The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,52

the hunt had been. His admiring courtiers, the fresh meat they’d collected, the wild ride across frozen slopes and through dark forests were what kept Alonzo from giving the order. That could change. With Alonzo it could always change. “Sent you to kill me, did she, Tycho?”

“Yes, my lord. But she doesn’t know why I’m really here.”

The Regent’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”

“My lord, if we could . . .?” He nodded at a gentle slope near the edge of the lake and the Regent hesitated. If Tycho was here to kill him then separating him from his followers was a good start.

“I have no secrets from such good friends.”

The courtiers preened at the flattery. Were they so simple? Tycho wondered. Or was it some court tradition where they pretended Alonzo’s flattery lifted their hearts and Alonzo pretended to believe them. Life in Bjornvin had been simpler. Lord Eric’s nobles were either in favour or out of favour, and those too out of favour ended with Lord Eric’s knife in their guts. “My lord, these are matters of state. Such as my late master dealt with.”

This was as close as Tycho dared go to suggesting this was Assassini business. Only the Regents and the Council of Ten knew the name of the head of the Assassini. Even Lord Roderigo didn’t know; or, if he did, he shouldn’t and Alonzo had broken his vows of secrecy.

“Really?” Alonzo demanded.

Tycho unslung his sword, unbuckled his dagger and dropped his weapons into the snow, stepping away from them. “Really, my lord.”

Raising his hand commandingly, as if an entire army needed to be told to stay where it was, Alonzo slid from his mount. “The black bitch stays there. Your responsibility, Roderigo. Come on then . . .” The Regent stalked towards the shore, although Tycho noticed he kept his hand on his dagger the entire way.

“Alexa sent you to negotiate?”

“No, my lord.”

“The Council then?”

“I am here for me.”

“For you? And yet this is Assassini business?”

Tycho bowed slightly. He knew the Regent had taken Leo as surely as he knew he’d had a surrogate killed to fool everyone into thinking Leo was dead. And Alexa was sure Alonzo was behind Marco’s poisoning, and the attempts on Lady Giulietta’s life. All it would take was a blow to the throat, or a twist of the head brutal enough to break his spine.

Tycho would have failed in his mission.

“My lord, may I speak freely?”

Although he kept his hand on his dagger, Alonzo heard something in the question that made him relax a little; self-interest probably, he’d recognise that. Nodding towards the cathedral’s black silhouette, he said, “Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord. But it isn’t Venice.”

“Impregnable, too.”

“My lord, an army could cross this.” Stamping, Tycho felt his heel jar as it hit rock-hard ice. Tycho was right: an army could march from here to the island near the lake’s far edge.

“You haven’t been out there yet?”

Tycho shook his head.

He could feel the Regent watching him. “We smash the ice,” Alonzo said. “To make a moat. The moat contains monsters.” He glanced at the peaks around them. “The whole bloody country contains monsters. You should feel at home.”

“I don’t intend to stay. Neither do you.”

Alonzo tipped his head to one side. An almost self-mocking expression entered his face. “Go on,” he said. “Don’t stop now.”

“My lord, it’s obvious. This is simply a stage to let you claim Venice. Montenegro gives you a land base and silver mines. There are ports on the coast where Roderigo can collect taxes. The farmers’ sons can provide you with an army, whether they want to or not. And their daughters can fill your bed.” He nodded to where the village girl still sat behind Alonzo’s saddle, little more than a child. “But this is not Venice. I’ve tasted the food here. Rats wouldn’t eat in this country. You don’t strike me as a man to settle for second best.”

“This sounds dangerously like treason.”

“My lord, Marco Polo making his dukedom hereditary would have been treason if he’d failed. Success made it glorious.”

“Are you offering me loyalty?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You . . .?”

“Once you offered me your friendship.”

“You betrayed me.”

“No, my lord. You threw me aside when Lady Giulietta refused to marry me as we planned. You transferred your patronage to Iacopo, my known enemy. Yes, I killed him in a fit of anger but any man might do that . . .” Indeed, the Regent had once slaughtered an entire fondak of Mamluks because