Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (35 page)

Elizabeth turned to the pile of clothes, picked up a folded pair of trousers, and shook them out. “Not to be immodest, but who has been cleaning his wounds all night? I am not so faint a woman as to go weak at the sight of a naked man.”

Patrick lowered his face, hiding a grin. “As you wish.” The friar helped Rhun stand. “Go slowly.”

It was sage advice. The room swayed as he attempted a few steps, but after several tries, he could soon stand on his own and move with little assistance. Still, he needed help dressing, especially with only one arm.

Once finished, Elizabeth knotted his loose sleeve and tucked it into his belt. She eyed him up and down. “You’ve looked better, Rhun.”

“I’ve felt better.”

Patrick took him by the elbow, helping steady him toward the door. “I’ll go with you, take you to where they are holding Cardinal Bernard.”

Rhun glanced to Elizabeth. “Are you coming?”

She looked hopeful, but Friar Patrick quickly quashed it. “That is not allowed, I’m afraid. The cardinal has insisted that he will only speak with the trio of prophecy.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “As a prisoner, can he set such conditions?”

“He can,” Patrick answered. “He is not without his allies in the Holy See. Even now. I am truly sorry, Sister.”

“So be it.” Elizabeth crossed her arms, looking more defiant than the acquiescence of her words.

Rhun understood her frustration. Bernard had wronged her, stolen her very soul, and yet he was free to set the terms of their contact, while she was restricted and confined. Who truly was the prisoner here?

“Go,” she said, dismissing them both, her words bitter. “Perhaps I shall take up needlepoint while I wait.”

With no other choice but to leave her behind, Rhun headed out the door and down the corridor. Even with Patrick’s support, he trailed fingers along the whitewashed bricks to keep his balance. His right arm was gone. Even though he could see the stump and feel the pain, he did not seem able to come to terms with his new state.

A new limb will grow
.

He had seen such miracles in the past, but he also knew it might take years.

How can I properly protect Erin and Jordan in this maimed state? What will become of our quest?

Patrick led him through the papal residence, letting Rhun set the pace. Thankfully he grew stronger with every candlelit hall they crossed, every winding stair they climbed. Eventually, he walked free of Patrick’s support, but the friar stuck to his side.

Rhun sensed his friend wished to speak. “What is it, Patrick? If you keep looking over your shoulder like that, you’ll get a permanent crick in your neck.”

Friar Patrick tucked his hands into his wide sleeves. “It concerns your
other
friend.”

It took Rhun a moment to decipher his words. “The lion cub . . .”

He remembered the creature’s plaintive cry, how the small cat had nudged the body of its dead mother.

“He has changed much. Growing far faster than any natural creature should.” Patrick looked at him. “What haven’t you told me about him?”

Rhun knew he could no longer keep the secret of the cub’s birth. “His mother was a
blasphemare
.”

Patrick drew to a sudden stop in the hallway, forcing Rhun to do the same. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shame flared through him. “I thought if you believed the cub to be tainted you wouldn’t take him in.”

“Nonsense. He is clearly not
tainted
. If anything, I’d say he is
blessed
.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have never seen his like before. He is a gentle soul. Full of mischief, yes, but there is no corruption. I see only a sweetness about him.”

Rhun felt a deep measure of relief. He had sensed the cub’s essential goodness back in the desert, and he was glad to hear it borne out. “I’ve wondered about him since I found him.”

“And do you know anything more about him?”

“Very little. His mother was badly wounded by the angelic blast following the battle in Egypt. I suspect the cub was spared in her womb, a testament to its innocence. And perhaps some of that angelic essence was instilled into him.”

Patrick touched his arm. “I don’t doubt it. Thank you for sharing this miracle with me. I never thought to see its like, a creature the mirror opposite of the
blasphemare
, a beast blessed by purity. It is a wonder.”

“Can you still keep it a secret . . . at least for now?”

“Do not trouble yourself on that account.” Patrick waved ahead and set them in motion again. “I am happy to have this miracle all to my own for now.”

They continued through to a far corner of the residence.

“The cardinal is being kept in a private apartment around the next corner,” Patrick said.

As they turned into another hall, Rhun spotted a pair of Sanguinists, both hooded and cloaked, with blades drawn, at the end of the passage. They guarded a stout wooden door, marking Bernard’s current prison cell.

Rhun started toward it, noting the windows lining the way looked out upon the blue majesty of neighboring Lake Albano. Rare Renaissance paintings dotted the walls, their oils aglow in the sunlight. He imagined Bernard’s
cell
had the same view and was likely equally well appointed.

The cardinal certainly did have allies who were looking after him.

A call rose from behind, coming from another hallway that ended here.

“Rhun!”

He turned to see Erin rushing forward, her jacket winging open. Jordan stalked after her, looking less thrilled to see him.

“Shouldn’t you still be in bed?” the big man said as they gathered together in the hall.

Friar Patrick bowed his head toward Erin and shook Jordan’s hand. “He has mended well enough for now, but I’ll trust the two of you to take charge of him from here.” The friar turned to Rhun. “I will leave you with your companions. But I will be on the estate should you need the council of an old fool such as myself.”

“You have never been a fool,” Rhun answered.

Friar Patrick shrugged, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and walked briskly away.

Erin’s eyes studied Rhun anxiously as they headed toward the guarded doors. “How do you feel?”

“Stronger,” he answered truthfully. “It seems I have you to thank for my life.”

She gave him a small smile. “It was my turn.”

“Gotta admit,” Jordan said, “for a guy who counts his birthdays by the centuries, you’re a tough old nut.”

Rhun felt himself relaxing in their camaraderie. Admittedly, they were a team that had survived much together, but they were more than that.

They were friends.

