The Roman (The Florentine 3)

Gregor swallowed noisily, giving one last fleeting glance to Raven. “The Roman replied to our initial request for support.” He held out a piece of paper.

The Prince snatched it from his hand. He read the message quickly. “Was there no other answer?”

“No, my Lord. As you can see, Lieutenant Cato sent the message electronically so it would be received quickly.”

“Was the sender confirmed?”

“Yes, it arrived as a secure communication.”

The Prince tossed the paper back. “Clearly, Rome has not heard about the movement of troops. Inform the king we will shortly be under siege and need his immediate intervention.”

Gregor retrieved the paper from the floor. “And the other matter?” His eyes moved to Raven.

“Send the message as I commanded, and send it now!” William snarled, his anger getting the better of him.

Without thought, Raven reached out and placed her hand on his arm.

“Yes, my Lord.” Gregor flew down the aisle and out of the chamber.

Once the door closed behind the head of security, Raven turned to William. “What did the Roman say?”

The Prince paced in agitation in front of the throne. “It wasn’t the Roman; it was Cato. I can’t be certain the Roman even saw my initial communication.”

Raven stood on uneasy feet, blocking William’s pacing. “What did Cato say?”

“He said I was to hand you over to the Curia and put an end to the conflict.”

Raven gasped. “Is that why the Curia are sending troops? Because of me?”

“No. Why would your priest come for you with ten soldiers when he could have come with three hundred?” William shook his head. “Something has changed since your priest left Rome.”

He closed his eyes and lifted his chin, his body going still.

Raven watched him, wondering what he was doing.

At length, he opened his eyes. A look of cold resignation shone from the gray depths.

“The Curia is gambling that if they march on Florence, the Roman won’t intervene. Perhaps they are colluding with Cato. Perhaps the Roman has been led to believe the Curia is willing to wage a war in order to rescue you.”

“If I went to Father willingly, would it avert a war?”

“No, for I would be obliged to come after you.”

Raven encircled his waist with her arms. “We could escape. We could leave the city now before the soldiers come.”

“Now is not the time to flee, not when I have a chance to save the city. The Curia are angry about the policeman. I can hand over Aoibhe and Ibarra to placate them.

“Hopefully, my message will make it past Cato to the Roman himself. We can try to hold off the troops until they arrive.”

“Is that possible?” Raven whispered.

“Possible, yes. Likely, no.” William bowed his head toward hers.

Chapter Fifty

“MY ORDERS ARE CLEAR, and they come from the Superior General himself: destroy the Prince of Florence.” General Vale addressed a group of Curia agents who had gathered in the Jesuit safe house.

“For some reason, the Prince is resistant to relics and perhaps able to walk on holy ground. We don’t know if he has other anomalous abilities.”

Murmurs lifted from the group.

“Our primary objective is to destroy the Prince before he is able to create an army of anomalies like him. To that end, my second in command is transporting troops here as we speak.” The General walked over to an aerial view of Florence that he’d projected onto a screen.

A priest in black stood. “The Prince is an old one. How do we know he hasn’t created an army already?”

“We have multiple agents inside the city, some of whom are in this room. None of them have observed Florentine soldiers with any special powers. In the conflict between Venice and Florence, the Florentines demonstrated no exceptional abilities.”

“What about the Roman?” The priest persisted. “I heard the Roman is the Prince’s maker, and that he has vowed to protect him.”

“The Roman’s threat has been neutralized.”

Loud murmurs and whispers filled the room until the General called the group to attention.

Father Kavanaugh surveyed the room from his vantage point near the door. Some of the agents were male, some female. Some were dressed in the robes of an order, some wore plainclothes. And then there was the special forces unit, which lined the back wall like tall, silent trees.

Father stood apart from the others, his hand in his pocket. What had begun as a simple rescue mission had evolved into a war, something he’d hoped they could have avoided.

Despite the Curia’s powers, some of the agents in the room would die. There would be destruction and mayhem. Those vampyres that escaped the Curia would flee to other cities, possibly disturbing the current balance in Europe. As always when the supernatural world went into upheaval, human lives would be lost.

