Queen of the Night (The Revanche Cycle Book 4) (7 page)

Livia’s empty stomach still managed to churn as she paced, her slippers crunching against loose dirt and scraggly grass. Lost in her thoughts, her eyes drawn to the shadows between the trees.

“You look as troubled as I feel,” Dante said, walking at her side. She hadn’t noticed him approach.

“Amadeo is right,” she replied. “That ambush was meant to stop us. The Empire is backing Carlo. And if the Imperial army is occupying Lerautia, we don’t have the troops to stand up to them.”

“We don’t need to
hold
the city, signora. Once Carlo’s been dealt with and you’ve united the Church under your reign, the Imperials will have to bow to you. They’ll have no other choice. All we have to do is capture the papal manse, take your half brother out of the picture, and bring the College of Cardinals to heel.”

“And if there’s another Imperial regiment or two between us and the palace doors, how exactly do we accomplish that? They’re
expecting
us, Dante.”

He fluttered an anxious hand. “Wisely used, one soldier can do the work of ten. Don’t think of it as a face-to-face battle. We can employ subterfuge. Sabotage. Distractions and feints.”

“Which none of Rhys’s troops are trained for—they’re veteran skirmishers, not spies. If we had access to the kind of people who could—”

Livia stopped in her tracks. She blinked.

“Signora?” Dante’s brow furrowed at her.

“I know how to win,” Livia said, her voice distant now.

Dante tilted his head. “Why do you make that sound like a curse, rather than a blessing?”

She didn’t answer right away. She was too busy fighting a war in her heart. When she spoke again, she wasn’t sure if she’d won or lost.

“I have to…do something. Something I don’t want to do. The last thing in this world I want to do. But it’s the only way to take the throne.”

“I’m all ears,” Dante told her.

“Can you be?” She turned to him. “Can you be all ears, and no mouth? Dante…I will require your silence. Now and forever. What I’m about to do, if it got out—it would destroy me. Me, my legacy, and everything I’ve worked to build.”

“Which includes helping me to capture Mirenze when your crown is well and truly fitted,” Dante replied. “I’d do nothing to endanger that dream. If you don’t trust me, trust that.”

She seized his forearm, clenching it in an iron grip.

“Amadeo,” she said with a fervent stare, “can never know.
Never
.”

“You have my word as a gentleman,” Dante said.

She let go of his arm and took a step back. After a long moment of silence, she gave a resigned nod.

“Come with me, then. And make sure nobody follows us.”

*     *     *

The white bone mask, carved to resemble the face of a gazelle, lay abandoned in a patch of black forest loam. Its owner, a young woman with long, coltish legs, had dropped it in her scramble to escape. As she leaped gnarled roots and crashed through dense underbrush, she chanced a panicked look back over the shoulder of her torn and muddy dress.

He was still there. The man with the high-collared coat and the mask in the shape of a nest of worms, somehow keeping pace with her despite moving at an ambling gait. Casually carrying a butcher knife in one black-gloved hand.

“I said I was
sorry
,” Gazelle screamed. Her stalker’s only response was a deep, rumbling chuckle.

A knotted root caught her foot and brought her crashing down to the dirt, one hand scraped bloody on a patch of brambles. She grunted and shoved herself to her feet, looking up as merry laughter rang down from the treetops. Up above, a woman in the mask of a shrike danced from branch to naked branch, as graceful as flying.

Gazelle ran. Tears blurred her vision as she thundered through the forest, her lungs sore and calves burning.
I can make it
, she told herself.
I can make it
—

Then a branch whistled toward her, swinging like a bat, and cracked against her right kneecap. She slammed to the ground face-first as her vision exploded in scarlet. She clutched her knee, taking hissing breaths through her clenched teeth.

Gazelle looked up, and her blood ran cold.

Three figures stood before her. The young woman with an innocent, heart-shaped face, casually leaning on the branch she’d just hit her with. The hard-eyed knight with a rat’s nest of tangled blond hair, clad in armor of black leather and nightingale blue, twin sickles dangling from her belt. And the woman standing between them, prim and precise, smiling down with eyes wide behind her big, round wire-rimmed glasses. One hand bare and the other curiously small and twisted, concealed under a sapphire glove of crushed velvet.

