Terms of Surrender (18 page)

Amadeo rose with the dawn. He’d had no dreams, no prophetic visions. Just silence. He bathed in frigid water, feeling numb inside and out as he rubbed a rough cloth over his arms and chest.
Like bathing a corpse
, he thought.

Merrion waited for him in the hall outside his chambers. He gave the priest a questioning look.

“Everything is ready,” Amadeo told him.

They’d arranged to release one of the Argalls from inquisition custody, setting him loose with a message from Amadeo. Requesting to meet, and parley, with them. Once the rebels had heard his plan, they were eager to cooperate.

The Argalls wanted blood.

“Excellent,” Merrion said. “I’ve arranged to withdraw all security from the western side of the keep. All gates will be unbarred, all doors unlocked. Where will you…do it?”

“The gardens,” Amadeo said. “It feels appropriate.”

Merrion reached out and clasped his shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing. For your Church, for Itresca—the people will never know it, Father, but you are a genuine hero.”

Amadeo pulled away, holding up an open hand.

“Please don’t touch me.”

He walked away.

Outside the kitchens, he crossed Columba’s path. She scurried over to him.

“Father, they told me—”

“Not now. We’ll talk after.”

Livia was enjoying her breakfast in the feast hall. The table was lined with courtiers and diplomats, cardinals and their aides, and she held court with the patience of a sage. He edged toward her shoulder and leaned in, waiting for a break in the conversation.

“Livia?” he asked. “A word?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling at the sight of him. She pushed back her chair. “Everyone, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?”

A quartet of Browncloaks followed them to the door.

“Livia,” Amadeo said, “would it be possible to have this conversation in
complete
privacy? It’s…a sensitive matter. And somewhat embarrassing for me.”

Livia nodded, looking to the Browncloaks. “Wait for me here. I’ll be right back.”

“My lady,” one said, “you shouldn’t be alone.”

Livia chuckled, kindly, and took Amadeo’s arm.

“I scarcely think I need to be protected from my best friend,” she said. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He led her to the gardens.

It was a fine, clear morning. Cold and crisp, and a light breeze carried the scent of roses. Oaken double doors swung shut at their back, leaving them alone amid the flower beds. They strolled together in companionable silence.

Then the gate at the far end of the walk opened wide, and Queen Eirwen strode into the gardens. A queen in rags, her noble finery dirty and tattered, her once-plump face gone sallow. And a sword on her hip.

She wasn’t alone. Eight men walked with her, daggers in their hands, and eyes that burned like black coals steeped in fires of raw hatred. Every one of them fixed on Livia.

Amadeo untangled his arm from hers as the Argalls spread out, encircling the two of them. He took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

*     *     *

When Amadeo left the gardens, he walked alone.

He went to his chambers, sat on his bed, and stared at the wall. Waiting. Hours passed. Then, a knock at the door.

“Father,” the messenger said, “King Jernigan requests your presence in the feast hall.”

“Of course,” Amadeo said.

As he walked into the vast, drafty hall, closing the door behind him, Rhys stood from his chair and lifted his goblet in a toast.

“Here he is! The man of the hour. Three cheers for Father Amadeo!”

Merrion lifted his goblet as well. “A friend to all Itresca.”

“A friend to our Mother Church as well,” Cardinal Yates added with a smile. “Her champion and her savior. Father, you have single-handedly changed the course of history this day. I hope you take pride in that.”

“Changed our fortunes, too,” Guildmaster Byvan said with a laugh, tossing back a swig of wine. “Now that the bitch is gone, we can get back to business as usual.”

Amadeo fell into a chair. Staring at the twin stag heads mounted over the feast hall’s massive hearth. Their eyes as glassy and dead as his.

One more celebrant sat at the table, though she had no goblet before her. Sister Columba. She hobbled over, leaning in close.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He looked her in the eye. “You understand why I did it, don’t you? I did it for you, Sister. If I hadn’t, you would have, and you’d have borne the weight of mortal sin. I did it to save your soul from damnation.”

She clutched his hand as tears welled up in her eyes.

“You saved us all, Father. You saved us
all
.”

“Damn right he did,” Rhys said, “so someone pour that hero a drink!”

A silver goblet was placed before him, wine splashing like fresh blood. Hands slapped his back, squeezed his shoulders. Laughter and delight. Amadeo sat unmoved. They ignored him and Columba for a while, making their plans and scheming their schemes. Eventually, though, Rhys looked his way again.

