HAFEZA MADE ONE LAST ADJUSTMENT to Tallow’s gown and then stepped away. Satisfaction shaped her lips. She did a little pirouette with her finger. Obediently, Tallow spun around.
It was all Tallow could do not to say something sardonic. Whereas a leisurely bath had been a luxury she’d never enjoyed before and, until the water grew cold, didn’t want to end, being dressed as a woman for the first time in her life had offered her an entirely different set of experiences. She wasn’t sure she liked them very much.
Enduring Hafeza’s prodding and poking for the last forty minutes, Tallow had been careful to keep her arms out of the way and do as she was instructed. Dried and made to stand still on the rug, she’d been given another shift to put on. This one was gossamer-light and even softer than the nightgown and was edged in delicate lace. It was made of the finest material; it had a very low neck, no sleeves, and fell to just below her waist.
Then, Hafeza had shaken out a pair of pantaloons in the same fabric. Gathered at the waist and ankles, they were quite large, and Tallow had laughed at the absurdity of them. That was, until a piece of stiff material with leather laces woven through holes made along the edges had been wrapped around her waist and pulled into submission against her body. Suddenly, her breasts were pushed together and spilled over the top of the corset, the neckline of the camicia displaying them perfectly. She had a waist that curved in a sinuous wave before flaring into trim hips.
‘This is so uncomfortable, Hafeza!’ she gasped. ‘Do you have to pull it so tight? Why do I have to wear this?’ When Hafeza ignored her constant grumbling, she became cross.
‘If this is what a woman endures, I’d rather be a man!’
Hafeza stopped and shook a finger at Tallow, but her eyes were kind. ‘Well, I would,’ said Tallow. ‘I never had to worry about all this. I just threw on my leggings, shirt and sometimes a vest. I certainly didn’t wear undergarments. What a nuisance they’re going to be!’
Hafeza rolled her eyes and continued with her task, helping Tallow step into a rather sumptuous dress before lacing it at the back and adjusting the sleeves.
Only a few sounds escaped Tallow as her unruly black hair was parted, combed and teased into a style. Pins were dragged across her scalp, causing her to screw up her face and once to cry out. Hafeza surprised her by dropping a kiss upon her head. She bit her lip as, finally, earrings were clipped onto her tiny lobes and a strand of pearls clasped at her throat. Their silky coolness was refreshing. Only then did Hafeza allow her to see what she looked like.
Tallow gazed at her reflection in the large mirror that Hafeza carried in from behind a screen in the far corner and propped against a wall. Tallow had never seen herself in a mirror before, let alone in a dress. It was as if a stranger stood before her.
She gazed at the picture she presented, her large silver eyes opening in wonder. She took in the beautiful deep blue gown that, just like Giaconda’s, was cinched in below her breasts. The neckline was scooped, exposing both the creamy edges of her camica and the cleavage she’d once wondered if she’d ever have, let alone display. The whiteness of her skin contrasted beautifully with the midnight colour of the frock. Embroidered around the neckline and upon the voluminous sleeves were cascades of silver swirls, which served to highlight her eyes. Her hair had been swept softly back from her face and into a tiny bun, piled onto her head in an ordered yet gentle way and adorned with pretty jewels that sparkled as she twisted first one way and then the other. Her hair framed her forehead, accenting her eyes.
Her eyes. She had never seen them before, seen what others saw when they looked at her. Now she knew why they recoiled and then stared, unable to tear themselves away. She took a step towards the mirror and closely studied the face of this familiar stranger.
Within the depths of her mercurial gaze she saw another Tallow and then another and another, all reflected back to her. All standing in a gorgeous sapphire gown, all with soft, clean skin, full pink lips and winged brows set in an angular face. But it was the huge silver orbs with slightly darker centres that perturbed her most. She was able to see that she was unusual-looking, mysterious even – except for her eyes. They were terrible to behold. They exposed her difference as surely as if she were the colour of Hafeza. And yet …
She leant closer. She saw her other self tip forward and fingers touch her face, exploring its planes and smoothness until they rested in the outer corner of her eyes. She pulled the ends, stretching the skin. They were alarming. Behind her, she caught Hafeza’s face in the looking glass and watched as she became aware of Tallow’s fleeting look. Fascination was replaced by a smile of such warmth, Tallow could only respond. The black woman gave a series of eager nods, waiting for a sign of approval.
Tallow stood back and turned from side to side. The dress swished. Yes, she looked nice, she really did. The gown was magnificent, even though there were stitches undone and some of the embroidery was frayed. She was unrecognisable as the boy from the Candlemakers Quartiere – Pillar’s little apprentice. But she was still, and always would be, an Estrattore.
Hafeza didn’t understand. Not really. Her skin might be the colour of cafe, but there were others like her in Serenissima and in Vista Mare. Tallow had no-one on this side of the Limen. She’d never fit in, no matter how they dressed her, regardless of what costume they made her don or part they expected her to play. Her eyes would always betray her. She was no better off than she was before. But Hafeza did not need to know this.
Her arm dropped and she turned her back on her other self.
