Текст книги "The Raven"

Автор книги: Sylvain Reynard

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

“And the other woman?”

“What other woman?”

“The woman you left in the club.” Lorenzo gestured toward the door.

The Prince startled, for he’d forgotten her.

“Find out her name and address and ask one of the guards to escort her home. She is not to be touched by anyone.”

“As you wish.”

The Prince dismissed his lieutenant and instructed the security guard to return to his post. Then he ran in the direction of Santo Spirito, as if the very forces of hell were chasing him.

Chapter Sixteen

In the Prince’s experience, coincidences were rare. That was why he flew with great speed to Jane’s building.

It was possible another woman had evaded the feral because of a talisman. It was possible a policeman other than the one he’d seen following her had been killed.

He wanted to ensure she was safe, although he took great care to conceal his movements. He didn’t want to draw more attention to her and he certainly didn’t want it known that some relics had no effect on him.

Maximilian and his allies would have declared the Prince’s tactics paranoid and unnecessary. But there was a reason why his coven had lasted so long. There was a reason why his principality was safe, while others around the world were threatened or even destroyed. He kept his secrets secret.

What humans did not know about, they couldn’t fight. Certainly they couldn’t recruit the coven’s enemies without knowledge of the coven itself.

There’d been a time when he and his kind were well-known in Europe and had not lived in secret. Then came the Black Death, poisoning their food supply. His brethren had shrunk in numbers, some being destroyed in their hungry, weakened state while others quit Europe for unblighted parts of the world.

Then the Curia had emerged. It was a mysterious group, formed by human beings, but wielding limited supernatural powers. It had tried to eradicate his kind and had waged a war against them. When the war ended, neither side won, although both claimed victory. The uneasy truce that emerged between the European covens and the Curia required the covens to live underground, in shadowy, secret societies. Any public exposure was perilous.

With the rise of the Enlightenment and the triumph of science over the supernatural, first-person accounts of encounters with his kind became stories, and the stories eventually became myths. The Curia intervened to protect the public from what lay hidden in their midst only when provoked. The covens did their best not to provoke it by attracting attention.

Thus, the Prince jealously guarded his city, even to the point of killing to secure it. The feral and its witnesses threatened his world, as did whoever escaped the feral.

And if it were Cassita…

He surveyed the piazza from the building next to hers.

He could have chosen a better vantage point, that of the church nearby. But despite his ability to walk on holy ground, he couldn’t do so unscathed. He tended to avoid the pain, unless it accompanied his daily triumphal climb to the top of Brunelleschi’s dome. And he only visited the dome before the sun set and his brethren awoke.

From his vantage point, he could see the police. They’d cordoned off an area in front of Jane’s building, erecting tents to stave off the rain. He saw one of the officers wheel a black Vespa toward the tent. The Vespa looked familiar.

Keeping to the shadows, he leapt to the ground at the back and walked to Raven’s building. He unlocked the back door and swept inside, out of the rain. The stairwell was illuminated but empty.

Brushing the rain from his blond hair and face, he held his breath. The woman in the apartment next to Jane’s had cancer. He’d smelled the stench before and it was most unpleasant. He didn’t relish inhaling it again.

As he gazed at the staircase, he contemplated cutting off the electricity to Jane’s apartment.

Truthfully, he both wanted and did not want to speak with her.

He wanted to shake some sense into her and force her to leave the city. But he also wanted to ascertain that she was safe and that she hadn’t volunteered any information to the police. These goals would be difficult to achieve without speaking with her and, he admitted ruefully, frightening her.

When he’d saved her life that night, over a week before, he had no idea his very existence would change—that he would be forced to come to her aid again and again.

She needed to leave the city. For her own safety and for the security of his principality, she needed to flee Florence and never return.

Within minutes, he’d cut off the electricity to her apartment and unlocked her door, slipping inside.

He moved through the kitchen, purposefully making a few muted sounds. He wanted to announce his arrival, but softly, so as not to frighten her. By what he could hear of her heartbeat and breathing, he knew she was awake.

As he walked toward the bedroom, she began moving.

“Are you injured?” he whispered in Italian.

He knew she wasn’t. He could smell her blood, of course, but the scent was muted. She didn’t have any wounds and there was no indication of tears, either.

His Cassita had not cried. He took pride in the fact.

He paused for a moment, listening to her struggle to breathe as quietly as possible. But to no avail.

