The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,57

the years to come. She needed the girl to be a good Regent, to continue doing the things Alexa had always done; smoothing the way to treaties and removing obstacles when necessary. So many threads for Alexa to tie off, so little time left for tying.

“You were a difficult child.”

Giulietta smiled.

“That you’re proud of it is just one of the reasons you remind me of me.” Yes, she thought that would surprise Giulietta. “I’ve tried to teach you what you need to know.”

“Tycho asked if you’d trained me.”

“In what?”

Giulietta coloured. “I thought he meant the arts of love. They say . . .”

“Of course they do.” Alexa was meant to have kept the late duke enslaved and in her power with unspeakable skills. As if a man like Marco couldn’t simply fall in love with his wife once the wedding and bedding were done. Marco could recognise good advice, even when it came from a woman and a foreigner. “What did he mean?”

“Shielding my thoughts, I think.”

“Of course I taught you,” Alexa said. “How could you survive in this cesspit if you couldn’t shield your thoughts? How could anyone survive? Some lessons you don’t learn by sitting at a desk with books in front of you. In fact, most lessons that matter you don’t learn like that.” Leaning forward, Alexa kissed her niece on both cheeks and then on the forehead. “Sleep well, my dear.”

“And you,” Giulietta said.

“I intend to . . .”

The corridor outside was empty of guards so Alexa guessed the sergeant was still trying to wake the lieutenant or the lieutenant wake the captain. Either way, no one saw her climb the stairs to where Tycho’s page waited by her study door. “What’s your name again?”

“Pietro, my lady.”

“Stay there.” Vanishing inside, Alexa returned with a lizard the height of a small cat, although longer. The boy’s eyes widened as the creature turned its baleful orange gaze on him and ruffled its neck frill in irritation. A second later, it spread leathery wings and Pietro gasped. “He’s just showing off,” said Alexa, as she put the dragonet into the boy’s arms. “You’ll find he does that a lot. Now, touch your forehead to his.”

The boy shook his head.

“Pietro . . .”

He flushed, torn between two fears.

“It’s how they make friends,” she said, which was close to the truth in that it wasn’t exactly a lie, more a massive simplification. “Do it now.”

The boy put his head to the dragon’s and flinched.

“His name’s dracul, which means little dragon in my mother’s language. He’s yours,” she added. “Tell Duke Marco I said that. He’s yours to keep.” She ushered the page along the corridor and told him to sit with the dragonet in the window seat overlooking the Molo. “If anybody asks you have orders from me to sit there. In a while dracul will grow restless and want to fly. You will wait for his return.”

“Will he want to fly every night?”

She smiled at his mixture of wonder and worry. “Only tonight,” she promised. “He has one last job for me. After that he belongs only to you.” She patted the boy’s shoulder, scratched dracul under his chin and left them there. How old was he? Nine, ten . . .? She doubted the boy was eleven. With those born into poverty it was hard to tell. Old enough to be a reliable witness, though. And she’d made him invaluable; she hoped Lord Tycho appreciated the gesture. Pietro would become the duke’s eyes for as long as the dragonet lived, and they lived for a very long time. He would be the perfect spy.

It was time, or as close as made no difference.

Afraid? Of course she was. Who wouldn’t be? Alexa poured rainwater from a silver jug into her jade bowl with as much care and solemnity as if conducting a final tea ceremony, and she was proud of how little her fingers shook and how steadily she poured. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on what she wanted to see, pinned the figure in her mind and waited. It was a while before she heard the scratch of a knife at her window.

“Come in,” she said. “It’s unlocked.”

25

“My lady . . .” Tycho swept a low bow.

So little had changed, he thought, looking round Alexa’s study. She sat – where he’d expected to find her, if he found her awake – at her desk, with that bowl in front of her. He watched her sweep her fingers across the