“Running,” Nessa Fieri observed, “is a sure sign of a guilty conscience.”

Vassili strolled up from behind, running a finger along the edge of his knife, while his sister swooped down from a branch overhead. Despina landed in a crouch, her eyes keen and eager.

“Please,” Gazelle said, “Owl, M-Mistress Owl—”

“
Don’t
,” Nessa snapped, her smile vanishing as she pointed a condemning finger. “Don’t you dare. The time to address me properly was at the coven glade, when I and mine stood against the old Dire. Your submission would have
meant
something then. It would have
cost
you something. Loyalty offered under duress is a cheap excuse for true devotion. Now what did I say when I addressed you and the other loyalists, Gazelle? Remind me.”

Gazelle shook her head, locking the words behind pursed, wind-burnt lips. Nessa looked over to Vassili.

“If she doesn’t answer me in the next five seconds, take hold of her ankle and slice her tendon. We’ll see how well she runs after that.”

“Wait,” Gazelle stammered. “You…you said we were frauds. That we didn’t deserve to be called witches.”

“Very good. And then?”

“You said that…you were the true Dire Mother, and that if anyone didn’t stand with you, you’d…hunt us down. And…”

Her voice trailed off. Nessa leaned closer. “And?”

“And…exterminate us, one by one. Like the embarrassing vermin we were.”

Nessa crouched down in the loam. She reached out, taking hold of Gazelle’s hair—then gave her head a vicious yank backward, forcing her to look in Nessa’s eyes.

“And do you believe me now?” she asked.

Gazelle swallowed hard. “Yes,” she whimpered, almost too soft to hear.

Nessa let go of her hair. She patted the woman’s cheek and rose, standing over her.

“Want to hear something funny? We weren’t even hunting for you, or the rest of the stragglers we didn’t kill in Winter’s Reach. Didn’t have time. We were just on our merry way, bound for Lerautia, more important matters to deal with. And then you go and take a room at the same inn as us? Two doors down? There’s bad luck, and then there’s
your
bad luck. I almost suspect the universe wants you dead.”

Nessa paused, as if she’d been thrown off her train of thought. One of her eyelids shivered, a momentary tic.

“Mistress?” Despina said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m…being called.”

Hedy shook her head. “Who could be calling you? We’re all right here.”

Nessa’s momentary distraction gave way to a faint, playful smile.

“I think I know. Excuse me a moment, I have to deal with this. Could be promising. Don’t kill her until I get back.”

Nessa slipped through the underbrush. As she disappeared, Gazelle looked up at Hedy, desperate.

“Hedy. We were
friends
. You can’t let her do this to me.”

The young woman bit her bottom lip and looked away.

“She told you what would happen.” Hedy’s voice was weak. “You were told the rules, then you broke the rules. You made your choice.”

“I didn’t
know
! Who could have believed the Owl could actually fight the Dire Mother and win?”

“We did,” Hedy said. She still couldn’t look at her.

“Liar. You were right next to me in the coven glade. You didn’t cross the line. You didn’t stand with her. So why do you get to live and I don’t? Tell me that. You owe me that.”

Hedy’s shoulders clenched as she struggled for an answer.

“I…came around, later. I learned. She forgave me. She’s my teacher now.”

“Then why can’t she forgive
me
?” Gazelle’s head sagged, a ragged sob escaping her throat. “I don’t want to die.”

Mari, who had been standing in stoic silence, stepped over to Hedy. She put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and leaned in, her voice soft.

“When it happens, turn away. You don’t need to see this.”

Despina took off her mask, fixing Mari with an irritated glare.

“She most certainly does need to. Don’t coddle her, Sister.”

“They were friends,” Mari said. “Hedy shouldn’t have to watch this.”

Despina sighed. She strolled up and lightly put one booted foot on Gazelle’s back.

“It appears you need a lesson in taxonomy.” She pointed at herself, then her brother, going around in a circle and ending with Gazelle. “Witch, witch, witch, coven knight,
cattle
.”

With that, she slammed her boot down, shoving Gazelle flat on her belly. The girl grunted and squirmed under her foot.