He entered her room.

Just as his foot crossed the threshold, she leapt from behind the door, swinging something in the direction of his kneecaps.

He jumped, evading the object.

She swore as she swung in vain, pitching forward on unsteady feet.

When he landed, he pulled what turned out to be her cane away from her, breaking it in half with a loud, angry crack. He threw the two pieces across the room, ignoring the sound of them striking the wall. Then he pulled her against his body, so they were chest to chest.

For a moment he stared. Having her in his arms provided a tangible distraction, as did her large, unseeing green eyes.

“Let me go!” She struggled, pushing against his shoulders.

“I came to see if you were hurt. Clearly you aren’t.”

“I said, let go!” she shrieked, pushing and kicking at him with all her strength.

With a loud curse, he held her more tightly, lifting her off her feet.

Now they were close, very close. He could feel her breath on his face and if he moved a few inches, her lips would be his.

Instinctively, he moved toward her mouth.

“You came back,” she managed to say, breathing roughly.

“Yes, Jane.”

“You’re hurting me.”

The Prince paused, eyeing her attractive mouth.

He placed her on her feet and loosened his grip, but did not let go. His arms encircled her, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to thigh.

He brushed the hair from her face.

She turned her head. “Don’t touch me.”

Now he released her.

She tried to get as far away from him as possible. Disoriented in the darkness, she tripped and fell.

The Prince watched in horror as her forehead caught on the metal frame of the bed. The tang of her blood sliced through the air.

She cried out in pain.

He was at her side in an instant, crouching beside her. “Let me see.”

Raven didn’t answer, holding her hand to her wound.

He pried her fingers away and swore.

“Don’t move.”

He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and walked to the bathroom, where he soaked it in cold water. When he returned, she was still sitting on the floor, stunned.

“This should help.” He placed the cloth to her forehead.

She winced from the cold.

“I hit my head.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Not all of us can see in the dark, you know.” She glared in his direction.

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

He found himself inhaling her scent. It wasn’t particularly enticing. Her own sweet vintage was muddled with the blood of the old ones he’d transfused. He’d never found their scent attractive.

“You’ll heal more quickly than usual, but you’ll have a wound tomorrow.”

“Why will I heal more quickly?”

He pressed his lips together. “You have larger problems to worry about.”

“My health is a pretty large problem. Tell me why I’ll heal quickly.”

“Leave the city and I’ll tell you.”

He lifted the handkerchief in order to inspect the gash and shook his head.

Her heart rate had slowed somewhat and her breathing evened out, but she still wore the scent of fear.

There were dark circles below her eyes. She looked exhausted.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said softly.

“I’ll be fine.” She tried to push his hand away, but he resisted, pressing the cloth to her wound.

“It may scar.”

“There goes my chance at Miss America.”

“What?”

She sighed. “Never mind.”

“You confound me,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

Lightly, he brought his other hand to her face and traced the ridge of her cheekbone.

Raven was surprised at how comforting his touch was. She rationalized she was feeling shaky after hitting her head and that there wasn’t anything special about how he was touching her. He could have been anyone—any Good Samaritan who came to her aid.

Abruptly, he helped her to her feet and directed her toward the bed. When she was seated, he positioned her so she was holding the handkerchief to her wound.

“Something happened in the piazza this evening. Did you see it?” He tried to sound casual.

She shuddered. “Yes.”

“Were you afraid?”

Her heart skipped a beat, providing him with an affirmative answer.

“Are you going to kill me?” she whispered.

The edges of his lips turned up.

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t have bothered to lend you the relic. Or my handkerchief, which you can keep.”

Raven removed the cloth from her head and turned it over in her hands. She couldn’t see it but she could feel it. It felt like linen.

She placed it back on her wound.

“The man who killed the other man, is he who you warned me about?”

“It wasn’t a man.” The Prince’s response was swift. “And no, I hadn’t expected one of those creatures to enter my city.”

“Your city?”

“The city,” he amended quickly.

“If it wasn’t a man, what was it?”

“We call them ferals. As you saw, they’re dangerous.”

“Are there more?”

“Yes, but we keep them outside the city. Somehow that one breached the border.”

“But he wasn’t what you were warning me about.”

The Prince clenched his teeth. “No.”

Adrenaline spiked in her system. He could smell it and hear the way her heart rate increased.

