The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,122

that dug into his skin. “Has anyone else touched this?”

She tapped the dish – in a rapid sequence that announced Assassini business. When she released him, Pietro bowed. “No, my lady.” He hesitated. “I mean, the confectioner obviously, but . . .”

She waved his fumbling away.

The priests tasted it first, taking tentative scoops from beneath both bits of the heart. Lady Amelia’s interrogation of the page had given them a new respect for her. She had to be someone if she treated a royal page like one of her own. They watched Tycho, although less closely than before. There was little enough for them to see. He scooped out sweetmeat, tasted it and did his best to smooth the sides. His smile was bleak as he nodded to say he felt no ill effects.

It was Lady Amelia’s turn. But the Crucifers were watching the page, wondering why he was standing so rigidly to attention and obviously fighting his emotions. The boy glanced at the hooded figure, who said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The page stared at him.

“Your master, Tycho bel Angelo. I’m told he drowned in Montenegro trying to save Duke Marco after the duke slaughtered his traitorous uncle . . . It must be hard for someone so young to handle the loss.”

Pietro’s chin came up. I’m not so young, his gesture said. Of course I understand. A second later, he asked. “You think he’s really dead?”

“So everyone says.”

The boy nodded sadly and turned his attention to Lady Amelia, who was smoothing the exact points on the sweetmeat heart where the happy couple could be expected to scoop the first mouthfuls to offer each other. “Everything is as it should be,” she said.

Pietro bowed to her, nodded to the Crucifers, considered carefully . . . And bowed deeply to the hooded figure, touching his clenched fist to his heart. Then he picked up the sweetmeat and turned for the door.

Inside his hood, Tycho smiled sadly.

So much to give away in one day. His heart, his happiness, Giulietta’s love for him, now Pietro “You want to see how this ends?” Amelia asked sympathetically, her voice pitched too low for the priests to hear.

Tycho didn’t but he knew he should.

A balcony ran the length of the banqueting hall, fretted with gilded wood to let women watch from above without being seen by men at the tables below. It was years since feasts had been for men only, but the new hall had been designed by the late duke’s father and Marco the Just had insisted on a balcony in the old style. Looking at the archers stationed behind the fretwork Tycho decided the old duke had known precisely what he was doing.

“The krieghund are targeted,” Amelia said, nodding down to where Frederick’s companions sat together. “But they can’t prove it.”

At the top table Giulietta and Frederick ate in silence. Every so often, Frederick would glance across and look away if she caught him watching. Occasionally, she’d look at him. There was something hard in her gaze. Yet puzzled, as if she wondered how she found herself sitting next to him.

“He’s terrified of her,” Amelia said.

“Why?” Tycho demanded.

“Because she’s terrifying.”

Is she? At times, she’d seemed to him spoilt, unhappy or miserable . . . At others, kind, gentle and thoughtful. One didn’t make the other untrue. People were complicated.

“Are you leaving Venice because of Frederick?”

“No,” Tycho said, “I”m leaving because of me.” He looked at Giulietta and his mouth twisted with sadness. “Well,” he corrected, “I’m leaving because of us. Giulietta made me happy.”

“And you?” Amelia asked.

“I made her scared.”

Amelia looked surprised. “You knew that?”

Not until the words came out of my mouth just then, Tycho thought. Although he didn’t say it. “Watch,” he said.

Part of him was scared Dr Crow’s pills were too old to be potent, and part of him hoped that was true, the dark part. Why should he want to help them fall in love with each other? Pietro was approaching the top table, carrying the gold salver containing the sweetmeat heart. He carried it steadily, staring straight ahead. Stopping in front of Giulietta and Frederick, he knelt and held out the plate.

Tradition said they should take the heart, lift it together and put it between them on the table. When Giulietta did nothing, Frederick reached for the salver and she hastily grabbed the other side. The plate tilted and the banqueting hall fell silent, fearing a bad omen. The dish made it to the table with only