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Two swords flew through the air, each caught handily by the captives.
“This is your last chance, Niccolò.” William’s voice rang out. “End this conflict before I diminish the army.”
“If I lose soldiers, I’ll make new ones.” Machiavelli nodded at the general. “Begin.”
Aoibhe lifted her sword with both hands, poised to strike. “Did you hear that, army? You’re no better than humans to your new prince. Each of you is disposable.”
The general barked out an order and the army advanced on all sides.
Chapter Fifty-six
William and Aoibhe were a whirlwind of movement, striking and blocking at every turn, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. For every soldier killed, another took his or her place. All the while, the new prince sat on his throne, watching his army shrink.
William knew there were too many. There were too many for him and he was an old one. Aoibhe was stronger than any of the soldiers individually, but taken together, they’d overwhelm her and then he’d have no one at his back.
He’d let Raven go without kissing her. Without persuading her he was keeping his promise to protect her and her sister, even though that meant sending her to his enemy. Now he’d never have the chance to look into her eyes and explain.
With renewed vigor, William went on the attack, forcing the line of soldiers to retreat.
Behind him, Aoibhe stumbled. She fell to the ground, her sword careening across the floor and coming to rest out of reach.
A line of soldiers advanced and one lifted his arm in preparation to take her head.
His blow was caught inches from Aoibhe’s neck by William’s sword.
A soldier saw the opening and ran up behind him, aiming for his head. Lightning fast, William turned, leaning backward to avoid the metal that flashed through the air, narrowly missing his throat.
He lifted his sword, but before he could strike, the soldier’s head flew from his shoulders and his body crumpled to the ground.
Gregor stood behind him, sword in hand.
It was then William saw an influx of his citizens, armed and battling with the soldiers who surrounded him. Beyond them, half of the army had already fallen back, disengaging from the conflict.
A female tossed a sword to Aoibhe and she was on her feet, swirling like a red-haired dervish.
“Down with the traitor!” William cried. “To arms, citizens of Florence!”
The loyal civilians cheered as he battled his way to the throne, taking the steps two at a time before standing in front of the one who had unseated him.
“Guards, kill him!” Niccolò shouted.
But the guards ignored his order, throwing down their swords. The metal clattered on the stone floor.
William paused as he stood over his former head of intelligence.
“You should have granted my appeal, Niccolò.”
“It was a calculated risk.”
Machiavelli looked out over the hall. The skirmishes had ended as everyone watched the scene unfolding at the throne.
“I have lived a long life, with some regrets.” He gazed at William’s sword bitterly. “I regret underestimating the citizens’ loyalty to you.”
“A mistake you will not make again.”
Machiavelli looked up at his prince. “I don’t suppose you can be persuaded to be merciful?”
William pressed his lips together. “I know no such word.”
Machiavelli’s head flew to the floor and a great series of cheers filled the hall.
William tugged the signet ring from the headless corpse’s finger and pushed the body aside. He replaced the ring on his finger and stood, arms raised.
“Citizens of Florence, the traitor is dead.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
“It’s fortunate the Curia have a prize being sent their way,” Aoibhe declared, standing with the Prince in the empty council chamber. “They would have marched on us for certain. The hunting parties wreaked havoc across the city, and Max killed three humans in Santo Spirito, leaving their bodies to rot.”
The Prince kept his own counsel as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle. They’d been able to regenerate much of the army—reuniting bodies with their severed heads and borrowing vampyre blood in order to effect the reanimation. The corpses and heads of those the Prince despised had been removed from the chamber and were now burning on a pyre outside the city.
He’d executed General Valerian and his officers, replacing them with lower-ranked ones who’d sworn fealty. He would be keeping a closer eye on the army henceforth.
At the mention of the Curia, William grew agitated. Niccolò hadn’t had time to send couriers to the rulers of the neighboring principalities. William had dispatched messengers as soon as he could but it was still possible Raven and Cara could fall into the hands of another coven on their way to Rome. They’d escaped one danger only to be thrust into another.
