Quintus’s sons ate in silence, disturbed only by Donna Morello’s snoring in her stew, which was always served lukewarm because of her impromptu siestas.
There was a clamor outside, and an unconscious guard came through the door, closely followed by Sofia, choke-holding another. She kicked the door shut and slammed the guard against it.
“You dirty son of a bitch.”
“Pay no heed, Mother. Cousin Scaligeri is upset,” said Valentino. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but isn’t there a truce in effect?”
Sofia kicked his chair out. His chin slammed on the table, and he fell to the ground, moaning. “Mow! My tonugu! Gaetamo!”
Gaetano finished cutting his steak before looking up. “This should be entertaining.”
She stood over him. “Your ‘accident’ nearly killed Vanzetti’s boy.”
Valentino touched his bloodstained lip. “So?”
Valentino remained impassive as he slowly reached for the nearest weapon to hand. “If he’s on the bridge, he’s one of yours.”
“The engineer almost died too! Do you even care about the consequences?”
“What shall I say, better luck next time?”
“There’s not going to be a next time,” she said, grabbing Valentino’s wrist and making him release the fork.
Gaetano’s knife flew by Sofia’s face, landing between the shrewd eyes of the Dragon in the family crest. “Sofia, I’d happily let you carve him up, but Father would be put out.”
“Relax, Tano. Me and Tino are just talking.”
She suddenly stuck the fork in his hand, pinning it to the crest.
“AhHHHH ahah oww!”
“Something to remember next time you feel like burning a tower.”
Gaetano had raised his flag. “Contessa, I warned you.”
“No, I warn you: keep this dog on a leash or I’ll put him down.”
“Sofia!” Gaetano called, but she was gone. He sat down again pensively.
“Oooohhhhohahaha.” Valentino’s moan became a laugh. “You think she’ll pop around often once the bridge’s finished? I must say, her manners are rather—”
“Father obviously didn’t order Marcus killed. Did you?” Gaetano asked.
“No. Did you?”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“It’s the truth. Perhaps Mother found him in the wine cellar. Um, I seem to have run out of hands. Little help here?”
Gaetano went on eating.
“She accused me of tower burning,” Valentino said, “but I’ve never gone raiding in my life.” He smiled when Gaetano shot him an aggressive look.
“She doesn’t really know you, does she?”
“The Doctor hides Family business from her.”
“Silly of him. I daresay she’s almost as good a fighter as you.”
“Better,” Gaetano said with a small smile.
“You still like her, don’t you?” Valentino laughed. “You think she likes you? I see: forbidden fruit and all that.”
Gaetano took Valentino’s plate and tipped the contents onto his own. “You’re finished with this steak, right?”
Perhaps the rosy clouds behind Tower Bardini augured better weather to come. When the day’s work was finished and northsiders wished southsiders good evening, Giovanni knew that something had changed. Vettori had passed up his right to revenge, unthinkably, and that single act had bound the crew tighter than any symbol could.
The Contessa herself said it was their bridge, silencing the cynics who presumed her coronation would be simply an exchange of yokes. The notion of a Contessa who stood up for them was profoundly strange, profoundly inspiring.
He was watching the southsiders spilling into Piazza Luna when he saw her—coming from Palazzo Morello—flushed but happy.
He waited till she was in earshot. “Not a diplomatic mission, I presume.”
“No, but it made me feel better.”
“Thanks for speaking to Vettori,” he said.
“Doc won’t be happy. A southsider publicly killing another southsider? He would have loved that.”
“You said you only disagreed with his tactics.”
“Madonna, I did, didn’t I? I’ve been asking myself recently what kind of leader I’ll be.” She blushed slightly, laughing to cover her embarrassment. “Don’t get a big head, but it’s partially because of you.”
“Me!”
“They told you to build a bridge. No one told you to worry what we madmen do afterward. You worry anyway.”
“I have my reasons.”
He was uneasy, and she guessed where he was going. “Look—I know you’ve been posted to other towns. War is war.”
“Sofia, you said that certain people are born with a higher destiny. Do you still believe that?”
She shrugged. “It suited me once to think of Rasenna as my divine right. I’m Contessa, but maybe that’s just luck. Maybe nothing’s meant to be. The Sisterhood said that Rasenna would defeat Concord, just like the Prophets said a virgin’s son would save the world. Rasenna was flooded, and Christ was murdered in his crib. Bad average if you believe in destiny. Prophecies are just dreams people want to happen. I bet buio have prophecies too. It doesn’t make them real.”
“Just because something hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it can’t. Don’t laugh, but I thought I was sent here to make up for things I’ve done. I thought the bridge was the answer. It is, partially, but there’s something else.”
“Sounds like you swallowed too much water, Captain.”
Giovanni watched her go, troubled. He tried to concentrate on the work ahead, but it was impossible—as impossible as what had happened down there.
It was like a half-remembered dream.
He found Pedro tethered to the stone. The swarming buio pulled back as he swam closer, but while untying Pedro he dropped the transmitter. Instead of attacking, the buio floated there. He heard them in his mind, speaking a strange language. He remembered only one word: Iscanno.
At the other end of the bridge, the foremen made use of the evening lull to take stock.
Fabbro caught the direction of Vettori’s glance. “He’s not like any Concordian I’ve ever met either.”
“Or any Rasenneisi. He’s not afraid of buio.”
