The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,29

Giulietta tried to sound like she meant it, because she did mean it; she was simply having trouble convincing her aunt. “You can’t make me.”

God, now she sounded like a nine-year-old.

Blinking back tears, she fussed with her shawl so Aunt Alexa wouldn’t see how badly her hands were shaking. From the softening of her aunt’s expression she’d seen anyway. Now her aunt was going to treat her like a bloody child.

Because you’re behaving like one.

She knew it was true. Turning her head, Giulietta stared through the glass to ice on the lagoon. No ship could enter and none leave. That had to be why no message had come from Tycho. He’d have written otherwise, wouldn’t he? She knew he would, although she’d probably still rip up his first letter. She was cross enough. Every day she waited for him to write and nothing came. It was . . . intolerable.

“Giulietta . . .” Alexa’s voice was neutral.

“What?” That wasn’t how you spoke to the Regent of Venice, even if she was your aunt and you were alone except for Marco. The fact Aunt Alexa’s lips barely tightened told Giulietta how worried she was.

“It’s the poppy,” Alexa said apologetically. “I gave you too much poppy and now your body wants more to stay happy.”

“So give me some more.”

“I’d like to but I can’t . . .” Duchess Alexa shook her head.

“You only gave it to me so you could send Tycho to Montenegro.” Lady Giulietta could feel her eyes fill and looked away. She hated feeling like this. She hated being like this. And she wasn’t going to go out in the cold to greet Prince Frederick, who shouldn’t have been here anyway.

“Tycho leaving like that was as much a surprise to me. He didn’t leave Ca’ Ducale with my authority.”

“I don’t believe you. You’ve never liked him, I know you haven’t. That’s why you won’t sign the decree letting me marry. Now he’s going to get killed and Leo will die and you want me to meet . . .” Tears overflowed, and she brushed them away angrily. “I don’t even know what he thinks he’s doing here. I wouldn’t be surprised if you sent for him.”

Now she was crying openly.

“You doubt Tycho?” Alexa sounded interested.

“Of course I don’t doubt Tycho. He saved me in the battle off Cyprus, remember. And in the banqueting hall . . . And when that horrid Byzantine captured me. All he does is bloody save me.” Jamming her fists into her eyes, Giulietta turned for the door and froze as strong arms folded around her. She tried to fight them off and then realised it Marco, gripping her tight and stroking her hair.

“Angels f-fly away,” he said.

“Then they come back,” Giulietta replied fiercely.

Marco smiled at how quickly she’d turned he’ll die into he’ll be back. Stroking her cheek he found a tear and dried it with his fingers. “Angels f-fly away, and sometimes they come b-back and sometimes they f-fly away again. That’s why t-they’re angels . . .” He kissed her cheek. Leaning close, he whispered. “It’s my b-bad luck we both love the same b-boy. You were always g-going to win.”

Lady Giulietta stared at him.

Stepping back, Marco said. “Do this for me . . .”

And Giulietta discovered she’d agreed to greet Prince Frederick after all, which meant the carriage waiting below would be needed, despite her having spent the last half-hour telling her aunt to send it away again. Venice was not really a city of carriages. Gondolas, gondolini and luggers, yes. Handcarts and trestles, even ox-drawn sleds. But the noble used gondolas like everyone else, and anyone rich enough to have a mainland estate kept their carriages there.

“Is this going to be safe?” Giulietta asked.

The carriage was old and someone had hammered steel nails through the rusting hoops of each wheel to help them grip the ice. She imagined the carriage would look ridiculously outdated to Frederick. The bastard son of Sigismund of Germany probably had a dozen gold carriages of his own.

Frederick was her late husband’s half-brother, and the closest thing the Emperor Sigismund had to an heir. When Giulietta asked Alexa if that made him her half-brother-in-law, Aunt Alexa looked into her eyes and muttered that the poppy was taking longer to leave her body than expected.

Lady Giulietta had meant the question seriously.

No one in the Venetian court had any idea why Prince Frederick had returned in the middle of winter to a city he’d besieged that autumn. Although