction. Of those he’d encountered, none had spoken to him with the exception of Cristoforo – only he hadn’t seen him since the first day. Jealous lest he upset an existing arrangement or longstanding relationship, most ignored him, grateful the responsibility for his well-being and training had fallen to Debora and Alessandro. But whereas the Bond Riders had mostly been indifferent to him, Santo and Stefano had not. They didn’t talk to or threaten him again – not with words, not when they could do it with their eyes. So often he felt their gaze, boring holes of hatred into him.

As if conjured by his thoughts, Cristoforo appeared, a female Bond Rider in tow. He looked around and saw Dante, giving him the briefest of nods. The woman shot him a baleful look and whispered something to Cristoforo, who nodded and covered her hand with his own. They seated themselves next to a couple who smiled warmly at them and faced the front.

Dante resisted the urge to sigh. For the first time in his life, he’d found a place where he was at ease with his choices, deft with the skills he was learning. Only, the community didn’t want him. He studied the render burns on his arms – remnants of his old life, marks of experience or of failure. Back in Serenissima, he was a member of a large family, a trade and a tradition. Apart from his family, it had meant nothing to him. He’d hated being a chandler. Here, despite the coldness of the Riders, he felt he had found his place. This new life and his Bond consumed him – he didn’t care what the others thought. It made no difference to his pledge.

Pulsing away, deep inside him, was not only his link to Katina, a vague awareness of her presence, her state of mind – which was surprisingly calm – but of Tallow. With every breath he took, every movement he made, every sigh and heartbeat, was Tallow. She burned deep inside him like an unfulfilled urge.

That was another reason the Riders didn’t speak to him. He had not only rendered their Bonds void until his and Katina’s were fulfilled, but he was not like them. He could discuss his Bond – with Katina. They shared not only this life, but their mutual pledge and that, he gleaned from hints that Debora and Alessandro dropped, kept it strong and meaningful. He’d been in this strange, complex world long enough to recognise how important sharing was. Bonds separated and individualised Riders, but love and sex gave them a chance to reconnect. And reconnect they did. Even
now, as they filed in, Dante could identify couples, threesomes, and more. Same sex, opposite; it didn’t matter in this world. God could not condemn a soul if the sinner didn’t possess one. But Dante couldn’t think of these people as sinners. Not now he was one of them.

The shuffling of feet and the scrape of benches gradually slowed as stragglers entered. The only light, apart from the weak one filtering through the yawning cave mouth, was provided by spluttering candles melting in their wall brackets and in holders on the main table. They smoked badly.

Moving his feet out of the way so a tall woman could pass, Dante caught sight of Santo. Unaware of Dante’s gaze, he sat with his legs outstretched and his ankles crossed, a barrier that people were forced to negotiate. Dante noted the way he pulled his hair off his face, the care that had gone into his grooming; his shirt opened just so, his boots shined to a high gloss. His face was the same washy colour as those who sat on either side, but his eyes were cold and his chin weak. Scanning everyone who entered, he was clearly on the lookout for his partner. There was something about Santo that plucked at Dante’s memory. He knew Santo was young in Rider terms, that he’d crossed over only about thirty years earlier. He shouldn’t be familiar to him at all … and yet. Santo’s face lit up as another man appeared before him and he quickly drew his legs in and straightened his body with the eagerness of an apprentice welcoming a beloved master. Stefano squeezed into the small gap beside Santo, forcing the people already seated to rearrange themselves on either side. Their heads came together as they whispered, their eyes darting around them before they landed on Dante. Dante looked away, but not before he’d seen their triumphant smiles.

Finally, hundreds of faces were fixed on the older group behind the table. ‘Are they the Elders?’ whispered Dante. His last word was captured and bounced off the walls –
Elders? Elders? Elders?
– his intonation casting a question over their authority.

Dante held his breath. A trickle of sweat carved a passage between his shoulder blades. Already, the air was growing warm, close.

Alessandro pressed his lips against Dante’s ear. ‘Sì. They’re our Elders, like the Doge’s Council in Serenissima, they’ve kept peace and order here in the Limen ever since the Bond Riders came into being.’ Alessandro glanced around then continued. ‘Here, we’re all senators – whether we’re from a nobile line or not. We all have a say – we’re all kept informed. In the Limen it’s what the popolani think – what
we
think that counts.’

Before Dante could challenge this, a shadow filled the cave entrance and, as one, the crowd stood as a thin, ancient man dressed in a gold togati, draped with an ermine cloak and wearing a cone-shaped hat appeared. For just a moment, Dante thought the Doge had left Serenissima and entered the Limen. His heart caught in his throat.

The old man moved behind the table and took the central seat. As he sat, the other Elders took their places and the Bond Riders, after a suitable interval, followed suit.

‘Bring in Katina Maggiore,’ said the man. His voice was clear and deep.

From a recess in the cave that Dante hadn’t noticed before came two guards. Between them walked Katina. Debora drew her breath in sharply and Alessandro stiffened. Dante wished he hadn’t sat between them, but it was too late to move.

Neatly groomed with a clean shirt and leggings, Katina looked refreshed. Age appeared to have sloughed away
from her. Dante had met her only once, but he’d remembered her as older. Not this tall, relatively unlined woman who stood before the Council. She hadn’t been languishing in a cell as he’d imagined.