The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,46

and raised a spear, hurling it into his captor.

“Have you any idea how idiotic that was?” Amelia demanded, as she ripped her spear free and bent to drag Tycho to safety. He wanted to answer but the darkness took him before he could reply.

21

As Lady Giulietta entered the family quarters she heard the sound of a harpsichord, its notes rising like birdsong. For an instant, her heart lifted and she forgot Lady Eleanor was dead, remembering a moment later when she found Frederick where her former lady-in-waiting used to sit. “You play?”

“A little,” he said, blushing.

Having thought about it, Giulietta remembered Eleanor wishing she could learn to use a sword and decided Frederick should be allowed to have learnt the harpsichord. “I was wondering,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have news from Montenegro?”

He shook his head and Giulietta’s heart sank. It was physical. Her ribs tightened and her stomach knotted, and she felt her eyes fill with tears as she stared at the distant tower of San Maggiore and willed herself not to cry.

Why not? she wanted to shout.

“It’s all right,” Prince Frederick said.

“No, it’s not.” She felt his arm go round her and tried to shake free, discovering he was stronger than he looked. After a struggle, she let him hold her, which he did gingerly as if she might break or melt against him. That was how Duke Marco found them a few moments later.

“J-J-Julie’s crying.”

“She misses Tycho.”

“Her angel? Of course she d-does. We all d-do.”

“So here you are . . .” If Aunt Alexa wondered why they were grouped by a window seat or noticed her niece was crying, she kept it to herself. Sitting almost sideways to the window, she joined Giulietta in staring over the Giudecca canal at the islands beyond. “This was my husband’s favourite seat, and his father’s before that. When il Millioni first became duke it was said he’d sit here for hours, looking at the waters . . . Couldn’t believe his luck probably. Either that, or he was hiding from assassins.”

“Aunt Alexa.”

“Oh, come on. You know he stole the throne.”

Prince Frederick was on the point of excusing himself, and had got as far as bowing politely before Alexa grabbed his wrist and patted the seat beside her. “All thrones are stolen,” she said firmly. “I’m surprised your father hasn’t told you this already.”

“He says kings are chosen by God.” Frederick sounded unhappy to be disagreeing with a woman rumoured to poison those who offended her. “That everyone knows this is true.”

“After the event, perhaps. God agrees. If God has anything to do with it at all.”

“My lady . . .”

“Listen to me,” she said. “All of you . . . A good ruler knows that thrones are stolen, and can be stolen again, and does good works to assuage the guilt of the first, and bad works to make sure the second never happens. We have our time on earth and then it’s done. What we do with those years is our choice.” She got to her feet unsteadily, kissed Marco on the forehead, hesitated and did the same to Giulietta. Then she ruffled Frederick’s hair.

“I’m glad we had this talk,” she said, before shutting the door behind her and leaving them alone in the little corridor with its harpsichord, window seat and rotting tapestries.

“What was that about?” Giulietta’s question was for Frederick but it was Marco who answered.

“My m-mother’s scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of e-everything,” Marco replied.

He left shortly afterwards and an awkward silence fell as Frederick wondered what to say to her, leant forward and opened his mouth a couple of times and finally decided to say nothing. Only he couldn’t manage that either.

“Should I leave you be?”

They were the same age but sometimes he behaved like a twelve-year-old. She’d met newly arrived pages with stronger self-confidence. He was watching, waiting for her answer. She sighed.

“It’s just . . . You look like you want to do some thinking.”

About what, for God’s sake? She was sick of chasing the same miserable thoughts around her head: where was Tycho, why hadn’t he said goodbye, would he really be able to save Leo, what was wrong with Aunt Alexa? And that was before she began on her memories, which were worse than the questions. Uncle Alonzo and his goose quill, Leopold dying, Tycho leaving . . . She should be in the nursery convincing everyone Venice’s supposed heir was happy and alive. Instead she avoided the changeling and even her aunt had