As they reached the doors, the guards parted. From under his hood, one spoke, sounding none too happy at their intrusion, nor to whom they had come to see.

“The cardinal has been expecting you,” the guard said, his contempt for the prisoner plain.

The other guard removed a large key from under his cloak and unlocked the door. He did not bother to open it.

Rhun shifted forward, but his balance betrayed him. Erin caught his arm.

Jordan moved to the door and shoved it open, speaking to the guards. “You both need to work on your hospitality skills. Trust me, my Yelp review about this place will sting.”

Jordan held the door for Erin and Rhun.

They passed into a sumptuous entry hall, decorated with plump furniture and heavy silk drapery. Beyond that space, a short passage led to bedrooms, a small parlor, and a powder room. The place was kept dark, except for candlelight glowing through a door at the end. Rhun heard a faint voice rising from there. The words were too inaudible to understand, but the accent was unmistakable.

Bernard.

Was someone with him? Patrick had told him on the way up that Bernard’s assistant, Father Gregory, had been coming and going at all hours of the day and night, likely running errands for the cardinal as the man fought to keep his position, to control the gears that his sin had set in motion.

Jordan heard the cardinal, too, and strode briskly down the hall. He took in the surroundings as he went. “Talk about a pretty bird cage,” he mumbled sourly.

Rhun followed.

Erin hovered at his side, clearly worried about his stability, but he waved her forward.

Jordan reached the half-closed door first and rapped a knuckle on it. When his knock went unchallenged, Jordan pushed inside. Erin kept close at his heels, plainly full of questions for Bernard.

Rhun hurried after them. He had much to ask Bernard himself about his lies and half-truths, especially concerning the cardinal’s old friend, the crusader Hugh de Payens.

As Rhun slipped into the room, he saw the disheveled state of Bernard’s temporary desk, the pools of melted candle wax on top, the heavy silk drapes that had been tied closed over the windows.

Something’s not—

The door slammed shut behind him.

He turned too slowly to block the shoulder that rammed into him, knocking him to the floor. Agony lanced through him as he landed on his left side, jarring his stump and closing his vision to a knot.

A dark shape sped past him and struck Jordan a blow to the skull with the bust of a statue. As Jordan collapsed, Erin was grabbed and tossed over the desk, where she hit a draped window and crashed to the floor.

Before Rhun could even sit up, a hand grasped his neck with iron-strong fingers and yanked him high, until only his toes brushed the carpet.

A ghastly chuckle cut through his pain.

Cardinal Bernard leered at him. His scarlet robes hung in tatters on his nearly naked form. Madness crazed his brown eyes.

“Welcome, Knight of Christ . . . welcome to your ruin.”

March 19, 8:02
A
.
M
.
CET

Castel Gandolfo, Italy

Dazed by the sudden attack, Erin grabbed the edge of the desk and pulled herself up, ignoring the ache in her side. Her flung body had knocked over the lone candle. The room was now dark, lit only by filtered light coming from the shuttered windows.

Her first thought was:
strigoi
.

She stumbled to the window behind her and yanked on the drapes. A sash had been knotted over them, keeping them from opening completely, but she managed to part the heavy silk enough to bring sunlight into the room.

Twisting back around, she saw an impossible sight. Cardinal Bernard had Rhun clutched by the throat, pinned against a bookcase. Rags of scarlet draped the man’s nearly naked body, revealing scores of scratches on the white skin beneath, as if he had torn his own robes from his shoulders in a rage.

On the rug behind them, a figure lay unmoving on the floor, blood seeping from his scalp.

Jordan . . .

Rhun seemed to recover from his surprise. A silver blade appeared in his right hand and bit deep into the cardinal’s arm. Fingers released his throat. As Rhun slumped down the bookcase, he lashed at the cardinal—but only swiped through empty air.

Bernard was already across the room, ripping a sword from the wall. The unearthly speed with which he moved told her that the cardinal no longer obeyed the vows of a Sanguinist. Like the
strigoi
, his power sprang from a darker source.

What had happened?

Jordan stirred, his eyes fluttering open. In the darkness, they shone with a faint golden gleam.

Before Jordan could gather his wits, Bernard rushed Rhun.

Rhun leaped to the side, crashing clumsily into a giant Chinese vase. His natural grace was plainly thrown off balance by his missing arm.

She drew a dagger from an inner sheath in her jacket, ready to defend the others. But she wasn’t a fighter. Her best weapon was her mind. Bernard went after Rhun again, but Jordan broadsided the cardinal, knocking him over a large standing globe.

As the cardinal sprang back up with a snarl—his body framed in a sliver of sunlight—Erin searched his exposed nakedness, looking for a telltale black handprint.

Nothing
.

She wasn’t surprised.

How could Legion have possessed the cardinal? Especially while the man was imprisoned here? But if Legion wasn’t the source of this corruption, what was?

Must think . . .

Jordan joined Rhun, both facing down the raving beast that was the cardinal.

Erin studied the room, searching for whatever held the cardinal in thrall. Her gaze swept across the chaos atop his desk. She saw nothing unusual: papers, books, a leather-bound journal. She looked around the base of the desk. As she did so, her toe nudged a black pouch on the floor. Something rolled out the open end.

A piece of black glass.

It seemed to exude darkness. She had seen such a poisonous artifact before: in the Egyptian desert. Rhun had recently led a team to rid the sands of such evil. She dropped to a knee, knowing what rested on the carpet.

A drop of Lucifer’s blood.

She used a piece of paper to scoop the stone up, while grabbing the ties of the bag. Straightening, she rolled that black tear into the pool of sunlight atop the desk and emptied the pouch’s contents beside it. The pile of dark drops seemed to suck in the light, creating little voids in the fabric of the universe. She didn’t need to touch them to sense their malignancy, their
wrongness
.