Votive - By Karen Brooks Page 0,1

same anymore; her feelings had been engaged and her eyes opened.

Baroque’s bonds fell to the ground. Debora knelt by his side and began to rub life back into his wrists. Katina worked his gag free. It rested against his neck like a noose.

Stefano gazed judgementally at Katina. ‘Santo’s correct. You’ve changed. You’re too soft.’ He lingered briefly, as if he had more to say, then joined his partner.

Katina quietly released her breath. Shooting Debora and Alessandro looks of gratitude, she sheathed her dagger and helped Baroque sit up. The marks of their interrogations were livid on his flesh. His lips were cut, his nose broken; one eye was so puffy, he must have been barely able to see out of it. His clothes were ruined and the patches of exposed flesh were a combination of bruises and dirt – it was hard to distinguish which.

‘Senta, Baroque Scarpoli.’ She pushed the gag over his head. ‘This is your last chance. Tell us who you’re working for. Why you’re following Tallow.’

The spy’s one functioning eye twinkled.

‘I told you. I even told them,’ he said, indicating Stefano and Santo. ‘I work for myself. But no-one will believe me.’ He made an attempt at a chuckle. Blood sprayed the air and his cheeks. He spat on the ground and a tooth dislodged. ‘I didn’t need to lose another,’ he said dourly. He took the gag from Katina and used it to wipe his mouth before letting it fall in the dirt. He rubbed his wrists, wincing as circulation returned.

Katina rose to her feet, never taking her eyes from him. That he’d been tracking Tallow was beyond debate – they’d been watching him watch her, and that meant he knew the girl was an Estrattore. But who had hired him and for what purpose remained a mystery. Stefano and Santo were right: they should dispatch the spy now. But something made her stay her hand, and it wasn’t only the image of Dante’s death – a sight that played over and over in her mind. If Santo hadn’t killed Dante, would Tallow have come with them? Would they be loitering here in front of the Limen, afraid to return to the Elders with news of their failure?

Katina glanced at the Limen now, a nacreous sentinel in the fading light. A misty rain began to fall, deepening its radiance.

After Tallow had jumped into the canal, they’d tried to find her. Combing the fondamenta, attempting to appear indifferent while desperately searching the canals, the water-stairs, and every paline that rose out of the lagoon, in the hope they’d find her clinging to one. They checked nearby rami and calles, but there’d been no sign. The mob that had been cowed into silence was furious – one of their own, a young chandler on the cusp of manhood, had been callously killed, and by a Bond Rider.

When the soldiers arrived, they’d had to end their search, leave Serenissima quickly and covertly. It would be a while before they could openly return. They’d have to wait at least until memories of what they’d done – what Santo had done, corrected Katina – faded.

‘You couldn’t have stopped him,’ whispered Alessandro, understanding where her thoughts had taken her. Reaching out, he gently kneaded Katina’s shoulders. ‘He believes he was following orders.’

‘He was,’ said Katina. Her tone was bitter, angry. She didn’t understand why Dante had to die. It made no sense. She kept her concerns to herself. ‘Only no-one said the young man’s death had to be so dramatic, so public.’ Not when a knife across the throat or a dagger slipped between the ribs would have served equally well.

Aware Baroque was listening to their every word, she bit back what she wanted to express. Who else knew about Tallow? And what did they want? If Baroque was working for himself as he claimed, then it would be for the reward the Doge offered and, if that were the case, he would have kidnapped the girl already. But he hadn’t. He’d been following her, gathering information, just as they were. Katina didn’t like what that signified one bit.

If they killed Baroque, her questions would never be answered. They needed him to believe he’d convinced them with his tale of working alone. That he’d escaped Bond Rider justice … this time.

Katina sheathed her dagger. ‘In light of what’s happened, killing this man would be … ill considered.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Stefano, leading his horse over. ‘Are you mad?’

‘We need to find Tallow. When we

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