‘Grazie mille,’ she said more curtly than she intended. ‘What now?’
Disappointment made Hafeza’s face collapse. Instantly, Tallow felt terrible.
‘No, no, Hafeza. It’s not you, what you’ve done to me is … amazing. I never thought I could look like this. Like a … woman. Did you know I have spent all my life as a boy?’ She tweaked a lobe, remembering the day the blood of the pledge stones forever altered her ears, and then smoothed the front of the gown, unconsciously thrusting her breasts forward.
Hafeza folded her arms and arched a brow.
‘Oh, of course you do. I’ve done nothing but talk about that the whole time, haven’t I?’
Hafeza grinned.
‘I don’t know what to say. I … I look and feel so different. Grazie, Hafeza. Grazie mille. I should have thanked you immediately. I didn’t expect –’ she indicated the ensemble ‘– I had no idea …’ Hafeza’s grin widened. ‘It’s lovely. I’ve never worn underwear or a dress before. Or jewellery.’
Hafeza made a strange noise.
Tallow realised she was stifling a laugh. She arched a brow. ‘Was it that obvious?’
Hafeza folded her arms, rested her head against one shoulder and stared.
Tallow laughed too. ‘I guess it was also evident I wasn’t used to bathing.’
Hafeza pinched her nostrils and pulled a disagreeable face. Tallow began to giggle. ‘Well, even I know I don’t smell bad anymore. Now that I could get used to. The dressing like this, however …’ She clasped her waist with both hands, feeling the bones that lined the corset and gave her the hourglass shape digging into her sides. ‘This I’m not so sure about.’ She spun back to the mirror, the dress following her movements. ‘I guess it might not be so bad …’
Hafeza tapped her on the shoulder and indicated for her to sit on a small stool that she pulled out from under the table. Tallow obeyed, inhaling sharply as her flesh pinched. She had to sit completely straight – the corset would allow for no slumping.
In her hands Hafeza held a pair of shoes. She bent down and pushed the dress away from Tallow’s feet and slipped them on. They were a little big. Made of a similar fabric to her dress, they covered her entire foot. A small wooden heel would give her a bit of height but make walking a chore. She wondered how Giaconda managed her zoccoli, the towering shoes with the great wooden heels that some noblewomen and courtesans wore and which made them appear so tall. Giaconda evidently favoured the additional height the shoes bestowed.
Hafeza stretched out her hand and helped Tallow to her feet. Unaccustomed to even the slight heel, she tottered for a moment before regaining her balance. Holding her fingers lightly, Hafeza promenaded her around the room, allowing her time to get used to them. The wood clacked noisily against the floor.
After two circuits, Hafeza escorted her to the door. She put one hand on the doorknob and then turned to Tallow, eyebrows raised.
Tallow took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. ‘I’m ready.’ She nodded to Hafeza. As ready as I ever will be.
Hafeza turned the handle and pushed. With a flurry of her arms and a sweeping bow, she ushered Tallow out of the room and into a long, narrow corridor.
As they moved along the hallway that divided the first storey of the Maleovellis’ casa, Tallow took note of the surroundings. Mould had climbed the paintwork with ruinous fingers, while some of the cornices had all but crumbled. A few tapestries dangled from carved wooden rods, their ends tasselled and ragged. Some of them looked very old, the images fading into pastel blurs. Many of them were of unicorns or knights from lands far away slaying huge coiled serpents that breathed fire. There were a number of gilt-edged mirrors, blighted with cracks or dark spots, from which Tallow caught a distorted glimpse of herself, taller, more colourful and undoubtedly female. She felt like she was one of the women from the tapestries come to life, woven into a story for which she didn’t know the ending.
Her heart thudded in her chest and she worked hard to still the shaking in her hands, clenching them against her sides. At least her arm was no longer a problem. The unmistakeable aroma of beeswax tinged with an antediluvian odour filled her nostrils. Whether this rose from the canals or was a part of the ancient casa itself she could not tell. But it made her think of secrets and corruption all at once.
Dripping candles flickered above them and, despite the barrenness of the corridor, Tallow marvelled at the luxury of burning so many at one time and during the day. They passed by closed doors and a huge staircase that both ascended and descended into dark spaces.
They approached what Tallow knew was the portego – the major room of any nobile’s casa. Quinn would often snidely refer to their kitchen as their portego or the first floor as the piano nobile as a way of reminding Tallow of their place in the Serenissian hierarchy. They might have been citizens of the canal-city, but they were poor and lowly craftspeople only – mere popolani.
Hafeza slowed her pace and, as they reached the doorway, held up her hand. Tallow obediently paused.
Stepping to one side, Hafeza knocked sharply on the frame.
‘Ah, Hafeza, our guest is ready?’ Giaconda’s voice was accompanied by the rustling of her gown. All too soon, the doorway was filled with her presence. As she saw Tallow, her eyes widened and colour flooded her cheeks. ‘My, my, you have done very well, Hafeza. You have certainly exceeded my expectations.’ She looked Tallow up and down. ‘Your arm? You have removed the bandage?’ She raised a querying brow.
