“We know who you are,” one of the soldiers grunted, rattling his sword.
She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. This was not how she imagined meeting her demise.
She pushed up the sleeves to her dress and spread her feet. Then, with an arrogance born of many victories, she drew a curved, slim samurai sword from behind her back. She gripped the weapon with both hands.
Three soldiers advanced, one in the center and one on each side in an attempt to flank her. She disposed of the soldier on her right first, beheading him with a single stroke.
Aoibhe’s movements were quick and elegant, her red hair swirling in the air, as she faced the other two soldiers. She dueled with each, avoiding their blows until she was able to unsword one of them. She killed him swiftly before turning her weapon on his companion.
The largest solider approached her next. He had more skill than the others and knew better than to give her the slightest opening.
She tried to sweep his legs, but was thwarted. She tried to unsword him, but he was able to land a blow to her left side, stabbing through the crimson folds of her dress to make contact with her body.
The wound surprised her.
Instinctively, she placed her palm against it. But this was a mistake, since the sword she preferred required two hands.
The swordsman slashed at her wrist and she dropped her sword, black blood pouring from her veins.
“Lady Aoibhe.” As he spoke, he pointed the tip of his blade in the direction of her throat. “You are sentenced to death for treason.”
“Treason against whom?” She clutched her wrist with the opposite hand. “I’ve been loyal to the Prince.”
“Exactly. The Prince has been disloyal to Florence, allowing his control to wane while the Curia lies in wait. For these crimes, you will be executed.”
“On whose authority?” she stalled, her dark eyes scanning the roof for any possibility of an escape.
“On the authority of the new prince.” The soldier lifted his arm, preparing to strike.
“Am I not to learn the name of the new lord?” She bent her knees.
“No,” the soldier replied. He lifted his arm still higher.
And then his arm and his sword flew through the air, landing with a wet and tinny thud on the roof.
The soldier cried out in surprise as blood gushed from the gaping wound. He turned to seek his attacker, but a sword whistled through the air, separating his head from his torso.
Aoibhe watched in silent fascination as a figure dressed in dark robes quickly dispatched the two remaining soldiers before moving to face her.
She took a step back. The figure’s scent was muddled and unfamiliar. She looked around wildly for her sword, but it was too far away.
“I will not go quietly,” she said, baring her teeth and moving into a crouch.
The figure threw off his hood.
“Ibarra,” she breathed, placing a hand to her throat.
“I’ve just saved your life, my lady. Is that all the praise I’m to be given?” He flashed a devilish smile.
With a cry, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.
“Much better.” He bent to examine her side and her wrist. “You’ve been injured. Are you all right?”
“A flesh wound.” She lifted the fabric of her dress from her skin and poked her fingers through the tear. “It’s already closing.”
She made a similar move with her wrist, wiping the blood from her pale skin.
“I’m glad.” Ibarra moved to kiss her again but she pulled away, wrinkling her nose.
“You stink.”
“Thank you.” He bowed mockingly. “I’ve been using various bloods to mask my scent.”
“Must you bathe yourself in undesirables? I can barely stand the stench.”
He laughed. “Which is why I was able to surprise the killing party that targeted you.”
“I thought you were in the Basque Country.”
“I decided to stay close and see what I could discover.” Ibarra gazed at the bodies of the five soldiers. “It would seem the Prince has been deposed.”
“I can scarce believe it. Niccolò isn’t powerful enough to best him in a fair fight.”
“The army is. Who said anything about the fight being fair?”
Aoibhe shook her head. “The army is loyal to the Prince.”
“Niccolò’s forked tongue could easily sway them, especially with the rumors of an invasion by the Curia.” Ibarra surveyed the adjacent rooftops, looking for any sign of movement. “He must be killing off his rivals from the Consilium.”
“Stefan isn’t worth bothering with. Max is in good health. I saw him carrying the Prince’s pet a few minutes ago. He’s supposed to be on a mission to France. Clearly, he failed.”
“Then Max must be allied to Niccolò. A strange alliance, indeed. The Prince must be dead if Max was able to secure his pet. Why would he bother with it?”
“Because Max covets pretty things.”
Ibarra’s dark eyes met hers. “Unless it’s a trap.”
“The Prince is intelligent enough to value Florence over a pet.” Aoibhe reached up to kiss him once again. “I owe you my life.”
“A debt I am pleased to own.” He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Should we clean up this mess? It’s sure to attract attention.”
Aoibhe gazed at their fallen brethren scornfully. “I want Niccolò to know that he failed.”