The Blessed (34 page)

But she had decided wrongly. It would please him to watch her suffer greatly, watch them all suffer greatly, before he watched the light of life disappear. Daria especially would pay. Yes, in their deaths, he would become stronger. The master had promised that.

“Lord Amidei,” Vincenzo whispered.

Abramo glanced back at him.

“I thought we were to leave them to the pope. That he would bring them down.”

Abramo smiled. “Mayhap an earlier opportunity has arisen. We must go where our master has led. And he points us here, now.”

 
HASANI frowned at the knight of Les Baux rushing headlong toward them, clattering through the halls on heavy boots. Before he could even speak, Hasani knew the warning in his mouth, understood that they did not guard all entrances to where Daria and Gianni and Gaspare and Piero were lodged.
The servants' staircase.

He turned and ran, Ugo hard on his heels, not asking where they were going, understanding the unspoken warning. Josephine and Vito, aroused by their fast and heavy footsteps, were already looking over the edge, watching them come.

Vito turned and ran, two stairs at a time, drawing his sword as Ugo and Hasani had. All three passed the old woman. Vito paused at the top and looked to Matthieu, the knight of Les Baux. “Guard the woman with your life, man. Your very life.”

“Upon my word,” said the man. He reached for Josephine and tucked her carefully behind him.

AMIDEI opened the stairwell door and swore under his breath at the sight of Vito, Ugo, and Hasani arriving halfway down the hall, swords drawn. He turned back inside the stairwell, seething with frustration.

“Lord Amidei!” cried a voice from below. “There you are!”

Abramo frowned and looked downward. Two curves of the stairwell revealed Count Rieu des Baux and two of his knights. Abramo could feel Ciro and Vincenzo tense beside him. “Do not draw your swords,” he hissed. He feigned a smile, just as his foe below him had done. They had clearly been identified, and the enemies knew their precious Gifted were in danger. “Count des Baux! It has been some time since our paths have crossed!”

“Indeed. I hear tell that you were near my castle and never came to my door. What is an old friend to do with such worrisome information as that? I have sought you out now, to make sure all is well between us. And here I find you, sneaking about as if you had a lover to attend to! Come, come and share a cup of wine with an old friend while we wait to be received by the pope.”

Abramo settled his lips in a steady smile, thinking through his options.

“He is here! Lord Amidei!” Count Armand cried, to someone in the kitchen, as if he had heard someone inquire. A maid? Another noble? One of Prince Maximilien's councilmen? It mattered not. He was exposing him, telling others that Lord Abramo Amidei was on the servants' staircase. No noble took the servants' staircase unless he had intentions he meant to keep in shadow.

This was a man who must be removed. If he would dare to take Amidei on here, in such a public fashion, he would not fear taking him on again in private. He lent the Gifted too much power . . . his backing meant too much for them . . . Amidei turned and edged past Ciro and Vincenzo on the narrow staircase. “This castle is so large,” he called down, “I confess I got a bit turned about.”

Armand smiled and lifted his arms wide, shaking his head as if he entirely believed him. “Well I know it. It puts my own humble castle to shame. I might fit two of mine in this one wing!”

“If you had the king of France across your valley,” Amidei said meaningfully, nearing the count, “you might refortify your castle.” He reached out and clasped the younger man's, elbow to elbow in the manner of knights.

“If it were the king of France, well I might,” said the count, staring into his eyes. “Instead, I only have thieves and robbers, hiding in the caves of Dante's
Inferno
. Hell's Keep.”

“Hell's Keep. Sounds fearsome.”

“Nay,” said the count with a dismissive smile, releasing him, but still looking into his eyes with an ease that only true power yielded. “When one rules with the blessing of God himself, there is nothing to fear in one's enemies.”

Amidei raised his eyebrows. “Pride goeth before destruction, Count.”

“Not pride, Amidei. Divine understanding.”

Abramo stared into his eyes, thinking of different ways to dispose of this nuisance before him. “So it is out beyond you? The line to see our favored guest? If so . . . lead the way. You promised me a cup of wine.”