“He was a cannibal,” she managed to say.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“He saw me first. Why didn’t he attack?”

The Prince frowned. “I should have thought it would be obvious. It’s because of what you’re wearing around your neck.”

Raven removed the handkerchief from her forehead. “Bullshit.”

“Ignorance,” he rejoined, sounding cross. “You modern people live in your own version of the Dark Ages, dismissing anything you can’t understand. If the relic didn’t stop him, what the hell did?”

Raven shut her mouth abruptly, not knowing what to say.

The Prince relaxed his posture and lowered his voice. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine.”

“Hardly. You’re in danger and the danger is real. Tonight you watched a feral feed but you didn’t dissolve into hysterics.” His tone bore the merest hint of admiration. “I thought you lacked an appreciation for the true danger you are facing. Now I know that isn’t true. I’m beginning to think you may have courage.”

She shifted, picking up a pillow and hugging it to her chest.

“Why are you here?”

His smile faded.

“As I said, I came to see if you were all right.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” His tone cooled.

“Why do you keep cutting off my electricity?”

“Why don’t you do as you’re told and leave the city?” he snapped.

“You gave me two weeks. I was hoping you’d keep your word.”

“That was before a policeman was killed by a feral in front of your building. How dangerous do things have to be before you decide to leave?”

Now he’d lost his temper.

He turned his back on her and walked toward the door.

“It’s likely he was the same man who has been following you since yesterday, but I can’t say for sure.”

Raven hugged the pillow more tightly. “He saw the man yelling at me. He came to help.”

“Policemen tend to do that.” The Prince sniffed.

She pointed a contemptuous look in his general direction. “You don’t care, do you? You don’t care that he died trying to protect me.”

“No, I don’t. His protection was unnecessary. I was protecting you, through the relic.”

“Why?”

“Why, indeed?” he muttered to himself.

“There has to be a reason.” She turned toward the window, which was shuttered. “I don’t have any money. I don’t have anything of value. What do you want?”

Several answers sprang to the Prince’s mind. But he was not about to entertain them. Or confess them.

He moved toward the bed and adopted a lighter tone.

“Perhaps I’m captivated by those green eyes of yours.”

Raven blinked in the darkness. “Now I know you’re lying. Why don’t you tell me who you are and what you really want?”

The Prince’s gaze focused on her so sharply, she almost felt it.

“I want you to leave the city.”

“You seem to know a lot about what goes on in Florence. Something happened to me last week. I lost my memory and—things changed.”

“I know that.” His voice was low.

“Tell me what happened.” She put the pillow aside and moved to the edge of the bed. “Please.”

He ground his teeth together. “No.”

“I have a right to know. You have to tell me.” Her expression twisted his insides.

“Promise me you’ll leave the city and I’ll tell you everything you wish to know.”

She sat back on her knees. “If I have the relic and it seems to work, why would I need to leave?”

“Are you mad?” he growled.

“Is the man who attacked the policeman the one who killed the others?”

The Prince froze. “What others?”

“La Nazione reported that several bodies were found downriver.”

His eyes narrowed. “When?”

“It was reported yesterday, but I haven’t had a chance to read the article.”

He swept away from her to the far side of the room, his mind spinning. He was unaware of the bodies and his anger at being surprised was almost boundless.

She heard him move and shifted to the side of the bed.

“Why won’t you go to the police? Interpol is here, investigating the Uffizi robbery. Why not turn these others over to the police?”

“Because I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t presume to give advice about things you don’t understand!”

Undeterred by his temper, Raven continued.

“You won’t turn them in, but you’d go against the others to protect me? Why should I believe you?”

“You don’t have to believe me.” His voice lowered into a growl. “Just leave the city.”

“You gave me the relic to help me. You warned me about the others. Tonight, you heard about the feral and came to see if I was all right. Obviously you don’t want me to get hurt. If you’re powerful enough to know what’s going on in the city, you must be powerful enough to help me.

“Please don’t make me leave,” she whispered. “This is the only place I’ve ever been happy.”

For a moment he was silent. He closed his eyes and began rubbing his forehead.

At length, he spoke.

“A long time ago, I came here in search of happiness.”

“Did you find it?”

“No.”

“I did.” Raven’s tone bespoke her truthfulness. “I left the U.S. to start a new life. If you send me back, I’ll have nothing.”