A small voice inside Tallow warned her not to say what she had done; what she could do. ‘It wasn’t that bad after all,’ she answered.
‘Ah.’ Giaconda’s eyes lingered on Tallow for a few seconds longer. ‘Is that so?’ She turned to the slave. ‘Now, off to the mercato with you. I have left a list of our requirements with Salzi. Be sharp.’
Hafeza bowed and silently slipped away through the maze of corridors and into another part of the casa. For a moment, Tallow wished she could go with her.
‘Well, Tallow, I don’t need to tell you how lovely you look. Papa will be pleased.’
Tallow wasn’t sure if she was meant to reply. ‘Grazie,’ she said. Giaconda laughed.
‘What are you waiting for, Gia? Bring the ragazza in,’ called another voice. Tallow recognised the familiar timbre of Ezzelino Maleovelli – the man with the eyes of a hunter. She repressed a shudder.
‘Coming, Papa!’ Giaconda held out her arm. ‘Please, allow me to escort you.’ Tallow rested her hand lightly on Giaconda’s glove. All at once, a melange of images collected in her mind. She saw satin sheets, creamy lace pillows, milky flesh, and long, raven hair spread over lush breasts. Men’s faces, their lips leering, their teeth full of food, their chins covered in grey stubble wobbling, ornate masks hanging askew, hairy hands and gnarled fingers groping, probing. Handsome, bare-chested men with thick hair appeared side-by-side with decrepit old men with sunken, loose paunches and bow legs. Soldi, golden ducats and silver lire poured through delicate fingers over dewy skin and dripped onto beds. She tried to draw away, but Giaconda prevented her by placing her other hand over Tallow’s and squeezing it tightly.
‘Stop that right now.’ Giaconda’s voice was low but deadly. Immediately, Tallow stopped extracting.
‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean …’
It had happened automatically – again. Her cheeks were aflame; she felt warm and uncomfortable. She wanted to wriggle out of Giaconda’s grasp but, strangely, she also wanted to pull the woman close to her and not let her go.
‘You are never to do that to me again, do you understand?’ Tallow could not mistake her words. ‘You are never to practise your arts upon me or Papa, Hafeza, or anyone under this roof, is that clear?’ She neither looked at Tallow nor sounded angry. Tallow simply nodded. ‘Good.’ She straightened herself and removed the restraining hand from over Tallow’s.
‘The moment we pass this threshold –’ she nodded towards the doorframe that separated the wood of the corridors from the elegant terrazzo flooring of the portego. ‘– you will no longer be Tallow Pelleta, the candlemaker’s apprentice, is that clear? It’s to be as if Tallow never existed.’
Tallow swallowed. ‘Sì. But … if I am no longer Tallow, who will I be?’
Giaconda turned to her then and, using one satin-bound finger, tilted Tallow’s chin so she could look her straight in the eye. ‘Someone completely different.’
Tallow frowned and lowered her eyes.
‘From this moment forward, you will forget who you were, who you pretended to be. You will forget your old life and the people who filled it.’ Tallow drew her breath in sharply before exhaling quietly. Forget them, forget him, she told herself. I cannot …
‘To mark your new life, you will take on a new identity.’
Tallow’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh.’
Giaconda smiled. ‘Oh, indeed.’ She gently closed Tallow’s mouth. ‘Henceforth, you will be known as my father’s ward. For that, you need a new name. Not only will you have the protection of ours – Maleovelli, a name as old as The Golden Book of Serenissian nobiles itself, but we will bestow upon you another. The name by which others will come to know you as well.’
Before Tallow could ask what that was, Giaconda swept her into the room.
‘Signori,’ she declared loudly, ‘may I introduce the new member of our family?’ She released Tallow and stepped to one side.
‘I present to you Signorina Tarlo Maleovelli.’
‘OPEN YOUR EYES.’ The command was soft but firm.
The young man resisted. Memories of great pain, gut-wrenching screams, tears, and impossible heartache were lodged somewhere deep inside him. Yet he also felt oddly detached, as if the feelings didn’t belong to him, but to another person or lifetime. Hence, when asked to look upon the world, he hesitated. There was a peculiar comfort in that, in retaining control. He was afraid that if he opened his eyes, everything churning inside would flood to the surface and overwhelm him. But he could not remain inert either.
‘Dante? I know you can hear me. Come on.’
He squinted. Dull light hit him in the face and he screwed his eyes shut again. God, it hurt. Everywhere hurt. But now that he’d started, he might as well continue. He wanted to see where he was and who owned the urgent voice that had been calling him over and over. He tried again. Warily, he peered through his eyelashes. Grey shadows flitted before his vision. A face swam into view.
‘Thank the gods! Ciao. Welcome back.’
Squatting beside him was a woman with long, tawny hair streaked with grey, large amber eyes scattered with silver flecks and a wide, generous mouth. It broke into a smile, her face folding into lines. He found himself smiling back.
