“First we’ll figure out when it went missing: possibly the Fourth Crusade. Tim mentioned crusaders in his visions, but I didn’t know what time they slotted in to.”
“If you had that information already, why come to me?”
“I wanted proof that the ring’s power is legitimate—which it is, because you used it to heal people—and I needed to know that Tim’s visions were definitely rooted in reality. After learning that you were still alive, I also wanted to make sure that you hadn’t managed to get it back. The visions seem to show where the ring has been, and I didn’t want to waste time only to circle back to you.”
“I did try to find it again,” Constantine admitted. “I’ve recovered barely a third of what was lost. The ring I never heard of again.”
“Do you have any of the relics here? I’d love to see them. Magical artifacts are kind of my thing now.” Penelope smiled.
“Only one travels with me at all times. The rest are in a safe place.”
He didn’t elaborate on where that safe place might be, and Penelope couldn’t blame him. She couldn’t imagine losing the Archives to thieves or war like he’d lost his treasures. He waved her along to walk with him, and Alexis followed, giving them plenty of space to talk.
“I have never seen him so concerned about a woman and yet be so willing to allow her to risk her life and fight beside him. The Defender has a mortal heart after all,” Constantine whispered with a charming grin.
“I’m a lucky woman, just like all of Alexis’s friends.”
“Be careful, Archivist. You haven’t seen his bad side yet. When you do, know that you can always talk to me.”
Penelope raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if you mean that genuinely or if you’re only saying it to piss him off.”
“Can’t it be both? Love him dearly, not blindly. All men have secrets they wish to forget, and he has darker secrets than most. I love him too, even if I want to punch him in the face at times.”
“I’m sure he feels the same way about you.”
Constantine laughed. “He’s welcome to try. He never could beat me in an honest wrestle.”
Constantine unlocked a wooden door, and Penelope’s senses were overcome with the smell of books: leather, paper, dust, dye, and inks. Bookshelves in neat rows filled the large room, and situated at the far end was a work desk and cabinets for tools. All of the books were covered with dark green, red, or blue leather, the titles and decorative borders embossed on the spines in gold.
Penelope gaped. “Did you make all of these yourself?”
“This’s my scriptorium. I like to keep busy, and I enjoy writing.”
A half-finished page rested on a sloped wooden desk, brushes and inks arranged beside it. The borders were a mass of fantastical creatures and vines.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
“I lived as a monk through most of the medieval period, moving cities and sects often enough that my lack of aging didn’t arouse too many suspicions.” Constantine touched the edge of the parchment fondly. “As I said before, nothing keeps away madness like work and routine. Why do you think Alecto never stays still? He needs to be moving forward, searching the world for different types of magic, so he doesn’t go more insane than he already is.”
“That sounds awfully critical coming from a man who runs about to document mystical experiences and writes his own,” Alexis said as he scanned the shelves. “How many books of mad monks’ testimonies do you have now?”
“About five thousand. It’s important to preserve the flame; you know that better than anyone. I’ll have you know my Cloud of Unknowing still sells very well.”
“I thought the Christian mystics were a medieval movement,” said Penelope. “Didn’t they have crazy visions of Christ’s wounds and such?”
“Crazy is a matter of perspective. The mystics study the mysteries of God, Penelope. They haven’t disappeared, despite the Church’s determination to discount anything they can’t explain. It’s like they want to take all of the joy and—dare I say it?—magic out of the Bible, from Ezekiel’s angels to Jesus’s miracles.”
“Which church?”
“All of them,” grumbled Constantine, and Alexis laughed.
“Oh, Constantine. Why are you still so surprised by that? How many times have I told you that whatever small men’s minds can’t comprehend, they brush away from fear or lack of imagination?”
“I can’t help it. They have turned a rich, miraculous heritage of faith and grace and wonder into a bare and bland facsimile of what it is meant to be and slapped their own prejudices on top of it, and then they have the balls to say it’s in His name.” Constantine’s shoulders tightened. “Their lazy faith is insulting, and it grinds my nerves.”
“Now, now, don’t work yourself up. You are meant to be showing Penelope your relic, remember?”
Alexis managed to smother Constantine’s fire long enough that Constantine unlocked a drawer in the wooden cabinet and took out a small glass-and-bronze box. Inside the box was a piece of wood, as long and thick as Penelope’s pinkie finger with one end bound in gold.
“What is it?” she asked.
“This is a piece of the True Cross that Jesus was crucified on.” Pride filled Constantine’s voice.
Penelope frowned as she stared at it. “How do you know that for sure? It could be any old piece of wood.”
“You think I would lie about such a thing?” He straightened, and Alexis hid a smile. “This piece was tested by Helena after she found three crosses on a dig in Jerusalem. A woman, close to death, was brought to her, and the first two pieces did nothing to help her. The third piece—this piece—healed and restored her to full health. Since then, I have used it to heal people.”
Alexis opened his mouth, but Constantine raised a hand. “Save your lecture on magical objects not being magical at all but merely conduits to channel the user’s magic. I know, Alecto. I still maintain that holy relics are divine—not magical—objects and are therefore not subject to your conjectures.”
Alexis shrugged as Penelope bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
“Don’t mind Alexis. I like your relic and what it means to you,” she said as Constantine locked the box away once more. “What else do you have?”