The Prince watched her in the darkness—her uplifted face with the creamy skin and perfect features, her long black hair. She was beautiful, she was intelligent, and she was brave. Something akin to admiration began to grow and warm in his chest.

He shook his head. He hadn’t come to her home in order to admire her. Any connection to her could only lead to darkness.

He changed the subject abruptly. “Do you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” There was an edge to her voice.

“Learn from Psyche’s mistake and do what I tell you.”

“So you’re Cupid?”

He stepped closer and dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “I am the monster, hiding in the darkness.”

“I doubt that a monster would hand out religious artifacts to damsels in distress.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly ‘handing them out.’ I gave you money. Use it to go back to America.”

“It’s in a shoe box in my closet. I don’t want it.”

“You’ll need it.”

She lifted her hands. “All of this must have a perfectly reasonable explanation. The man who killed the other man was disturbed. It isn’t kind to refer to him as feral. And you and the others are part of a crime ring. Obviously.” There was more than a note of hope in her voice.

“Your denial is amusing, but it won’t change reality.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“I’m grateful for your help. I don’t know why the man was upset by the cross I was wearing, but I’m glad he was. He could have killed me. But you’re mistaken about the danger. I promise, I’m no one special. I work at the gallery, I go out with my friends, I draw and I paint. I don’t know state secrets and I don’t have access to the security of the gallery. I’m just a boring, average postdoctoral research associate. That’s all.”

“I disagree. But I’ve been here too long already. If tonight’s events won’t convince you to leave, there’s little else I can do. I’ve warned you twice. What happens next is your responsibility.” His voice was cold.

“I won’t leave the city.”

His expression grew fierce.

“Even if it costs you your life?”

Raven faced him stubbornly. “It won’t come to that.”

“Very well.”

The Prince cursed, before lifting both hands, holding them out in front of him, palms up.

“Innocens ego sum a sanguine.”

He dropped his hands and walked to the door. “When you come to beg for my help, I will remind you of this moment. I’ll demand something of you. And you’ll give it to me.”

“I won’t come to you and I certainly won’t beg.” She sounded contemptuous.

He returned to stand next to the bed.

“Yes, you will.”

He stroked the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

The Prince indulged himself in the feel of her skin and the beauty of her eyes.

When the lights came back on, Raven was alone.

Chapter Seventeen

Beneath the city of Florence lay a labyrinth of tunnels, secret passages, and catacombs. The tunnels were used by the citizens of the underworld, especially in daylight when they could not travel aboveground.

The focal point of the tunnels was the great hall below the Palazzo Riccardi, which was used for Consilium meetings and other formal events of state. Its stone walls were hung with tapestries and panels illustrating the history of the city. Several suits of armor along with various swords and weapons were also displayed.

The room was dark. The underworld wasn’t wired with electricity and so torches burned in wall sconces, while elaborate iron candelabras illuminated the cavernous space. Shadows flickered across the faces of the beings who’d assembled.

Interestingly enough, the tunnels were noticeably absent of rats.

“This meeting of the Consilium will come to order.” Lorenzo thumped a tall staff, which boasted a carved gold lily on its top.

At his announcement, the other five Consilium members came forward and sat in tall wooden chairs that were upholstered with red velvet. The seats were arranged in sets of three, facing the front on either side of a central aisle that featured a long, red velvet runner.

Moments later, the Prince entered the hall through its large double doors, his black velvet robe billowing behind him. He strode up the aisle to a large gold throne that stood on a raised platform.

He did not look pleased.

While the Consilium members wore formal clothes in the style of the Renaissance, capped with red velvet cloaks, the Prince was dressed in modern clothing, with the exception of his robe. As always, he wore black.

The council members stood as soon as he entered and, when he’d taken his place, they bowed. He acknowledged them impatiently, waving at them to be seated before turning to his lieutenant.

“Clear the gallery. Offer my apologies to the citizens and see that they are fed.”

Lorenzo bowed again, trying to hide his displeasure. He quickly directed the sentries to escort the citizens from the hall. Then he whispered instructions to Gregor, the Prince’s assistant, with respect to the feeding.

It was customary to have humans held in reserve during council meetings, in case someone grew hungry.

(It appeared the Consilium members would have to forgo their catering on this occasion.)

The Prince regarded the council members with a look of cold detachment, his piercing gray eyes moving from face to face.