“Indeed,” said the count, gesturing past him. “Please. I shall follow you out.”

 
VITO, Ugo, and Hasani rushed down the hall, paused at the scene unfolding at the far end of the countess's room, then eased forward, seeking the servants' staircase.

Quietly Vito edged open the door and leaned in, catching the end of the count's conversation with Amidei. He grinned and silently saluted the count, shaking his head at how God intervened on behalf of the Gifted. What winder was this? A count of Provence, so firmly entrenched on their side?

He turned and whispered to Hasani and Ugo, “It is well. The count must have caught him here, before he made it in. He cuckolded him into returning to the festivities below.”

Ugo smiled and lifted a brow. Hasani only looked relieved. All three turned and headed back. Vito and Ugo positioned themselves, one at the countess's door, one at the top of the staircase with Josephine and Matthieu. Hasani moved inward, joining the others.

 
FATHER Piero knew when Hasani joined him. He could feel his presence and his ease as the tall man knelt down beside him and placed his long, black fingers atop his own, praying for this child of God.

Daria was growing tired. “Father in Heaven, you asked us to heal this child. We ask that you take over her heart, that you drive out the demon that has imprisoned her. Free her, Lord Jesus. Free her.”

Hasani reached out to rest a hand on Daria's shoulders, feeling her frustration and concern. Silently, he was encouraging her to give in to the prayer, to block out the enemy outside. To trust in the Holy.

“Lord Jesus, you are our King. We invite you in, into this room within a castle that is nothing compared to your kingdom. Come and reign here, now. Lay claim to this child of yours. Wrestle her away from your enemy. Drive him away from this room, now and forever.” She leaned down, weeping at last over Ariana. “We know you have the power to do this, Lord Jesus. The enemy has a firm hold upon her, but you have a greater hold. For you are the power . . . and the glory . . . forever and ever. Amen.”

Daria sat back, eyes alight as Ariana laughed, the first sound they had heard from her since Gaspare had prayed she would be silenced. And it was not the laugh of a maniacal, possessed woman, but the free, light giggle of a young woman in bloom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ARIANA allowed Daria to choose a dress for her, brush out her hair, and pin it up. She settled a delicate gold band around her head, befitting a princess.

“I have no mask for you,” Daria said sorrowfully.

“It matters not,” the girl said. “My papa will wish to see me without my mask at last.”

Daria smiled back at her in the mirror and squeezed her shoulders. “How glad am I that we were here, now.”

“No more than I,” said the princess. She covered Daria's hand with her own. “You, m'lady, shall have my undying gratitude.”

“Not us, princess. Always remember that it is God who has freed you, and he is the guard who shall keep the enemy from your gates. But you must be very wary of inviting our enemy inside again.”

“I shall remember. Now let us go to my father.”

Daria sighed and looked to Gianni and Hasani and Piero. They were ready as well. Together, the group headed down the stairs, with Matthieu, Vito, and Ugo before them, hands on the hilts of their swords, and Hasani and Gianni coming behind the women.

 
“HOW long,” Amidei said, eyeing the count after they had left the pope's side, “do you think you can keep them safe from me?”

Count Armand pursed his lips and tapped them. “Hmm, I do not know. Mayhap forever?” He grinned audaciously at Amidei.

It had been some time since an enemy had taunted him so. Abramo could not remember the last. The count intrigued him, like none other since Daria. If he could bring this one down, how great would be the master's victory? An insider, a supposed ally, that Abramo could use to reach others within the Gifted . . .

“What if I promised you wealth beyond all you could imagine?” Abramo asked. Vincenzo eased in from the other side, while Ciro watched the beginnings of the dance take form among the massive bonfires.

“Nay,” the count dismissed. “What more could I want?”

“The next kingdom? And the next? All of France?”

Count Armand scoffed. “You are promising me all of France? Does the king know it is for sale? Mayhap we should go over to him now. He's right over there. Shall we go and ask about the highest bid?”