“I know better than to believe our kind worthy of miracles,” Aoibhe observed, moving so the Prince could no longer ignore her. “Yet I cannot help but believe you were favored with one today.”
He stiffened. “I make no such claim.”
“It seems I’m destined to remain in your debt.” She touched his arm. “Thank you. Now comes the difficult task of rebuilding the city.”
The Prince regarded her stoically. “You fought at my side today and for that I’m grateful. But you concealed your contact with Ibarra. I should execute you for that.”
Aoibhe withdrew her hand as if she’d been burned. “Ibarra is dead.”
“Ibarra’s amalgam of scents might be strong enough to fool many, but it isn’t strong enough to fool me. I scented him atop the building where you were attacked. He came to your aid.”
“It was a stranger. I didn’t recognize him.”
“You lie as you fornicate, Aoibhe: artfully and forcefully. I have no time for either.” He strode down the aisle, carrying his sword in one hand and the missive with the Roman’s signature in the other.
“Wait.” She lifted her skirts and followed him. “Why would you think Ibarra is still alive? We watched him die.”
William glared at her. “Don’t insult me. An armed detachment is already hunting him.”
Aoibhe flew to his side. “I’ve been your ally. I helped secure your pet. I gave my blood for her sister.”
“That is why you are still alive,” he replied. “I promised you a modest favor. Electing not to execute you for treason is hardly modest but I don’t have time to deal with you at the moment.”
Aoibhe scowled. “I’ve done nothing but show my loyalty, again and again, while the other members of the Consilium plotted your demise. I argued with Nick for your life. I fought at your back. This is how you repay me?”
William’s jaw clenched and unclenched, as if he were barely controlling his anger. “Did you summon the soldiers at Teatro?”
“Of course not! They were already posted in the club. They’d scented us in the hall and when I left the room, they fell on me.”
“You’re adept at lying, Aoibhe. Did you not think to lie in order to lure them away?”
“They knew Max had your pet. They knew you were inside the room. Lying would have accomplished nothing. You saw me when you came into the hall—they’d already disarmed me. I have yet to retrieve my sword.”
William’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the sound of her heart, listening for any indication of duplicity.
“We’ve been allies, Aoibhe. But alliances change. If you betray me, I’ll kill you.”
Aoibhe swept into a curtsy, averting her eyes. “Understood, my lord.”
William approached the door and was just about to walk through it, when she called after him.
“What was in the letter you showed to Nick?”
William considered her question for a moment before he answered.
“The Roman wrote a postscript in his own hand.”
“A postscript isn’t enough to have given N
iccolò pause.”
“He wrote, ‘Greetings, my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased.’” William’s gray eyes glittered. “The Roman is my maker.”
Her eyes widened. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
She took a step back, her expression fearful. “Is it true the Roman is past his thousand years? That he escaped the curse?”
“He was past his thousand years when he made me.”
“How is that possible? The curse affected everyone—those who were past their thousand years were struck with madness immediately.”
“Our existence seems to be riddled with—exceptions.”
She looked at him with new eyes. “You have so much power. Why didn’t you take over the principalities in America?”
William pressed his lips together. “You forget my age. America wasn’t desirable at that time.”
“You could have made of America what you wanted.”
“I came to Florence in search of beauty and hope.”
“Beauty?” She frowned. “Perhaps you didn’t look hard enough.”
“On the contrary, I was rewarded with both. Now I must save her.” He strode toward the door.
Aoibhe raised her voice. “Florence doesn’t need saving, my prince. Florence is already saved.”
William exited into the corridor, his footsteps quick and sure. Yes, he’d saved the city he loved, but in trying to protect his woman, he’d placed her in grave danger. He’d done so even as she begged to stay with him, knowing they would both likely die.
The woman with the great green eyes and the maddening, courageous soul.
His teacher had not heard his prayer to keep her safe. It was clear. There was only one being who could help him battle the Curia with any hope of success.