The members were seated in order of rank. Lorenzo sat in the place of honor at his right. Niccolò, a famous Florentine who’d been a chancellor of the city when he was human, sat next to Lorenzo. Aoibhe was seated to Niccolò’s right.

Across the aisle and to the Prince’s left, sat Maximilian, Pierre, and Ibarra.

“There are a number of important matters that must be addressed.” The Prince’s tone was brisk. “Regular business will be tabled until our next meeting.

“Aoibhe.” The Prince’s eyes met hers and she stood.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Tell me about the feral.”

Aoibhe’s brown eyes slid to Ibarra’s and a look passed between them.

“Last night Ibarra and I happened upon a feral in Santo Spirito.”

Her colleagues remained quiet, despite her troubling announcement, for the news had already reached their ears.

“For the benefit of the council members, please tell us what you saw.” The Prince focused his gaze on Ibarra, his expression harsh.

“The feral killed a human in the piazza. When we approached, it attacked. I beheaded it and we took the body and that of the human outside the city to be burned.”

“Pierre.” The Prince turned his gaze to the Consilium member in charge of human intelligence.

The Frenchman stood and bowed. “Yes, my prince.”

“What of the police?”

“The dead human was an Interpol agent who was doing surveillance on a woman in Santo Spirito. I’m told the woman is being watched in connection with a theft at the Uffizi.”

At this the Consilium members murmured among themselves.

“And?” the Prince prompted.

“The investigation is now focusing on organized crime, following our suggestion that the policeman was knifed in the piazza and his body taken. The police are planning to interview the woman to see if she has any information in connection with the agent’s disappearance.”

The Prince carefully controlled his reaction. “Remove the woman from the police records and implicate the Russians. They’ve grown arrogant and fat in recent years. It will be amusing to see them scrambling. A war between the Mafia and the Russians will distract the police from these concerns.

“What of the human witnesses?”

“All have been attended to, my lord. The record consistently reflects reports of a knife attack. Those who resisted mind control have been dealt with.”

“Are you sure?”

Pierre looked confused. “Of course, my lord.”

“There’s no room for error,” he warned.

“Certainly not, my lord.”

“It’s clear this trouble could have been prevented had the feral not entered the city.” The Prince glared at Ibarra before returning his attention to Pierre.

“Am I to understand that the feral Aoibhe disposed of is the same one you saw the other night?”

“I cannot say, my lord. Certainly there haven’t been any other reports of ferals in the area and no other unexplained killings.”

The Prince lifted his eyebrows. “None? The newspaper is reporting that several bodies were found by the river. What of that?”

Pierre’s blue eyes went wide.

“Several bodies?” he repeated.

The Prince nodded curtly.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I know of no such finding. I will speak with our contacts as soon as possible and discover what is known.”

“A sad state of affairs when you don’t know what’s going on with the police, Pierre.”

“The matter will be rectified immediately and our police informant will be dealt with.” Pierre bowed low and withdrew to his seat.

“What of my lieutenant? Lorenzo, did you know about the bodies?”

Lorenzo stood, adopting a chastened posture. “No, my prince.”

The Prince huffed in frustration.

“Am I to dissolve the council in view of these failures?”

The council members shifted uneasily in their chairs.

He turned his attention to the head of security. “Ibarra, what has been done to locate the feral Pierre saw?”

The Basque stood, his expression tight.

“We increased the number of patrols. We’ve also organized searches of the city and the catacombs. The feral has not been found, which leads me to believe that the one we disposed of is the one Pierre saw.”

“A convenient conclusion. What of our borders?”

“I’ve spoken with all those on duty last night and there were no sightings of ferals nor was there evidence of any breach. The feral must have been hiding within the city. Perhaps the bodies of which you spoke belonged to him.”

“Perhaps.” The Prince’s expression shifted and he glared. “As a Consilium, you’ve all grown lax.”

He turned his attention back to Ibarra.

“Our borders were breached by the Venetians, under your predecessor. His ashes are now fertilizing an obliging field. Now the border has been breached by at least one feral, and your patrols knew nothing of it.”

Ibarra curled his hands into fists. “With respect, that’s a hasty conclusion, my lord. We don’t know the feral came through the border. With a full investigation, I can—”

“You can do nothing,” the Prince snapped. “You’re relieved of your duty and of your position on the Consilium.”

The other council members began murmuring and looking at one another.

