The Blessed (47 page)

Hasani drew closer as well and pulled a parchment from the folds of his robe. He handed it to Bishop du Puy, but Daria began praying then, and his attention was solely upon her. He waved for three torch bearers to come closer.

Daria looked about the boy, now wreathed in the faithful—Hasani, Gaspare, Piero, Tessa, Nico, Agata, Vito, Ugo, Gianni, Josephine. Ambrogio edged near and took to his knees, reaching in a hand to touch Roberto's deformed leg, and smiled his encouragement toward Daria.

Daria rolled up Roberto's leggings to his thighs, leaving his healthy leg exposed as well. She wanted to see what his leg was supposed to look like, the goal before her and her God. She ran her hands over the deformed limb, the bad break, covered over in bone. Ligaments and tendons shortened where they not ought to be. Muscles bunched in knots in others.

She sighed and closed her eyes, making sure she understood all that was ahead.

“Faith,” Gianni whispered into her ear, his breath hot. “God can do this. He
shall
do this.”

“Faith,” she repeated in a whisper.

“Wisdom,” Piero added, staring soberly at Roberto's leg. “May you know exactly what to do.”

“Wisdom,” Daria said.

“Power,” Gaspare said. “Know that the Holy One is present. And nothing is beyond his reach.”

“God's own power, here among us,” she said, a smile growing across her face.

“A word from our Savior,” Josephine said. “ ‘For this people's heart has become callused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise, they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.' ”

“We turn to you, Lord,” Daria prayed. “We understand it is you that holds this mighty power and ask you to heal this child, now.”

Hasani grunted and she looked into his eyes. His eyes were at rest, confident.
All will be well. I have seen it.
He smiled at her.

Tessa moved closer and laid a hand on Daria's shoulder. “We are not alone, m'lady,” she whispered. “There is evil here, but God's own are moving among us as well.”

She looked from the child and into her friend Roberto's eyes. “How long, little man? How long ago was your leg broken?” She spoke more for the bishop's knowledge than her own.

“More than six years past, now, m'lady,” he said.

Daria rose slowly and looked to the people beyond their inner circle. “There must not be anyone here who does not believe or wish for God to heal this child. You must believe, hope, and join your prayers with our own, or you must leave.” She turned to Lord Amidei and Vincenzo, then back to Bishop du Puy. “Those two men must be ushered out of this hall.”

Cardinal Saucille stirred. “That is preposterous . . .”

She turned to the bishop. “This is your test for us, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Tessa, are those two men of the light or of the dark?”

Tessa stared where she pointed. “Of the dark, m'lady.”

Gaspare said, “Have them go, m'lord Bishop. They must not be present.” He looked toward the pope, as if he intended to directly appeal to the Holy Father.

“Take them out,” the pope said immediately, throwing a dismissive hand in the air as if to say he just wanted this nonsense done.

Abramo whipped his arm out of the hands of a guard and strode out of the hall, Vincenzo right behind him.

“Tessa, are there any others who must leave?” Daria asked.

The child turned in a slow circle. She pointed out three men, then a woman, and guards took them from the room. She paused over the six cardinals, standing in attendance beyond the Court council, those over whom Amidei had held sway. “You have been led down dark paths,” she said bravely. “Lord Amidei is our enemy. And we are the friends of God. Stay, m'lord Cardinals,” she said sweetly, “but I sense deep conflict within each of you. When you see what God is about to do through Lady de Capezzana, I ask that you search within, past the dark web Lord Amidei has spun, to the truth of Christ that remains there. I can see that as well. You are not his yet. You are God's own. Fight back against the darkness. Choose the light.”

The men watched her, some glowering, some shaking in fear, others already looking repentant, caught in the truth of the young girl's words.

Tessa returned to the group and laid her hand beside the others, atop Roberto's head.

Daria waited for Roberto to look into her eyes. “Pray, Roberto,” she whispered. “Pray with everything in you. And believe. See your leg restored, as it was meant to be. Know that the God who brought you into this world can see you healed. Do you believe?”

