The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,71

flat expanse of Venetian lagoon stretched away in unmoving marble, and he peered harder as if looking for evidence that something had changed.

When he turned back, Giulietta knew he’d been steeling himself to say something. Only every time he tried to say it his lips twisted and his mouth twitched to one side. It seemed there was a lot he wanted to say.

“My father has . . .”

Frederick stopped, and Lady Giulietta was sure she heard scratching behind a tapestry. Mice perhaps, if the palace cats had left any alive.

“Are you hungry?” Frederick asked unexpectedly.

She shook her head.

“It’s just . . . we have food in the fondaco.”

Have you now? Every house in the city had been told to hand a list of its stores to the captain of the local sistiere, the six districts of Venice. Being German-owned and counting as foreign soil, Frederick’s fondaco was excused the food census. Her spies said the Mamluks had grain and the French salted meat. The spy she sent to the Fontego dei Tedeschi never returned.

“We didn’t kill him.”

Gods, was she really so transparent?

“What did you do to him?”

“Fed him,” Frederick said with a shrug. “Gave him warmer clothes, hot wine. Told him he’d need to wait until I’d talked to you. After that, he could go home.”

“You fed him out of kindness?”

The young prince looked uncomfortable. “And to see how hungry he was. The answer was very hungry. Too hungry to worry that the food might be poisoned or we might be grooming him to commit treason . . . Our spies say the grain Alexa bought is almost gone, and half the city is starving. That most of the street children are dead. If you need our stores, they’re yours.”

“What?”

“We have pickled herring and salted beef, wizened apples and dry pork, also cheese and mutton.”

“And you do this out of kindness?”

“My father is impressed by our friendship . . .”

She looked at him in shock, but he kept his face impassive until she glared hard enough to have him grinning. “You fear him?”

“And love him,” said Frederick, reversing her earlier reply.

“Then thank you,” Giulietta said. The cold showed no sign of lifting and the ice covering the lagoon was hard as granite. Holes sawn and drilled for fishing filled overnight and had to be drilled again. Although no snow had fallen for a week it still covered the island city and smothered the mainland. The Alps stood so sharp against the blue sky they looked close enough to pluck. As Regent she needed to appear confident, which was hard when the city’s supplies were dwindling, and listing stores, although essential, would have told everyone how bad the situation was.

“You will put my offer to the old men?”

She nodded. “Speaking of which . . .”

“You should go. And this time I’m not invited . . .” Frederick shrugged. “I understand. If I were the Council I wouldn’t invite me either.” As she stood, he made himself say what he’d tried to say earlier. “My father has placed spies in Alonzo’s camp.”

Giulietta froze. “How does he . . .?” She realised Frederick’s spy probably used carrier pigeons. Everyone knew they could fly hundreds of miles without resting. Pigeons were so important, the first thing Tamburlaine did when besieging a city was order his bowmen to kill every pigeon they saw.

“He can talk across distances. Well, his archer can. Towler can probably get you news if you want. News of . . .”

“Leo?” she said, and watched him smile in gratitude.

At the start of the stairs, Lady Giulietta hesitated, and hesitated again at the top, only turning back when she actually reached the door of Aunt Alexa’s study. Her study now; her desk, her portraits of the staring Millioni, her box of poisons . . . “Forgotten something,” she told a guard, wondering why she bothered to lie or even explain herself at all. Time was she’d barely have noticed him.

Outside the door, she stopped as she realised Marco had beaten her to it, and now sat where she’d sat in the window seat. “You d-don’t m-mind me being here?” she heard him ask Frederick.

“It’s your palace.”

“M-more’s the pity,” Marco muttered. “You’ve b-been with my c-cousin?”

“She’s preparing for Council.”

“It will b-be a hard m-meeting.”

Marco was right in that. The old men were split on accepting Lady Giulietta as Regent or asking Alonzo to return. Her marriage to Frederick’s brother and Frederick’s friendship counted against her.

“She’ll manage,” said Frederick. He seemed to mean this