“Cattle aren’t friends. They’re playthings at best.” Despina nodded to Hedy. “In fact, I think
she
should kill her. It’s a good learning experience. Hedy, you should start by skinning her. Trust me, you won’t see her as your friend when she isn’t wearing a face anymore.”

“You’re being cruel,” Mari snapped.

Despina laughed at her. “You’re just noticing now? That’s what we are, Mari.”

“Not to
each other
.”

Despina blinked. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Not to each other,” Mari said again, softer now. “We’re supposed to be a family. A
real
one, not like it was under the old Dire. I know…I know I’m new here. I know I’m out of line saying this. But there’s only five of us now. We have to stand together.”

Despina stepped off Gazelle and strode toward Mari, her lips pursed in a bloodless line. They stood nearly toe-to-toe, silent, Mari’s steely calm meeting Despina’s frozen glare.

“You are insubordinate, infuriating, and under coven law I would be within my rights to have you whipped.” Despina paused, glancing away. “You…also have a point. Hedy, I recognize that you may be feeling some distress right now. I taunted you for it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Hedy murmured, staring down at the dirt.

Mari started to say something, cut silent as Despina raised a finger and locked eyes with her again.

“But I have a point, too. Hedy is learning, Mari. And our lessons are hard ones. I understand that you want to protect her, that you want to protect all of us, and that pleases us—but when you try to shield Hedy from something like this, you’re not helping her. You’re making her weak.”

“I guess.” Mari hesitated. “I guess I’m learning too.”

The woods rustled, branches swaying aside like charmed snakes to make way for Nessa’s return. She wore a beaming smile, a fresh spring in her step.

“I think we’ve all earned a bit of fun,” she said.

Vassili pointed the tip of his knife at Gazelle. “I thought that was the idea?”

Nessa put her hands on her hips and looked down at the fallen witch, eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“No, not her. Something better. Much better. Gazelle, look at me.”

Gazelle raised her tear-stained face, forcing herself to meet Nessa’s gaze.

“I’m in an excellent mood, and we have an appointment to keep, so I’m giving you a gift. As of this moment, you have exactly one year to live.”

“One…one year?”

Nessa pointed at Despina. “In Vel Hult, tales are still told of the Shrike, swooping from the trees to gobble up stray children. And Despina hasn’t even been there in ages. You have one year to make something of yourself. To earn a name, to build a legend. To prove to me that you’re worthy of joining
my
coven. If you succeed, I’ll welcome you with open arms. Fail, and I promise you’ll wish I had killed you today.”

She snapped her fingers and waved a hand at the others. “Now come along, everyone. I think you’re really going to like this.”

As she led her followers away, Hedy walked at her teacher’s side.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “That was kind of you.”

“Kind? Hardly. She’ll spend the next year living in mortal terror. The fear might push her to greatness, if she has the spirit for it. It’s up to her.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Nessa gave Hedy a sidelong smile.

“You’d best hope that it does. If not, you’re the one who’s going to kill her.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The morning sun crested over rolling hills, casting the Verinian countryside in olive and gold. Standing at the peak of a grassy knoll, a crisp wind running fingers through her pinned-up hair, Livia stood still as a marble statue.

Dante fidgeted at her side, looking down at his hands like he wasn’t sure what they were for. “I can’t believe you hid this from me,” he said for the fifteenth time. “I heard about the ‘miracles,’ how you made the assassins in Rhys’s keep vanish, how you saved Kailani’s life, but I assumed they were all stories. Just peasant nonsense.”

“Would you have believed they were genuine miracles?” Livia asked him.

“Between believing your god actually exists,” Dante said, “and believing that Livia Serafini dabbled in witchcraft…no. I would choose to believe neither. Rationality rejects both answers.”

“And yet,” Livia said, “here we are.”

“It is, I admit, an irrational world.” He dropped his voice to a near mumble. “And right now, Mari Renault is ferrying medicine to the sick.”

Livia furrowed her brow. “What’s that?”

He shook his head, waving her question away.

“Now you understand why no one can know about this,” she said. “Ever. Amadeo knows about my…past indiscretions, but I promised him I’d left that all behind.”

“To speak of it would consign us both to the pyre, signora. You’ve secured my silence by dangling a sword over my head. Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”