Abramo ignored his taunts. “You and I both know that kingdoms are not truly won and lost in a battlefield of swords. It is the mind,” he said, tapping his temple, “and the money that control most kingdoms.”

“I confess I love women more than money,” the count said. “And I am quite content with my own kingdom.”

“A count who never seeks to take the next will soon lose his own.”

“I do not fear invasion. Many are my friends and few are my enemies.” The smile faded from his face. He tired, too, of their games.

Abramo stepped in front of him and turned, chin in hand. “Is it women you truly desire, Armand? Come with me tonight, to my ceremony, and you shall experience mysteries unparalleled with anything you have ever dreamed of. You shall feel like a god. And all the world, your servant. There are no rules in my realm. No one shall deny you.”

The count hesitated.

“Ah yes, I can see it in your eyes. You are intrigued by a place without rules. Constrained, a life of a count must be. Courtly conduct and all of that. Come and see what it is to experience life without any demands at all, only gifts to be unwrapped.”

Armand swallowed hard and then stood up straight, nearly as tall as Abramo. “Lord Amidei, our time has come to an end. I must see to my honored guests.” He leaned closer, taking Abramo's shirt in his fist. “See that you stay in Hell's Keep and away from me and mine,” he said fiercely. Then he forced a smile, released his shirt, smoothed it out, patted him firmly twice on the chest, and walked away.

“Pity, that,” Abramo said with a sigh to Vincenzo.

“What, m'lord?”

“That he should have to die with the rest of them. Come, Vincenzo,” he said with an easy smile, “let us see if our peacocks have emerged for the dance. We shall collect them.” He nodded to the moon. “It is soon time.”

 
THEY entered the vast courtyard that bordered the cliff, overlooking the river, far below them and sparkling in the moonlight. Torches and bonfires were ablaze all over, lending both light and warmth, and while Prince Maximilien, the king of France, and the pope still received the remains of the line of people, the party was well underway. The men with casks continued to circle around, taking up new casks when their own were empty, serving one and all who were present. Maids now served skewers of roast pork and chicken and duck, interlaced with onions and potatoes. Others served delicate breads, laden with pats of butter.

To the side remained two knights of Les Baux, guarding the Gifted's own gift to the pope, the two gazelles, and obviously awaiting their arrival. Gianni waved them forward, and the two jumped from their posts to do as he had bid.

“The Count and Countess des Baux?” Gianni whispered.

“Come and gone,” said one of their knights.

“With Amidei?”

“Indeed,” said the other, eyes wide still, in surprise at the sight. He relaxed when he saw no surprise on Gianni's face.

They moved closer, watching as the pope, king, and prince received the group ahead of them, clearly bored and tired by now, after receiving more than three hundred guests before them.

Two priests took the people's invitations, authenticated them, and then looked for their names upon the list in hand, a vast scroll, before letting them move forward to the dais where the guests of honor sat. Two other armed guards stood on either side of them, axes on long handles ready across their chest. Six others stood in a line behind them—two from Maximilien's guard, two from the kingdom across the river, and two from the pope's own
Honneur Gard
.

Daria searched over her shoulder nervously, as if worrying that Amidei might be closing in from behind even as they faced a new potential enemy before them. Only Cardinal Boeri's presence on the dais made her capable of breath. But all at once, the princess was moving forward, edging past the guards and priests, going to her father in a full curtsey, reaching out her hands to him.

With one look into her eyes, the prince was on his feet, mouth agape. His wife stood up beside him, emerging from the shadows. “Ariana?” she asked. She hurried to the girl, took her face in one hand, staring at her as if to ascertain it was truly her daughter, even as the prince took the girl's hands and bid her rise.

“Ariana, my daughter? You are free?” he asked.

The girl smiled back at him and nodded. “I am healed, Papa. I am returned to you,” she said meaningfully.

He leaned back in wonder, looking her over as if she were to be relearned as kin. How long had the evil one had his hold upon her? Piero mused.

But his eyes turned to the pope, who had awakened from his party doze. Cardinal Boeri was whispering in his ear, and the man was studying each of them, one after the other, as the cardinal continued to talk.