“That’s the courage of youth. Speaking of which, how’s Pedro?”
“Shaken up, naturally. But good. And no, I didn’t fire Hog.”
Fabbro became suddenly interested in the hem of his jacket. “What do you make of this?”
“You don’t have to change the subject, Fabbro. I know I nearly lost control. I’m not proud of it.”
“No, really, I want your professional opinion.”
Vettori took the proffered material. “It’s good, but that stitching . . .” He shrugged, a doctor with a bleak diagnosis.
“I got it through an agent from Burgundy. You could do better?”
“Fabbro, don’t take offense!”
“None taken. Could you?”
“Yes,” Vettori said cautiously.
“That’s what I thought. Last night we smuggled in a shipment of wool.”
Vettori hurriedly looked around to see no one was within earshot. “You’re crazy!”
“Well, they can’t come over land! Borders mean bribes, and too many borders means no profit. I turned on the eggs to keep away buio while my sons unloaded.”
“So that’s what you’ve been up to—Madonna, if the Concordians catch you trading with Europans, they’ll hang you! That or the Signoria will kill you with taxes.”
“Bah! They’re all too busy fighting to worry about my business. The wool comes from a monastery on the Anglish Isles, and bad stitching or no, it sells for a good price.”
“Congratulations,” Vettori said awkwardly. He was happy for Fabbro, but he had trouble making ends meet.
“I’m not bragging, Vettori! I’m saying I’d double profits if I could bypass Burgundy. It’s cheaper to order raw wool instead of finished goods. I know you could get weavers, but what about carders and dyers?”
“Hang on. I didn’t agree to anything.”
Fabbro went back to examining his jacket.
“I could organize it,” said Vettori slowly.
“Good! And since I’m taking the most risk, we’ll divide the profits sixty-forty.”
“Say fifty-fifty, since I’m doing most of the work, and you’ve got a deal.” Vettori turned back to his stock list nonchalantly.
Fabbro was amused at his efforts to be casual. “Deal.”
“Sofia Scaligeri invaded my home?”
Gaetano kept eating while Valentino glared at him. He had finally managed to pull himself free.
“Yes, Father, your Contessa-to-be. Like she owned the place. Suppose she does, in one sense.”
Quintus pulled the knife from the crest. “Well, Gaetano? A Bardini bandieratoro walks into my palazzo and not one of your bandieratori tries to stop her?”
“She’s the Contessa!”
“Think, Father,” said Valentino. “If it’s like this now, how’ll it be when the bridge is finished?”
“We won’t let that happen,” Quintus said haughtily.
“Cretino!” Valentino slammed his fist on the table, then winced at the pain. “It’s come too far for that.”
Quintus slumped. “What can we do?”
“Face facts first. The bridge is coming, and when that bitch becomes Contessa, we won’t be the highest-ranking family in Rasenna anymore. We need to try a new flag while we still can.”
“Tell me—I’ll do it,” Quintus pleaded.
Valentino recognized that Quintus was finally desperate enough to listen to him. He glanced at Gaetano, then said, “Write to the Doctor. Tell him we don’t want the bridge to bring civil war, and therefore we propose a settlement. Say you’ll support Sofia Scaligeri as Contessa and, as a measure of your sincerity, you propose a union to consecrate the peace, that she marry your eldest son—”
Gaetano stood. “Shut your poisonous mouth—”
Quintus remained slumped. “What will that get us?”
“Father! For once, please listen to me,” said Gaetano. “Sofia—the Contessa—should choose her own husband.”
“The Doctor would allow that?” said Valentino. “Please. Father, he sent her here to show you he can spit in your face with impunity.”
Valentino whirled on Quintus, crying, “Father, you know it makes sense. Bardini’s promised to shoulder responsibility for the dead Concordian. He’s lying, but this obliges him to mean it. What’s more, it’s statesmanlike. Think! You’ll be Rasenna’s peacemaker.”
“Will he agree?”
“Whatever else, the Doctor’s practical. For Rasenna to accept his ward, she needs to appear impartial, at least to begin with.”
Quintus struggled to keep up. “You believe peace is possible, Valentino?”
Valentino’s body began to tremble, then rock; his mouth opened, but nothing came out: he was laughing, though he didn’t make a sound. He shut his mouth with a snap. “No,” he said after a moment, “there must be war! But without the Doctor, Sofia Scaligeri is just a girl, and without her, the Bardini are pretentious upstarts we’ll slap down, then cut down.”
“I won’t be party to this.”
“If Gaetano’s not interested, you can put me forward,” said Valentino diffidently.
Gaetano pushed his chair back with blazing eyes. “No!”
“Then you’ll—?”
“If I have to, yes, I’ll do it, but—”
“I shall draft a letter this very night!” Elated at the prospect of finally besting the Doctor, Quintus skipped all the way upstairs.
Valentino watched him go with a derisive smile.
“Valentino,” Gaetano said quietly, “please, don’t do this.”
“If I can keep him resolute, it’s done. Remember what we used to dream of when we were growing up, Tano? You’d be workshop maestro like Uncle and I’d be gonfaloniere like Father. Becoming ambassador to Concord was the first step. Remember? You’re the one who convinced Father to send me.”
“I thought it was the first step—you wanted it!”
“And thanks to you, I got it. Now you’ll get what you’ve always wanted. See how you like it.”