He nodded at her, eyes wide and earnest.

Daria bowed her head. “Lord God, shield him from the pain,” she began praying. “Tear apart what is not right within his body. Tear loose the tendons and ligaments that are not where they should be. Break apart the bone that covers a break that should have been set differently. Align his bones before us, Father. Heal him, Lord God on High.”

Piero, Josephine, Gaspare, and Gianni all spoke, echoing some of her words, adding their own. Slowly, reverently, all in the hall went to their knees, all except the Court, who leaned forward from their chairs. As the last went to their knees, Daria felt the Spirit draw near, and with him came his angels. She looked to Tessa, whose face was alight in joy. Tears slipped from her eyes, wide and unblinking as if she didn't wish to miss a moment of this, making tracks down her cheeks that reflected in the torchlight.

One look at the Gifted about Roberto, at Roberto himself, and she knew that all sensed that something mighty was about to occur. Bishop du Puy, mouth agape, slipped into Latin, reverently repeating,
Dignus est agnus!
“Worthy is the Lamb!” as he stared down at them, then all around them. Could he see the angels too?

Gaspare raised his hands. “You are Lord of the heavens and the earth,” he said softly. “You command the sun and the moon to move. We humbly ask you, Father, to move the moon from the sun's path, just as you move this child's leg back into the place you meant it to be.”

Daria nodded, smiling. It was the perfect prayer, the method majestic, fitting of her Lord, in this moment. “Proclaim your power here, Savior,” she said. “Rule over darkness. Bring us life and healing. Place your hands upon Roberto and heal him, Lord Jesus. Heal him. Heal him. Heal him.”

She felt the heat first, a rise in temperature beneath her hands. It was warm at first, then moved to the heat of a fevered brow. When it reached a searing heat, as if she had just touched a stone by a fire, she opened her eyes. “Hold, my friends,” she said to them all. Some had fallen back, alarmed by the heat. “Hold. Yes, Father,” she said again in prayer. “We know you are at work. Come, Jesus. Come, Holy Spirit. Come, Father God. Heal this child, your child. We beg you, Lord. Heal him. Heal him. Heal him,” she said in a hushed whisper.

Two beings of white walked through the kneeling men and women, heading directly in their direction.

“M'lady,” Tessa said in an awed whisper.

“I see,” Daria said, joy washing through her heart.

“As do I,” said Piero.

“And I,” said Gianni.

“And I,” said Gaspare.

“And even I,” said Josephine, white eyes staring as if she could truly see. “They are here.”

“Do not fear,” Daria said to Roberto.

But the boy looked up at the angels with such peace, there was nothing but joy in his eyes.

The angels knelt, one on either side of Roberto, and placed a hand on either shoulder blade. Their features were difficult to make out, so bright were their faces, but Daria could see their wings spread wide, as if encircling their group around Roberto. One nodded toward her. She could see that much.

“Father God in heaven. We are your servants. We love and adore you. We praise your name! Come and heal this child now. We beg you, Father, we beg you, make his leg straight! Allow him to walk as he was created to walk!”

The heat intensified, and Daria pulled her hands away in alarm. But it was the scent then that caught her attention, the pervading aroma of cloves and orange blossoms and something else . . .

Roberto groaned, and then cried out as his leg trembled in the air before them. They could hear popping, and the awful crunch of bone cracking. “Sustain him, Lord Jesus, shield him, Father,” Daria whispered. She wanted to look to the child's face, but her eyes could not leave his leg, hovering as if lifted by the angels, who still stood at the other end of the boy, nowhere near ankles or feet. But their faces, their shining faces, seemed to stare upon it.

The pope gasped. The leg was straightening, before their very eyes.

Toes came into line with ankle. Ankle in line with calf. Calf and thigh into place. Slowly Roberto bent the leg, and the knee moved as it should, a perfect hinge, restored. He shouted.