‘Where am I?’ His voice was scratchy, unused. He cleared his throat. He spurred his limbs into cooperating with his desire. Flat on his back, his hands scrambled in what was a mixture of dirt and stones. Directly overhead was a tree. It cast neither shade nor foliage.
‘Ah, now that’s a long story.’ The woman slowly rose to her feet, towering over him, hands on her hips. It made him feel diminished. He half-lifted himself off the ground, leaning on his elbows to support his weight. His head spun, forcing him to stop. Vague shapes flitted at the edge of his vision. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Where was he?
‘Suffice to say,’ she continued, ‘you were closer to death than anyone who lives has a right to be.’
Dante tried to absorb the information, tried to organise his thoughts. They were scattered like leaves in a storm.
‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Katina Maggiore.’
Dante regarded her carefully. She wore tight-fitting pants made of animal hide and a full-sleeved shirt, gloves, a waistcoat and a coat. Blood soaked the front of her shirt and he wondered if she was badly wounded. She didn’t appear to be. A dagger hung from one hip and a riding crop from the other. Thigh-high boots completed her ensemble. If it hadn’t been for the blood and the grass stains and dust on her pantaloons, he would have thought her dressed for Carnivale, so masculine was her attire. Behind her, a loosely tethered horse snuffled through a small patch of uninviting grass. Katina and her mount were the only splashes of colour against a slate background.
Dante blinked, trying to clear his head. It felt thick, his thoughts jumbled. He glanced down at his torso. His shirt was ripped and there were bloodstains splashed all over the front. He looked back at Katina’s shirt. Whose blood was it? He didn’t feel injured. He rolled his tongue in his mouth and found a coppery aftertaste. He glanced at Katina and back to the horse and his pulse quickened. Memories poured into his head. Fear gripped his chest. His throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe. He raised a trembling finger as he tried to get to his feet, but his body wouldn’t cooperate; his legs collapsed under him.
‘You … you …’ He formed the words in his head, but they would not, could not leave his mouth. Anger darker than night enveloped him; his vision dulled until all he saw were enormous steel-shod hooves bearing down on him and heard Tallow’s cry of warning …
Tallow …
‘You’re, you’re … a Bond Rider.’ He pointed at her, his hand shaking. From inside his curled fingers, blood dripped to the ground. He stared at it, his eyes widening as he slowly opened his hand and saw the bleeding gash that divided his palm. He swung round, taking in the sky, the ground – the wisps of cinereous fog that hung from the trees like garlands, that hovered above the earth like mist over the canals in Serenissima; the scraggly limbs of the trees bowed with the grief of living in this damned place; the smell of rotting undergrowth that permeated everything.
He was in the Limen. Slowly he looked back at his hand and in one painful blow realisation hit him.
He was Bonded.
Foreboding exploded into panic.
‘No!’ he shouted. This time he managed to get his feet. He grabbed the trunk of the tree to steady himself. ‘Why did you do this?’ He thrust his bloodied palm in Katina’s face. ‘Why did you Bond me?’
‘It was what I had to do in order to ensure you survived.’
He stared at her in disbelief. It all started to come back. The bridge, the crowds, the huge horse, Cane and … Tallow.
‘Tallow,’ he said hoarsely. ‘She did something to me. I felt it. Where is she? You didn’t bring her …’ He scanned the area. The muted light made it difficult to see anything clearly. The world was a smear of pale shadows.
‘No, no. I didn’t bring Tallow.’
‘You tried to kill her,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘You tried to kill me.’
‘It wasn’t me, I swear,’ said Katina quickly, but she glanced away. ‘We were following …’ She stopped mid-sentence, her face revealing what she didn’t utter aloud. She changed tack. ‘Tallow is alive. I just don’t know where she is. Somewhere safe in Serenissima; if the gods are on my side,’ she added quietly.
Dante swallowed his next words. There was something in Katina’s manner; something about her that registered with him. ‘You’re the cousin from Jinoa, aren’t you? The one who lived with Tallow for a while, bought her the glasses.’
Katina gave a harsh laugh. ‘She told you about me?’
‘Yes, she told me how you helped her perfect her candles. Make them so sought after. How you gave her confidence and how you stuck up for her with Quinn. Then you left. Had to go back home suddenly. Family emergency. I believed her, even though I knew there was something about you she wasn’t telling. I never suspected you were a Bond Rider. She missed you terribly.’
Dante sank back to the ground, resting the back of his head against the tree. He closed his eyes; his cheeks paled. Katina strode over to her horse and fumbled in the saddlebag, producing a flask. ‘Here, drink this – it will make you feel better.’
Dante’s eyes flew open and he shot her a look of incredulity. ‘I don’t think that’s possible right now.’
Katina gave a half-smile as he took the flask. ‘No, you’re right. But it won’t hurt either.’ She knelt beside him and gave a deep sigh. ‘Let me try to explain what happened.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Dante, first taking a cautious sip, then a longer one. ‘If I understand anything about Bond Riders, it’s that I suddenly have a great deal of time.’
As Katina spoke, Dante hung on every word.
