At the sight of the Prince, a hush fell over the crowd. Citizens bowed their respect, pausing their sparring.
“I’m sorry Max isn’t here. He could do with a lesson,” Aoibhe commented.
The Prince said nothing.
She moved to whisper in his ear. “We haven’t had news of Max and Pierre. I would have thought they’d have completed their mission by now.”
He growled his frustration.
“Let’s find you a worthy opponent.” She gazed around the room quickly. “Alas, I’m the oldest one here, except for you.”
“Niccolò and Lorenzo need to spend more time training.”
“Undoubtedly. A youngling could probably best them.”
The Prince walked to the cache of weapons and chose a large, heavy broadsword. He walked to the center of the gymnasium, tossing the sword from hand to hand. Aoibhe sought a weapon that roughly matched his and followed.
The other vampyres quickly retreated, moving to the perimeter of the hall.
At the sight of her, the Prince scowled. “You can’t fight in a dress.”
“I’ve been fighting in a dress since I was changed.” She gave him a saucy look. “But since you object . . .”
She divested herself of her garment, tossing it aside. She stood in an ivory slip, her long red hair a riot of waves about her body, her hand clutching a sword. A murmur lifted from the crowd, for Aoibhe was a goddess in body as well as in face.
“Shall we?”
He regarded her for a moment, then pointed his sword at hers. “Perhaps you’d prefer something smaller.”
“The size of your sword is more than adequate, my lord.”
Laughter filled the hall.
“Then we’ll spar until first blood.”
“Agreed.”
Aoibhe winked at him and took a fighting stance, her body turned sideways, her sword lifted with both hands and pointed toward the ceiling.
Before she could take a single step in his direction, he blurred toward her, then retreated just as quickly. Aoibhe stood, shocked, a small line of blood drifting from her cheek to the edge of her mouth. He’d caught her with the tip of his sword before she could even draw breath.
Her tongue peeked out, straining toward the blood. She smiled slowly. “It seems you are not as well fed as you claim.”
The Prince scowled. “Are you hungry for more?”
“Indeed, my lord. Clearly, your little pet isn’t sating your appetite. You’ll have to take another. Or more.” She resumed her stance, her white cheek still stained with the blackish blood, even though the wound had closed.
The Prince gripped his sword more tightly, the knuckles of his hand indicating that her taunt had found purchase. He beckoned to her.
This time, she moved immediately, approaching him with speed and swinging at his chest. The Prince sidestepped her at the last moment, his hair fluttering in the draft created by her weapon. He smacked her bottom with the flat of his sword, causing laughter to bubble up from the crowd.
She turned, swiping at him from the side. Once again, he sidestepped her blow.
Aoibhe was beginning to lose her temper. She swung in the direction of his head and he ducked, pushing her abdomen with his hand and knocking her over. Her sword went flying and landed a few feet away.
The Prince turned his back on her and strode to the door, to the sound of great applause. He handed his sword to one of the younglings who stood nearby, and exited the hall.
Aoibhe picked herself up. “What are you looking at?” she snarled to the crowd, throwing her dress over her head and walking to the door.
Later that evening, Raven sat at her desk in her bedroom, staring at her laptop. She deleted an e-mail from her mother, suspecting it would be an angry, ranting diatribe, excoriating her for upsetting Cara.
Raven also ignored an e-mail from Father Kavanaugh, who, according the visible subject line, had recently arrived in Rome. No doubt he was updating her about his new position in the Church.
Father Kavanaugh had become a father to her and, to a lesser extent, Cara. He’d taken them to Covenant House when they fled their stepfather, he’d protected and fed them, and he’d brought them to a police officer they could trust. He’d advocated for them with child protective services and the courts. And he’d made sure that they had someone in their life who cared about them and encouraged them to go to college, even to the point of finding scholarships for them.
Raven owed Father Kavanaugh a great deal, but more than that, she loved him. While she didn’t share his religious beliefs, she knew him to be a holy man. And she knew that, in his way, he loved her and Cara. Should the need ever arise, he would move heaven and earth to help them.
But she didn’t want to talk to him about Cara. Not now, when the pain was still fresh. For this reason, Raven decided to save his e-mail for another day.
With a pained heart, she typed another e-mail to her sister.
Dear Cara,
I’m really sorry I upset you. I’m sorry I upset Dan.
Please don’t cut me out of your life, especially over this. He took so much from us already. Don’t let him take my sister from me.
I love you,
Rave
Chapter Twenty-four
The following evening, Gregor appeared before the Prince in his private apartments at Palazzo Riccardi. He stood nervously while the Prince read the message he’d delivered—a note from Counselor Tarquin, the current leader of Venice.
Since Tarquin had been put in place by the Prince of Florence after he’d defeated the previous ruler, and since Florence claimed dominion over Venice, Tarquin was not allowed to hold the title of prince. He was only a counselor. And like any black-blooded vampyre, he chafed under the title.