“Glory, Lord,” Daria whispered. “Glory, glory, glory, glory, glory!” She cried out, each word gaining in strength. “Glory is the Lord's, and none other. Glory is the Lord's! And none other!”

The angels rose, watching her, looking upon them all.

Others in the hall picked up her refrain.

“Glory is the Lord's! And none other!”

Roberto was the first to rise. He stood up tentatively, and then slowly leaned on his healed leg.

“Glory is the Lord's! And none other!”

It was then that Daria realized that the sun had returned, streaming once again through high, narrow windows. And at the same time, she realized the angels were no longer visible in the hall. But she could still feel them . . .

Daria met Hasani's eyes, and he nodded at the bishop, who was rising to his feet, mouth hanging open in wonder as he circled the child.

“Your Holiness. M'lord Bishop,” she said to the pope and du Puy.

They tore their eyes from Roberto, reluctantly turning them upon Daria. They were filled with wonder, awe. Truth.

“Look to the drawing, m'lord,” Daria said softly to du Puy. “Hasani gave you his vision, before this began, and it has been in your hands the entire time.”

The bishop looked upon the scroll as if it were foreign to him. He slowly unrolled it, and his mouth dropped a bit wider. He turned to the pope, and then to the men he had chosen from the Court, those he trusted most. All their faces reflected shock, fear. Then he turned it outward, showing it to everyone nearby.

It depicted Roberto, flanked by two angels, the Gifted all about him.

And Roberto's perfectly straight leg.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

A knock sounded at the door. Abramo ignored it, sitting in the dark library of Cardinal Morano's palace. After a moment, it sounded again. Abramo remained where he was, in the large chair, chin in hand, eyes on the wall.

“Lord Amidei?” Vincenzo asked.

“I left instruction for no one to disturb me.”

“Yes.” He entered and closed the library door behind him. Vincenzo tossed a sealed letter to the table and sat down in another chair across from him, ignoring his request. “I imagine it is similar to the one I just received.”

Abramo picked it up, broke the wax seal, and opened up the missive. “What is it?” he asked, even as he began scanning the text.

“A summons. We are to stand trial for the deaths of five innocents, the kidnapping of three more, and destruction of property. I, of course, am the primary party named, but you, m'lord, are an accessory.”

“To murder.”

“And theft. And kidnapping.” Was he imagining it, or did Vincenzo have a note of pleasure in his voice? Or was it simply fear?

“Impossible.” Abramo rose and went to the window in order to read it for himself. But Vincenzo was correct. “You should have killed every one of them.”

“You told me to bring back several alive, to use against Daria.”

Abramo shook his head, staring through gauzy curtains to the streets below, as if he could see her there. “She dares much, in this.”

“They all do. It is the children, the old woman, Ambrogio, who witnessed the murders, the fire set. But it is Daria who will see them all through.”

Abramo tossed the letter back to the table. “Send a letter to Marco Adimari. You saw to his placement as one of the Nine. Now he can return the favor by seeing these charges dismissed.”

“I believe Daria has beaten us to that play. She must have reached out to Marco, told him everything, and appealed to him to assist. None of the others would have dared to move against us. But Marco . . . he has always been more moved by love and loyalty. And he has always loved Daria.”

“So it will be eight versus one in deciding our fate.”

“Mayhap. Daria is extremely persuasive. The city loves the Duchess. People will turn out of the woodwork to defend her, sing her praises, much as they did at the Court of Apostolic Causes. And Marco may well already be trying to persuade the other eight to see the truth before them.”

Abramo turned away, back to the window, seething. It was impossible.
Impossible
. How had they escaped his net? His perfect noose, slowly drawing shut, cutting off their collective airway?

Another knock sounded at the door. The men exchanged a glance and Vincenzo went to open it.

Ciro entered, another three letters in hand. “For you, m'lord,” gesturing toward Abramo.

Abramo strode across the room and took them from the hulking knight. He tore the seal from one, scanned it, and shook his head. He went to the next and then the next. He trembled with rage.

“Lord Amidei?” Vincenzo asked.