‘So, you see, when we failed to secure Tallow, to bring her with us, we had to flee. It was never meant to happen the way it did. It was meant to be … easy. What we didn’t account for were the effects of the Morto Assiderato on the popolani, what Tallow had done with her candles. That she’d drawn so much attention to herself …’
‘So, she really is a she?’ asked Dante, casually shifting his hair off his forehead.
Katina nodded. ‘Oh, sì. She is. Pretending to be male was to protect her. There are those in Serenissima and beyond –’ she lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder; Dante found himself peering through the eternal gloom trying to catch the invisible eavesdropper ‘– who seek her.’ Katina’s face was troubled.
Relief that Tallow lived replaced the ache that had sat like an anchor inside him since he awoke. Relief followed by despair. Tallow. She was what he’d suspected, what his family had uncovered – an Estrattore. Hunted, sought. By whom? Why? The Bond Riders were after her, her friends and neighbours and God knew who or what else. Where was she? His heart filled. She. Tallow was really a girl. No, he corrected himself as he recalled the soft swell of her breasts as she’d pushed his hands against them in those last moments they’d shared. She was a woman. His heart began to beat faster; heat filled his body. Agitation made his fingers move from his hair to his clothing before pulling at his lip. Soft lips, a tender tongue, blood, eyes, hair, Tallow … A low moan escaped. He was aware of Katina watching, waiting. He forced his hand to be still. She’d held him so close, whispered words he’d longed to hear, and at the same time …
He’d known he was dying. He was so cold, so divorced from his corporeal self. Even the agony of his injuries had started to fade as he felt his spirit, his soul, whatever it was the padres called it, leaving his body. Then, as Tallow lifted his head and shoulders and crushed her mouth against his, something had shifted, changed. He’d felt light and warmth and, above all, love and strength, trickle into him. It had come from Tallow, but she didn’t seem aware she was doing it.
And he’d finally told her he loved her. Months of repressed emotion had spilled from him. Thinking he was making a dying confession to a boy, no longer caring, simply wanting, no, needing to express how he felt, only to discover Tallow was a girl all along. Not that he cared anymore. You couldn’t help to whom you gave your heart.
His soared until it hurt – a joyous hurt that he didn’t want to stop. She loves me back. At least he’d managed to tell her. She would know how he felt, carry him in her heart. Just as he would her – always.
For eternity.
He thought back to some of the escapades they’d shared, all through the autumn and winter months last year, before the Morto Assiderato had struck, and shook his head. ‘I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.’ It was so obvious now – the timidity, the softness, the gleam of excitement as they dared to cross boundaries; her faith in him. Her compassion.
‘Why would you? People’s eyes deceive them all the time,’ said Katina gently. He became aware of her studying his face and coloured. ‘They saw a boy where there was a girl and a human where there was an Estrattore. You know that at least, don’t you? That she’s an Estrattore?’
Dante nodded. ‘I guessed. I just didn’t admit it to her. I was so worried that if I said I knew, she’d disappear on me. I … I challenged our friendship once. I didn’t want to do so again. She kept it a secret, so I did too. We all did – my family and, I suspect, the neighbours. Tallow didn’t know how many friends she had.’ He frowned. ‘She was beaten, you know – all her life – by Pillar’s mother, Quinn.’
‘Oh, I know,’ said Katina. Something in her tone made Dante eye her cautiously.
He let out a long sigh. At least Tallow had survived. She’d escaped the crowds and the Bond Riders. He would find her; they would be together again, he’d make sure of it. But, thought Dante, why did this Bond Rider help him when the other one so clearly wanted him dead? What was going on?
Ask, he told himself. Ask her, dammit.
‘Why am I here? Why are you helping me?’ He gazed up at Katina, challenging her to contradict him.
For a second Dante thought he saw something like sympathy upon her face, but it disappeared before he could be certain.
‘We always help our own,’ Katina said almost inaudibly. ‘You’re one of us now. Those who sought to harm you can no longer hurt you. That’s why I did it. I didn’t believe that killing you was right. Not anymore. Please.’ She held up her hand to stop the questions he was about to ask. ‘I cannot say anything else, not yet. It’s just that something is wrong and I need to find out what. I also need you.’ She raised her golden eyes to his. ‘Can you trust me?’
Dante stared at her for a moment. Despite what had happened, something within him responded to Katina’s words, to her earnestness, to what lay behind it. He nodded.
She breathed a sigh of relief and, sitting beside him, appeared to relax.
They fell into silence. It was eerie, the way the woods around them made no noise. There was a slight wind, no birdsong, just the moist, heavy fog drifting listlessly through the trees. Dante shivered, but it wasn’t from cold.
Katina broke the quietness. ‘You were a good friend to her, weren’t you?’
‘Friend!’ scoffed Dante. ‘More than that, I lo – ‘Dante stopped himself. ‘Sì. Very close friends. I would do anything for her.’
Katina reached for his hand, turning it so the ugly gash was facing her. He felt sick looking at it. ‘That is what I’d hoped you would say. That is why I did what I did. For Tallow. Because of the love you bear for her.’ She lifted her own hand and, wincing, peeled off her riding glove. Slicing through an old jagged wound was a fresh one. It began to bleed again. Thick drops of red splashed onto the ground and were immediately absorbed.