“You know, for someone who just won the undying friendship of the most powerful men in Itresca, you’re looking awfully glum. We can’t exactly throw a parade for what you’ve done, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be rewarded. What do you want? Just name it. How about your own chateau on the coast? Hell, how about the highlands? Now that I’ve got the justification to have every last Argall put to the sword, there’s going to be plenty of rich land to build on.”

“A promotion in the Church, perhaps?” Yates suggested. “Easy enough to arrange for my friend Amadeo, especially once I’m wearing the papal miter on my head.”

Byvan snorted. “Best way to reward any man is with cold, hard coin. Let him buy his pleasures on his own time. What do you say, Father? Could a jingling sack of gold turn that frown around?”

Amadeo thought for a moment.

“What I want more than anything in the world,” he finally said, “is the one thing we so rarely ever receive in life. Certainty. The certainty that I made the best choice out of a handful of bad options. But the die is cast, and my choice can’t be unmade. I committed a grave betrayal today.”

Merrion shook his head. “All for the best. Livia needed to go, Father. You know this.”

“Oh, not her,” Amadeo said.

He let out a sad, resigned chuckle.

“I betrayed
you
.”

The great oak doors burst open. And Livia strode into the feast hall with twenty Browncloaks at her back.

The Browncloaks fanned out, covering every avenue of escape, as Livia stalked toward the great table with cold fury in her eyes.

“Betray the woman I raised as a daughter?” Amadeo said softly, looking at Rhys. “I may have my doubts. And I may have my fears. But I could
never
turn my back on Livia.”

“But…how?” Merrion stammered, turning to Livia. “My men saw the Argalls arrive inside the keep, armed and out for blood. They confirmed it! Why aren’t you
dead?
”

“Because I gave them the one thing it seems none of
you
are capable of,” Livia replied. “Honesty.”

*     *     *

Amadeo had made his choice. And he chose Livia. His head swirled with doubts: the conspiracies and powers arrayed against her, her own recklessness, the witch contagion that might turn her into something unspeakable…but in the end, it came down to the simplest of reasons.

“Because I love you,” he told her, meeting secretly in her chambers. “And no matter what happens, I always will. I’ll stand with you until the end.”

Livia clasped his hand. Dante Uccello paced the floor, brow furrowed.

“All well and good, but love is a poor weapon against the machinations of kings and bankers.”

“To the contrary,” Livia said, “love just saved my life. That’s a fine weapon indeed.”

“We need to craft a response. One that not only stops this cabal in its tracks, but ensures they can never rise up again. Mark my words, signora: never take vengeance by half measures. If you strike a man, you must burn him to the ground.
Utterly
. Otherwise, you invite your own doom.”

“We start with the Argalls,” she said. “I have an idea. Risky, very risky, but it’s the only way to set things right.”

As the three of them worked to outline their plan, debating into the late afternoon, Dante cast a nervous glance to the door.

“Good. It’s all settled then. While you undertake the plan, I’ll be making myself scarce. If King Jernigan is intent on your death—and he
didn’t
recruit me into his plans—it strongly suggests I’m next in line for the ax. I’ll come back when the deeds are done.”

From there it had all happened as the conspirators believed. The released prisoner, the secret meeting between Amadeo and the rebels, and the confrontation in the keep’s gardens. As the Argalls circled, Queen Eirwen drew her sword.

“I’m sorry,” Amadeo said, looking between Livia and Eirwen. “These aren’t optimal conditions for a meeting. But I think you two have been needing to talk, quite badly.”

“I’m still not convinced there’s anything to say,” Eirwen replied.

“It was your husband’s doing,” Livia said. “He wanted this inquisition, to steal your family’s lands.”

“Of
course
it was his doing. Do you think I’m simple? But the quill was in your hand, Livia. You signed the order. You put my family in chains and cast them out of their homes. I
believed
in you.”

“I had no choice.” Livia shook her head. “It was that, or lose the papacy. Lose that and we’d have no weapon against Carlo, no way to take back the Church. It was for the greater good.”

Eirwen stared at her. “The greater good. A boy died on that cathedral floor. Cut down because he was trying to protect his mother. Tell me, and tell me true: can you look that woman in the eyes and tell her that her son’s death was ‘for the greater good’? Can you do that for me, Livia? Because that will
surely
comfort her in her grief.”

Livia bowed her head.

“No,” she said. “I…I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You think
sorry
can make up for what you’ve done?”

