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 her 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.
The former Prince of Florence sat on his throne in the great council chamber, sorrowing for his beloved city.
A gentle hand rested on his, light as an angel’s touch. “There must be something we can do.”
William lifted his head to look at Raven. “The Curia will level us. I’m considered a traitor now. Even if we were to flee, the Roman would hunt me.”
“Would he hunt us in the United States? In South America?”
“I don’t think I would make it out of Italy. The Curia will hunt me too.”
“There has to be a way.”
He shook his head. “My only hope is to see you escape to freedom.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Her expression grew fierce.
He looked at her sadly. “I disobeyed the Roman and refused to hand you over to the Curia. But they are going to take you anyway.”