Dante’s mouth dropped open. ‘You have a fresh Bond? Can you do that, make two Bonds?’
‘No. not really. But, you see, I thought –’
The crunch of leaves nearby startled Katina to her feet. She dropped the glove. Dante clambered upright beside her. Emerging from behind a copse of trees came four Bond Riders. Two were dressed in a similar fashion to Katina, the others in the traditional, long robes, the togati of Serenissian nobiles. Only instead of the usual black, their garments had faded, like everything else Dante laid eyes on, to an ashen hue.
‘Damn!’ Katina said through gritted teeth. Dante could tell she wasn’t happy.
‘We warned you, Elders. Told you she was not to be trusted,’ cried Santo, triumph on his face. He drew his sword and looked Dante up and down.
Stefano closed his hand around the hilt of his weapon. ‘And her treachery doesn’t end here.’
‘Sì, Santo, Stefano, grazie,’ said one of the older men, pushing Santo’s sword to one side and clasping Stefano’s shoulder briefly as he approached. ‘It seems your stories have a ring of truth after all.’
Katina dropped to one knee. ‘My Elders, I was on my way to report to you.’
‘Were you, indeed?’ said a man with a huge nose and grey eyes. What little hair he had was clinging to his scalp. It too was grey. ‘You have taken your … time.’ He gave a crooked smile that never reached his eyes. His companion’s shoulders shook as if at some private joke. Dante shifted uneasily.
‘Sì, Elder Nicolotti. I was but allowing this new Bond Rider to adjust before bringing him to Settlement.’
‘And who might this new Bond Rider be, Katina?’ said the other man. He was very tall and, like his peer, reed-thin.
Behind the Elders, Santo sneered. ‘Tell them who it is, Katina.’
Dante could feel Katina tense beside him. Despite the wound, his palms became sweaty and his heart skipped a beat.
‘Allow me to introduce Dante Macelleria. Dante, this is Elder Nicolotti and Elder Pisano. They are part of the governing body of the Bond Riders, the Council of Elders.’
Dante bowed awkwardly. The Bond Riders had a Council? He’d always believed that Bond Riders answered to no-one.
The two men returned his bow with curt nods of their heads. Katina did not bother introducing Santo or Stefano. Dante wondered why Santo’s name seemed familiar.
‘I don’t remember requesting that we admit a new Rider to Settlement. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you not have different orders concerning Signor Macelleria?’
‘Sì, Elder Nicolotti.’
Dante noticed a trickle of moisture running down the side of Katina’s face.
‘You mean she was ordered to kill me?’ Dante could stand it no more. Katina had rescued him and he would not see her chastised and humiliated. They were playing games with her, but it was the other two men acting like they’d already won. He thrust his way in front of her. Katina made an exclamation of annoyance and put her hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off.
‘No, mi dispiace, Katina, but I’ll have my say.’ He faced the Elders. ‘Katina did follow your orders – well, somebody did.’ He glanced at Santo, who met his gaze with hostility. It became clear just who had been atop the great black horse, who was behind the dragon mask. ‘You see, I was dead. It wasn’t Katina’s fault I was brought back to life. That was Tallow. Tallow, the Estrattore you’re after, she ensured my injuries didn’t kill me. I don’t know how, but she did. Don’t blame Katina. She simply brought me here to serve you.’ He forced his face to remain expressionless; to keep his conflict about what had happened to him from showing.
The two men locked their eyes onto Dante and he wanted to cower beneath their intensity. He could feel their fury and confusion lash him.
‘In future, do not speak until spoken to, ragazzo,’ spat Elder Nicolotti. Then his eyes slid to Katina. ‘Is what this young man says true? Did the Estrattore save him?’
Katina thrust Dante back into position beside her, squeezing his shoulder in thanks before answering. ‘Ask Santo. He rode Dante down. We all thought he was dead – he should have been. His injuries were grave.’ She paused.
Knowing they were waiting for him, Santo grunted agreement.
‘But when I went to check, to make sure, I saw he wasn’t. He not only had a pulse, his wounds were starting to heal. I knew then that Tallow must have done something, given him something.’
‘But you could have acted then, Katina Maggiore. At that point, you could have followed orders.’
Dante held his breath.
‘I could have, but there were too many … witnesses.’ Dante could hear the lie and wondered if the others could too … What is Katina not telling? ‘So, instead, I brought him to us. I … persuaded him to pledge.’
Persuaded? That wasn’t how it happened. He was unconscious. Indignation rose. Despite the Elders’ warning, Dante opened his mouth to protest. Katina gripped his wrist and squeezed it tightly. He shut his mouth.
‘Why?’ asked Elder Pisano. ‘Why did you bring him here, make him one of us? This is not acceptable. It interferes – ‘
Before he could continue, two more figures materialised out of the nether surroundings.
Katina gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘No,’ she moaned.