“Silence,” he hissed. “Our survival requires security. Because of Ibarra’s failure, our city is threatened. Niccolò will assume control of the borders and the patrols, along with his other duties as head of intelligence, effective immediately.”

At this, the Florentine stood and the Prince addressed him.

“I want the patrols increased, I want their schedule varied, and I want daily reports. See to it I am not disappointed.”

Niccolò bowed. “Yes, Prince.”

The ruler continued barking out instructions.

“Maximilian, redouble your efforts at training the younglings. Aoibhe, see that more human beings are transformed so as to expand our numbers.

“And I expect a full investigation of those bodies, Pierre.” The Prince jerked his chin in his direction.

“You would replace me because of one feral?” Ibarra took a step closer to the Prince. “It’s possible it’s been in the city for decades. It’s possible it’s one of our own gone mad.”

“So you recognized it?” the Prince mocked.

Ibarra didn’t answer, his face a mask of fury.

“It wasn’t one of ours,” Aoibhe answered quickly. “It was an older feral. I can’t imagine it was in the city long. We’d have had more than several bodies piling up.”

Ibarra cursed Aoibhe in Basque, using extremely derogatory terms.

“Enough!” the Prince growled. “Ibarra of the Euskaldunak, you are hereby banished from the city of Florence.

“Aoibhe and Niccolò, escort Ibarra from the council chambers and remain with him until sunset. Take a detachment of guards with you and escort him to the border. If he resists, kill him.”

The Prince dismissed them with a wave of his hand and turned toward Lorenzo.

“See that the banishment is publicized among the citizens and that it is strictly adhered to.”

Niccolò and Aoibhe exchanged a look and moved to flank Ibarra.

“There was no breach.” Ibarra spoke through his teeth. “I would have heard of it. It would have been reported.”

The Prince didn’t bother looking in his direction. “If you return, you will be executed.”

Ibarra cursed. “Our borders are sound. Our patrols our vigilant; I trained them myself. If the feral came from outside, someone must have helped it enter the city.”

“That’s preposterous,” said Aoibhe. “Who would do such a thing?”

Ibarra gave her a hard look. “The Venetian informer. We were never able to discover who sold the schematics of our old security systems. He must still be in the city, trying to wreak havoc. How else was the feral able to slip past our patrols?”

“An expedient excuse,” Lorenzo commented. “Can you produce evidence of this?”

“No, but I will.”

The Prince lifted his hand and all grew silent.

“Ibarra, you’ve had two years to find the traitor. You investigated everyone who knew of the weakness in our security systems and yet you were unable to discover which of them betrayed us. I have no confidence in your ability to discover the traitor now. You have failed in your duties and are lucky to be leaving the principality with your head. Get out of my sight.”

The Prince nodded at Niccolò and Aoibhe, who began escorting Ibarra to the door.

Ibarra cursed as he was led away, shouting his displeasure at the Prince and the Consilium.

When he was halfway down the aisle, he flew to the nearest wall and tore a sword from its hooks. Brandishing it with both hands, he sprinted toward the throne.

In an instant, the Prince was on his feet.

“Take one more step and it will be your last.”

Ibarra ignored the old one’s warning and ran toward him, lifting the sword.

Lorenzo retrieved a matching sword from a nearby suit of armor and tossed it toward the Prince.

He caught it and tore the robe from his shoulders, lifting the sword high just as Ibarra lashed at his head.

The clash of metal against metal echoed in the hall as the two supernatural beings did battle.

The Prince had the advantage as he stood above Ibarra on the platform. But he advanced down the stairs, striking blow after blow.

Ibarra was strong, but clearly no match for the Prince. Again and again he lunged, looking for an opening, while the Prince easily deflected every thrust.

At once Ibarra swung at the Prince’s legs and the Prince jumped, somersaulting over his back. Before Ibarra knew what was happening, the Prince slashed at his head, the sword whistling as it sliced through the air.

Ibarra’s head took flight from his shoulders and rolled across the floor. It came to rest at Aoibhe’s feet.

She sighed as she looked down into her recent lover’s eyes.

The Prince lifted his bloody sword, so that all could see it, and drove it deep into the stone at his feet.

“Let this be a sign to traitors.”

He returned to the platform and retrieved his robe, wiping his hands with it before tossing it away in contempt.

“Lorenzo, take the traitor’s head and display it on a spike next to the sword. Parade the citizens in to look at it. Maximilian, you and Pierre take the body outside the city and burn it.”