Livia strode toward Eirwen. And sank to her knees on the pebbled walk. She tilted her head back, the queen’s blade inches from her bared throat, and clasped her hands behind her.

“I came here to try and make things right. To find a solution. But if I need to die for the wrongs I’ve committed against you and your family…then take my life. I am
begging
your forgiveness, Eirwen. If blood is the price for it, then strike swift and deep.”

Eirwen stared down at her in silence, the blade wavering in her trembling hand. Then she sighed. The sword rasped as it slid back into its sheath.

“Get up,” she said, sounding as exhausted as she looked. As Livia rose, she shook her head. “Understand this: you are not forgiven. But your blood won’t heal my family’s wounds. What else do you have to offer?”

“Reparations,” Livia said.

*     *     *

“Of course,” Livia told the conspirators, looking across the feast hall table, “it’s not just the Argalls who are due reparations for injuries done, is it? Each of you has raised your hand against your rightful pope. It’s time we discussed your punishments.”

Byvan rapped his knuckles on the table, eyes bulging, calling out to the Browncloaks. “Any of you—cut her down! Cut her down where she stands and I’ll make you wealthy beyond your dreams. Just
kill
her!”

“Right,” Livia said, “so we’ll start with you.”

She stalked toward him and put her hands on her hips as she looked the guildmaster up and down. Two of her guards moved to flank her. Another took a furled parchment scroll from under his cloak and passed it to Livia. She looked it over, nodded, and tossed it onto the table.

“Byvan, you’ve just been convicted
in absentia
by a liturgical court, convened in secret. The charge is blasphemy. While this
can
be a capital crime, I pled for mercy on your behalf. So the Church has settled on the seizure of your property instead.
All
of it.”

He stared at the decree, red-faced, his twitching fingers crumbling the parchment at the corners.

“Your estates, your bank coffers, your business interests, your horses.” Livia ticked each item off on her fingers. “
Everything
. As of this moment, all you own are the clothes on your back. Oh, and it’s been made known to your former friends and colleagues that if they try to lend you aid, they’ll suffer the same punishment. You are penniless, and you are very much alone.”

“You—” he stammered, “you can’t
do
this to me.”

“You made your fortune on the backs of the poor and the downtrodden. Now, you’re one of them. I find myself wondering if you’ll learn anything from the experience. I do hope you ate well at lunch, signore, as it may be the last meal you have for quite some time.” She nodded to her guards. “Take him. Throw him into the street.”

Byvan was still stammering, protesting, as two Browncloaks dragged him out of the feast hall. The door slammed in their wake.

The other conspirators held their breaths as she surveyed them. Choosing the next target. Her gaze fell upon Cardinal Yates.

“Yates. You fought me from day one. And while you’re as corrupt as the next man, you had a more ideological reason, didn’t you?”

He raised his chin and hardened his eyes. “The teachings are clear. Allowing a woman to take authority in the Church is utter blasphemy. You are living proof of that fact.”

“Yes,” she mused. “You love the Church. So much that as I tried to purify it, to stamp out corruption and waste, you fought me at every turn. Worked to undermine me and ensure my reforms fail, no matter how many people they might help. All so you can ‘prove’ that a woman can’t lead by pointing to disasters
you’ve
caused. Hypocrite.”

“You’re not the only one with the ear of the people, Livia. My pulpit has a long reach. My congregation adores me. Consider that before you do anything rash.”

“Such pride. Then again, that’s
your
particular sin, isn’t it? Byvan only had eyes for his money, but you want to be
heard
. And loved. And respected. You want to be seen as the voice of the Gardener himself.”

“What are you getting at?”

Livia smiled. “You’re not much loved inside the College of Cardinals though, are you? While the
public
story remains that Cardinal Vaughn went rogue, vanishing in the night, more than a few of your colleagues are convinced you poisoned him to take his seat.”

“That was
his
doing!” Yates said, pointing at the king. “Him and that bastard Uccello! I had no choice but to go along with it.”

“They remain unconvinced. So it was rather easy, in exchange for promising to roll back a few of my more radical reforms, to earn their assistance. You see, Cardinal, in one hour, a number of bright young men—well-regarded, good families, strong in faith—are going to present themselves before a magistrate. To reveal what you did to them behind closed doors.”

Yates’s mouth gaped. “But that’s not true! I didn’t do anything, I’m innocent!”

“The truth didn’t matter when you were smearing
me
, did it?” Livia said. “You will be remembered by all of Itresca as a priest who abused his office and tarnished the Church he claimed to love. Remembered, and
hated
by one and all. Oh, and if you’re caught, you’ll likely be hung. You might want to start running now. Fifty-nine minutes before the city guard goes hunting for you.”