‘Alessandro, Debora.’ Stefano acknowledged the two new arrivals as they came to stand beside him. Santo ignored them. The Elders didn’t move, did not greet them either.
Dante tried to read the faces of the newcomers. Younger than Katina but older than Santo or Stefano, they both looked confused, angry and frightened. Whether their fear was for themselves or Katina it was hard to tell, but their eyes never left her face.
‘Why did you bring him here?’ Elder Nicolotti stepped closer.
Katina released Dante’s wrist, but not before applying a little more pressure. ‘Because of what happened on the bridge, I knew that Tallow would never again trust Bond Riders. Our chance of convincing her to … work for us had passed. She would not come to us willingly. All the good work I did back in Serenissima was undone.’ She shot a look of poison at Santo.
‘This young man is the person Tallow trusts above all others. She risked her life for him – in more ways than one. I knew that if we want to bring Tallow into the Limen as you ordered, and get her to aid us in our … recovery, then we need this man. We need Dante. He’s our only hope. The only way to bring him into the Limen was to Bond him. So I did.’
Dante wondered at her hesitation. Was she concealing information from him or the Elders? He couldn’t tell.
It didn’t seem to bother the Elders, her apparent dissembling. They looked at each other before studying Dante with renewed interest. He felt their eyes probing him and he wanted to fling his clothes off and wash every inch of his flesh. Oh, how Zia Gaia would laugh at the irony of that. Then, realisation hit him. It took his breath away.
What had been done to him was worse than death. The dead left behind their old lives and loved ones and, according to the padres, ascended to another realm. Bond Riders could never leave this world: not even when their impious contracts were filled. Once, when the Estrattore were accepted, it was different, they met their obligations and were freed. Now, those who pledged just lurked in the shadows, watching, longing for their old lives and the people who filled them, forever severed from them, forever different. He could never go back – not to the way it was – not to who he had been. His soul had been ripped from him and was forever imprisoned in a pledge stone.
He would never be able to see his family again.
Pushing his misery to the back of his mind, he tried to fathom the undercurrents in the conversation before him. The Elders were whispering with each other, their voices rising and falling, casting looks in their direction. Alessandro and Debora were almost smiling. Only Santo and the man Stefano looked unhappy with what Katina had said. No, not unhappy. Disgusted.
‘Bene, Katina Maggiore,’ said Elder Nicolotti. ‘For now, we will accept your story and allow you to return to Settlement. Elder Dandolo and the rest of the Council will want to hear your version of events and see how it tallies with … others.’ He cast a look in Santo and Stefano’s direction. ‘In the meantime, Alessandro and Debora will take care of our latest addition: begin his training. If he is to help us as you claim, he needs to be ready. Already, his horse awaits him.’
Dante swallowed hard. A horse. His horse. By God. One just tried to kill him and now there’s one waiting for him to ride. What did that mean, anyway? How did it know he was coming? Unless it was just a Bond Riders’ expression. He had so much to learn.
Dante became aware that Santo had sheathed his sword, his shoulders slumped. Stefano simply stared at him, his countenance inscrutable. Elder Pisano stepped forward and held out his hand. Katina took it in her own and was about to kiss the top of his fingers when, faster than a seahawk swooping on a fish, he clutched hers. Before she could pull it from his grasp, he overturned it.
The deep, weeping gash blazed. All eyes were drawn to it. Disbelief disfigured everyone’s faces. Dante didn’t understand what he was witnessing.
Elder Pisano twisted her wrist and, with a small cry, Katina fell to her knees. Dante went to help her, to free her from this man’s vice-like grip, but Elder Nicolotti pushed him aside. Santo drew his sword again, a look of victory on his face. Behind them, Debora and Alessandro crumpled with both despair and alarm.
‘By the gods, Katina Maggiore, what have you done?’ Elder Pisano’s voice was like a clarion. Dante began to tremble. He didn’t understand what was happening.
Katina whimpered. Her face turned ashen.
Elder Nicolotti stared at the mark and then, before Dante could react, grasped his hand and pulled it towards Katina’s. The slashes were like twin mouths grinning crookedly, making a mockery of the fury, the revulsion of the others.
‘You are an abomination!’ Elder Pisano threw Katina’s hand away. She nursed it at her side. ‘You dare to do this? To deliberately flout our rules in this manner? It’s one thing to defy orders, it is quite another to break the law! To interfere so deliberately with everyone’s future.’ He released Dante’s hand slowly. Dante rubbed his wrist.
Katina, refusing to reply, dropped her head to her chest. Elder Pisano glared at her for one long moment. ‘Get her out of my sight. Now. The rest of the Council will hear about this.’ He spun on his heels and strode away, his togati flaring behind him.
‘This changes everything.’ The disgust in Elder Nicolotti’s voice was tangible. ‘Santo, take her into custody.’
‘With pleasure, Signor,’ said Santo, and hauled Katina to her feet. She tripped, but he grabbed her shirt so she remained upright. It tightened around her neck like a lariat, the blood from the shirt staining her chin. She was diminished, had become a rag doll in Santo’s hands.