Raven’s life could be lost.

Father felt the weight of his actions. Although he was sure his cause was just, he questioned the methods of his superiors.

There had to be another way.

Chapter Fifty-One

AOIBHE WASN’T STUPID.

She couldn’t remember much about her life before she became a vampyre. But she remembered being poor and beautiful. She remembered her beauty catching the eye of a rich English lord, who’d raped her and sent her back to her family in shame.

She remembered the boy she’d loved—who she’d known since childhood—telling her he couldn’t love her anymore.

As a vampyre, she’d always been ambitious. She knew the Prince of Florence was too powerful to challenge, so she’d seduced him. She’d hoped, over time, she’d be able to convince him to raise her to consort so they could rule Florence together, until he met an untimely death at her hand (should she catch him at a weak moment) or until he approached his thousand years and madness ensued.

Then he’d met the pet.

Aoibhe had been present the night he killed three men because they’d touched it. She’d seen the way he looked at the pet—as if he cared about it, and for more than just sex and blood.

Now the pet sat next to the throne playing the role of consort, and she was on her way to the Curia.

Aoibhe had survived by relying on her wits both before and after her transformation. She wasn’t about to abandon them now. She wasn’t about to be handed over to the black robes like a lamb to the slaughter.

As she marched toward the principality’s dungeon, she tried to make eye contact with Ibarra.

It was no use. He was too far behind her, and several soldiers stood in between.

No matter.

Aoibhe eyed the dagger still embedded in her hand as an idea formed in her mind.

When they approached the point at which the tunnel split into several different passages, one of which led down to the dungeons, she pitched forward.

“Ah!” she cried, feigning pain as she fell.

The soldiers around her stopped, while the soldiers guarding Ibarra continued marching.

One of the soldiers extended his hand to her.

She manufactured a moan, waiting until Ibarra drew closer.

She pulled the dagger out of h

er hand and rose to her knees, sticking the weapon into the soldier’s belly. She wrenched it from left to right, almost ripping him in half.

The soldier fell to his knees, grasping his innards with both hands as they spilled from the wound.

With the soldiers thus distracted, Ibarra disarmed one of the guards and beheaded him, then thrust his sword in another soldier’s side.

Without waiting for Aoibhe, he fled through one of the tunnels that led under the city. Several soldiers followed.

Aoibhe was already gone. Having stolen a sword from the vampyre she’d gutted, she fled into a passage that led to the overworld.

Chapter Fifty-Two

WILLIAM SAT ON HIS THRONE, his face in his hands.

Only one other time had he felt so alone, so abandoned, and that was the day his teacher died. He found it strange that his current trouble left him similarly bereft.

Simonetta had ignored his request for help, although she had refused the Curia permission to enter Umbria.

But the Curia didn’t need to travel through Umbria to arrive in Tuscany; they could travel the length of the Lazio region in which Rome was situated, and pass directly into Tuscany.

Similarly, the Venetians had ignored Florence’s request, despite being under the Prince’s control. Neither Umbria nor Venice was willing to engage in open armed conflict with Curia forces—not without the backing of the Roman.

The Prince tugged at his hair.

Aoibhe and Ibarra had escaped. Captain Borek and the remaining members of his detachment had split into two groups in order to follow them. But the traitors were cunning and knew the city well. They were probably hiding until sunset, when they could make their way north.

The Roman had responded directly to the Prince’s message, informing him that he’d withdrawn all support. William’s failure to surrender his pet to the Curia had been viewed as a betrayal. The Prince of Florence had been officially disowned and publicly condemned, which meant every principality in the kingdom of Italy would side with the Roman against him.

William knew first hand of the Roman’s possessive caprice. Faced with the dilemma of surrendering Raven to the Curia or disobeying his father, he’d chosen disobedience. He’d done so knowing his decision carried risk, but he hadn’t expected the consequences to be so great. The Roman had stripped him of his position and had communicated the same to the Curia. Such a move was equivalent to handing the Curia the keys to the principality and offering license to turn Florence into Prague.