“You—you can’t. Livia,
please
—”

“Fifty-eight minutes.”

He rose, slowly, clinging to his last scraps of dignity. His bottom lip quivering as he made his exit.

“So,” Livia said. “That’s greed and pride down. Now you, Merrion. You’re a hard one to figure out. What’s
your
sin?”

“I don’t believe in the concept,” he replied.

“No. Good and evil are notions for lesser men than you, I imagine. You’re in it for the thrill of the game. It’s funny, even without bags of gold or a cardinal’s commission, you’re easily the most dangerous man in this room. You have spies, assassins…resources I can barely begin to trace. It was difficult to decide how to punish you in a way that would stop you from coming back for revenge later.”

Merrion locked eyes with her. “And what did you decide?”

“This,” she said with a nod to Kailani.

Kailani strode up behind him, yanked his head back, and slashed his throat open from ear to ear.

Sister Columba screamed as Merrion collapsed against the table, blood spilling out across the rich, dark wood, pooling around his wine goblet. He twitched, gurgling, feet thumping as they thrashed against the legs of his chair. Then he fell still.

Amadeo looked on, a statue carved from pale marble.

Rhys sat unmoved. He lifted his goblet, sipped his wine, and eyed Livia dourly. “Ran out of irony, did you?”

“The spymaster and manipulator, fallen to the most simple of means,” Livia replied. “Is that not ironic enough for your tastes? No, where I ran out of cleverness—where my heart
broke
—was with
you
, Sister Columba.”

Columba shrank in her chair. The blood on the table flowed toward her in slow, long rivulets.

“You were my father’s caretaker, his maidservant, his
friend
. You’ve served my family since before I was even born. And now, in our hour of greatest need, with enemies all around us, you betrayed me and parroted my brother’s lies.”

“I know what I saw,” Columba said, her voice a soft whisper. “I know what you
are
.”

Livia lifted her open palms. “I know what you’ve been telling people. That I’m a witch. Well, if I’m a witch, Sister, where is my magic? Have I cast a hex to make my problems go away? Bewitched these conspirators with an enchanted potion? Would have made my life so much easier, wouldn’t it?”

“I…I know what I saw,” she said again, though her voice had begun to waver.

“Despite what you’ve done, despite what you
tried
to do to me, I can’t bring myself to hurt you, Columba.” Livia shook her head. Her anger fading, voice gentle. “I’ll always be thankful for the years we had together. I’ll always remember the good days. Right now, though? I just want you gone. If you favor my brother’s lies, then go to him. I’m sure you’ll be welcome in his home.”

She nodded to two of the Browncloaks. “Take her—
gently
—and put her on the next boat to Verinia. I never want to see her again.”

Columba didn’t speak, eyes downcast, as they gripped her shoulders and marched her out of the feast hall.

“And one remains,” Livia said, turning her gaze upon Rhys.

“It’s to be regicide then, is it?”

“No. Destabilizing the Itrescan government, when we’re on the verge of healing this schism in the Church, would be disastrous. The simple fact is I
need
you in power, to back my authority.”

Rhys gave her a smug smile. “I’m so glad you realize that.”

“Just as I hope
you
realize that a blade now hangs over your head. I have Browncloaks on your staff, King Jernigan. Cooking your meals. Folding your bed linens. And watching you like hawks. The moment you
think
about repeating this folly, you’ll pay for it with your life. Oh, and you’re not getting away without your own punishment. Your wife, incidentally, sends her regards.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Say what you’re going to say.”

“Reparations. I’ve already canceled the order of inquisition and ordered the release of the Argall prisoners. You will pay a blood price for the boy who died on my coronation day: his weight in gold. And you will return all of their confiscated lands, plus expand their borders by one acre.”

He swirled the wine in his goblet. “Just…one acre?”

“Yes,” Livia replied. “They’re already calling it ‘The Fool’s Acre,’ and that’s how it’ll be marked on the maps. A visible token of the great King Jernigan’s submission to House Argall. And a permanent reminder of the day he challenged them—and was utterly defeated.”

His lips tightened into a bloodless line. He clenched the wine goblet with white-knuckled fingers.

“That thorn you’re feeling in your side right now,” Livia said, “is your pride. And I believe it will continue to sting for a long,
long
time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Something tells me there won’t be
quite
so many obstacles in my way from here on out.”