tartans. Done.”
“Hired killers have been known to brag, especially if their target is the
pope
. No, exposure would be too risky. We need the Argalls themselves to do it. If we leak Livia’s movements and pull your guards away at the right moment, giving them a window of opportunity…”
“
Her
guards are the problem,” Rhys said. “Those damn Browncloaks are lunatics, and she’s never without a handful of ’em following her like baby ducks. I’ve seen them training to fight, out in the courtyard. They’re more dangerous than they look.”
The room fell into silence, the four men contemplating the problem.
“Would they leave her side,” Yates said slowly, “if
she
asked them to?”
Rhys shrugged. “I suppose, but why would she?”
“Say a close friend of hers, a confidante, had something to tell her in private. Then she’d be alone and vulnerable.”
“You’re talking about a traitor,” Rhys said.
Yates nodded. “Someone close to her who we can bribe, or at least convince that removing Livia is the best thing for the Church and the country.”
“Dante Uccello,” Merrion said. “He’s loyal to no one but himself.”
“Exactly,” Rhys replied, “which is why he’s just as likely to run to Livia and share our plans, and then we’d
really
be sunk. No. Not Uccello. In fact—Merrion, make a note. The hour Livia dies, I want Uccello’s corpse laid out right next to her. I don’t care how you do it, just kill him.”
“But your deal to aid in the conquest of Mirenze—”
“Would have yielded pocket change, if it succeeded at all. Uccello is too much of a wild card. I want him gone.”
“So,” Byvan said, “who’s close to her? Who does she trust, and who can we use?”
Again, the room fell silent.
* * *
Amadeo woke with a scream lodged in his throat. He shot bolt upright in bed, his linens soaked in icy sweat.
The nightmares were back.
They hadn’t tormented him since the night of the Alms District massacre. Before that, though, during the intrigue at the papal manse, they’d been a nightly plague. Visions that felt, sounded, smelled as real as life. Visions of sea monsters, and burning houses, and black smoke in the sky over the papal manse. And the dream that stuck with him more than the others—the one he’d been contemplating since his talk with Sister Columba.
Running down a blood-soaked hallway, trying to get to Livia but never reaching her.
“You can’t save me,” she said.
“I’m coming! Don’t go.”
“This is just a mask.” Livia reached up to tug at the skin under her eye. The flesh yielded under her fingernails, tearing to reveal the glistening muscle and bone underneath.
Tonight, he’d dreamed about Livia again.
First, though, was the owl. He’d faced the image of a great and terrible horned owl, rippling as if reflected upon ink-black waters, with dire yellow eyes that bored into him like needles. A splash broke the water and banished the image.
Now came Livia. He saw himself walking at her side along a lonely stretch of frost-licked road. Uneasy on the slick cobblestones, leaning close for support. He watched, disembodied, circling above like a bird, as Livia tumbled to the ground.
He stood beside her. Looking down at the dagger jutting from Livia’s heart, and at the bloodstains on his hands.
Sitting up in bed, awake, shivering, Amadeo stared at his fingers and palms. Making sure they were clean.
He washed and changed, slipping into his forest-green cassock, and left his chamber in search of something to eat. Up the corridor, Sister Columba hobbled his way.
They met in the middle and paused.
“Have you had a chance—”
He held up a hand. “I’m looking into it. I promised I would, and I am.”
She nodded, grim-faced, and walked away.
Chapter Fifteen
Cardinal Accorsi walked along a dank stone tunnel, the rock seeping wet and stinking of raw sewage. Torches flickered from black iron wall sconces, guttering
“Hired killers have been known to brag, especially if their target is the
pope
. No, exposure would be too risky. We need the Argalls themselves to do it. If we leak Livia’s movements and pull your guards away at the right moment, giving them a window of opportunity…”
“
Her
guards are the problem,” Rhys said. “Those damn Browncloaks are lunatics, and she’s never without a handful of ’em following her like baby ducks. I’ve seen them training to fight, out in the courtyard. They’re more dangerous than they look.”
The room fell into silence, the four men contemplating the problem.
“Would they leave her side,” Yates said slowly, “if
she
asked them to?”
Rhys shrugged. “I suppose, but why would she?”
“Say a close friend of hers, a confidante, had something to tell her in private. Then she’d be alone and vulnerable.”
“You’re talking about a traitor,” Rhys said.
Yates nodded. “Someone close to her who we can bribe, or at least convince that removing Livia is the best thing for the Church and the country.”
“Dante Uccello,” Merrion said. “He’s loyal to no one but himself.”
“Exactly,” Rhys replied, “which is why he’s just as likely to run to Livia and share our plans, and then we’d
really
be sunk. No. Not Uccello. In fact—Merrion, make a note. The hour Livia dies, I want Uccello’s corpse laid out right next to her. I don’t care how you do it, just kill him.”
“But your deal to aid in the conquest of Mirenze—”
“Would have yielded pocket change, if it succeeded at all. Uccello is too much of a wild card. I want him gone.”
“So,” Byvan said, “who’s close to her? Who does she trust, and who can we use?”
Again, the room fell silent.
* * *
Amadeo woke with a scream lodged in his throat. He shot bolt upright in bed, his linens soaked in icy sweat.
The nightmares were back.
They hadn’t tormented him since the night of the Alms District massacre. Before that, though, during the intrigue at the papal manse, they’d been a nightly plague. Visions that felt, sounded, smelled as real as life. Visions of sea monsters, and burning houses, and black smoke in the sky over the papal manse. And the dream that stuck with him more than the others—the one he’d been contemplating since his talk with Sister Columba.
Running down a blood-soaked hallway, trying to get to Livia but never reaching her.
“You can’t save me,” she said.
“I’m coming! Don’t go.”
“This is just a mask.” Livia reached up to tug at the skin under her eye. The flesh yielded under her fingernails, tearing to reveal the glistening muscle and bone underneath.
Tonight, he’d dreamed about Livia again.
First, though, was the owl. He’d faced the image of a great and terrible horned owl, rippling as if reflected upon ink-black waters, with dire yellow eyes that bored into him like needles. A splash broke the water and banished the image.
Now came Livia. He saw himself walking at her side along a lonely stretch of frost-licked road. Uneasy on the slick cobblestones, leaning close for support. He watched, disembodied, circling above like a bird, as Livia tumbled to the ground.
He stood beside her. Looking down at the dagger jutting from Livia’s heart, and at the bloodstains on his hands.
Sitting up in bed, awake, shivering, Amadeo stared at his fingers and palms. Making sure they were clean.
He washed and changed, slipping into his forest-green cassock, and left his chamber in search of something to eat. Up the corridor, Sister Columba hobbled his way.
They met in the middle and paused.
“Have you had a chance—”
He held up a hand. “I’m looking into it. I promised I would, and I am.”
She nodded, grim-faced, and walked away.
Chapter Fifteen
Cardinal Accorsi walked along a dank stone tunnel, the rock seeping wet and stinking of raw sewage. Torches flickered from black iron wall sconces, guttering
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