With a growl, Alessandro stepped forward, but Debora threw up her arm, striking him across his chest, freezing him in his tracks.
‘You will answer to us and to the Council for all your crimes, Katina Maggiore,’ said Elder Nicolotti. ‘But I doubt you’ll be forgiven this one. Get her out of here! Stefano, a word.’ He indicated that Stefano should follow him, and strode into the mist, disappearing in seconds. Casting one last look in Dante’s direction, Stefano trailed after him. Santo began dragging Katina away.
‘You harm one hair on her body, Santo, and you’ll have us to answer to!’ shouted Alessandro, pushing Debora’s arm out of the way.
‘I don’t need to hurt her!’ called Santo, as he faded into the haze. ‘She does that very well on her own.’ His laughter echoed between the trees. Dante winced.
What just happened?
‘Please,’ he said to the two remaining Bond Riders, trying to fill the silence. ‘What was that about? What did Katina do that was so wrong?’ He cupped his hand by his side.
Alessandro glanced at him and then, as if the sight of Dante caused him pain, went to tend Katina’s mount. Debora stepped forward and took Dante’s hand in her own, once more turning it over so the mark of the Bond showed.
‘My name is Debora.’ She nodded towards the man on the horse. ‘That’s Alessandro. We’re Katina’s partners.’
She ran her thumb gently over the jagged surface of the gash. Dante drew his breath in. The area was tender. Debora wiped her finger on her breeches and shook her head in wonder. ‘Katina has done what no Bond Rider must do.’
‘What’s that?’
‘She has made an Obbligare Doppio.’
‘A double bind?’
‘Sì.’
Dante’s heart began to thump painfully and a chill crept through his body. It left no part of him untouched. He was seized by a violent shudder.
‘Why is that so … wrong?’
Debora placed her other hand over his, covering the mark. ‘Because it pledges Katina to not just her original Bond, but yours as well.’
Dante shook his head and shrugged. ‘So? I don’t understand.’
Debora choked back a laugh. ‘So?’ She threw an arm up in the air. ‘Oh, our new companion has so much to learn!’ Tears began to travel down her cheeks. She wiped them away brusquely. ‘Forgive our distress, our anger. This is not your fault, amico mio. Katina knew what she was doing; what the consequences of this would be. She planned this.’ She glanced at Alessandro.
He led Birrichino over, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I didn’t anticipate anything of the kind. If I had, I never would have left her –’
‘This isn’t your fault either, caro mio,’ said Debora.
Dante waited patiently, but could stand it no more. ‘Please, explain what she’s done. Why she’s in so much trouble.’
‘Mi dispiace, Dante.’ Debora sighed and dropped his hand. ‘You know we’re here because of our Bonds, sì?’ Dante nodded. ‘We make a promise that is sealed with our blood and places our souls in the pledge stones. I don’t know when it started, or why. As long as I have lived, so it has been – and I have lived for a very long time.’
Dante studied her face. She looked no older than his Zia Dulmia.
‘How old are you?’
Debora gave a crooked smile. ‘In Serenissian years? Over three hundred and fifty. I am not sure exactly. In here it doesn’t matter, especially now we can no longer return.’
‘Because there are no Estrattore?’
‘Esattamente. It used to be that once our pledges were fulfilled, the Estrattore would release our souls. If we chose, we could return to Serenissima and, if time had been kind, pick up what remained of our lives or, if not, start a new one. It depended on how long we’d been Bonded. How long we’d been gone. Now there are no Estrattore, we no longer have a choice. Even so, many of us still try to fulfil our pledges.’ She glanced in the direction Katina had been taken. ‘It’s what drives us; it’s what gives this place –’ she threw her arms out wide ‘– meaning.’
Her eyes flickered to Alessandro and her cheeks coloured. Dante sensed she was omitting something. ‘Each of us is responsible for our own Bond.’ She paused. ‘But, once an Obbligare Doppio is made, no other Rider can fulfil theirs until this new one is completed. The Bond you and Katina have made now takes precedence over every other Bond, over every other Rider’s need. That’s the nature of the Obbligare Doppio – it’s against the Bond Riders’ code; it breaks every rule because it makes us subservient to something none of us pledged. It means our lives, such as they are, grind to a halt for your Bond – yours and Katina’s. No other Bond works that way; they are personal, private. We choose to act on them or not. Except this one. This affects us all. We are beholden to you. Our freedom to choose has been taken away.’ She began to cry again.
‘I still can’t believe Katina did this,’ said Alessandro, putting a comforting arm around Debora’s shoulders.
‘No,’ wept Debora. ‘You can’t believe that she kept her intention from us.’
Alessandro held Debora tightly. ‘How could she be so damn selfish, so bloody stupid? Now we have to wait for …’ He pressed his lips together.
Debora tried to pull out of his embrace, but he wouldn’t let her.
‘For what?’ Dante urged.
Over the top of Debora’s head, Alessandro raised his dark eyes to Dante’s. ‘For either of you to succeed and fulfil your Bond or die trying.’