“Plenty. I’ll tell you one day once your spat with Thevetat is over. I don’t like the idea of you being tortured for information and giving up my collection after you reveal your own.”
“Thevetat isn’t interested in holy relics. They know where the Archives is, and it will always be the desire of Abaddon’s shriveled heart,” Alexis said. “He wants books, not treasure.”
“Men like Abaddon want power, Alecto—in any way that they can get it. Even false relics have power over a person who believes in them.” Constantine went to a shelf, took down one of the books, and began to wrap it in brown paper. “A gift for Zo. Tell him I want to know what he thinks.” Constantine handed the package to Penelope.
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted. He did tell me how much he loves your writing.”
“Zo is the kindest of the magicians, if you hadn’t already noticed, and he always gives the best feedback.”
Alexis rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Zo would love it if you wrote a book of haiku about laundry detergent. He’s never been able to criticize anything you do.”
“Good Lord, Penelope. How do you put up with his miserable attitude? Perhaps you should stay here with me. Let these magicians clean up their own dirty mess as they failed to do last time.” With his charming smile at full force, Constantine kissed the back of her hand. “It would be my pleasure to host you here. Or I could take you to my mountain villa in Niš, where I could make love to you under the summer stars in a field of wild fl—”
Alexis crashed into Constantine, tackling him to the floor. Penelope jumped out of the way with a surprised gasp.
“There is my Fury that I know and love,” Constantine yelled, his fist hooking Alexis in the ja
w. Alexis slammed back into a bookshelf. “Be careful of my books, you clumsy bastard!”
“They aren’t worth reading anyway,” Alexis hissed through his teeth, and they collided again in a pile of fists and abuse.
Penelope stood back, torn between wanting to step in and letting them sort it out on their own. She settled with the latter, leaving them in the scriptorium to curse in Latin and beat the crap out of each other.
PENELOPE HAD finished packing their things by the time Alexis appeared in the doorway looking bloody, tousled, and sheepish.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She arched a brow. “Feeling better now that you got it out of your system?”
“Yes,” Constantine called out from behind Alexis before they both started laughing.
Penelope shook her head. “Boys.”
A few hours later, they were out in the gardens, bidding Constantine goodbye. He crushed Penelope in a bear hug.
“It was good to meet you, Archivist. Call me if you have any more questions about the King’s Seal or if you want some better company.” He slipped a card into her back jeans pocket.
“Thank you, Constantine. It’s been…strange.”
“You’re welcome here anytime. Be better than the priests of Thevetat when you fight them. Remember, it is the grace we show our enemies—those who are weaker and different from us—that proves who we really are.” Constantine kissed her forehead and let her go, grabbing Alexis into a hug before he could stop him.
“Good luck in the war to come, Alecto. There has to be more to Thevetat’s plan than getting himself a body. Be on your guard, and if you need help, I’m always in the mood for a fight against a demon prince.”
“I will, though you’d better start practicing with a sword again.”
“I never stopped. Go, before I hit you again.” Constantine pushed him toward Penelope. “Answer my letters sometimes.”
“I will.” Alexis wrapped his arms around Penelope, and magic roared around her. When she opened her eyes again, she was standing inside the palazzo in Dorsoduro.
“I thought I felt a disturbance in the wards,” said Zo, a sword resting flat against his shoulder.
Penelope let Alexis go so she could give Zo a kiss on his cheek. “I have a present for you.”
“So do I.” He waved them toward the kitchen after placing his sword down on the dining table.
Penelope dug out the brown parcel from her bag and offered it to him. He opened it, saw the cover of the book, and blushed as red as the leather that bound it.
“You should let me read it first to see if it’s worth your time,” said Alexis, but Zo snatched it out of his reach.
He held it protectively to his chest. “Back off. This is my gift.”
“He’s teasing you, Zo. Now, where’s my present?”
Zo pulled a postcard off the fridge and passed it to her. “This arrived for you,” he said. And with that, he hurried out of the kitchen with his book.
The postcard featured a picturesque island surround by aqua waters. Greetings from Milos was printed over the image in a clashing red font. She flipped it over to find a series of messy symbols scrawled across the glossy paper. The Living Language shifted inside of her, and the symbols changed. Penelope’s stomach clenched as she read aloud: “Wish you were here. –K.” She passed it to Alexis. “Why would Kreios send me a useless postcard?”
“Because it’s not useless. It’s a message,” Alexis said. “This is where Thevetat is hiding.”
“It is strange to observe how the gift of healing can be granted to one,
and yet have a miracle denied to another.
What makes the suffering of one soul more unbearable than another’s?
And how is it measured?”
— Excerpt from the lost
pages of Experimenti
by Caterina Sforza —
MARCO HAD BEEN back in Venice for only a day when Penelope received the message to meet him at a café at the Campo Santo Stefano. She’d been following the reporting on the destruction of Duilio Industries’ prototype hotel in the Bahamas and the resulting crash of all of their stock. She had to hand it to Galenos—he’d known exactly where to hit Thevetat’s investors. It was like he’d lit a foxhole on fire, and the shady investors were now scrambling out into the light.
Penelope didn’t try to hide her relief when Marco came strolling toward her in the Venetian sunshine. He’s not hurt. You can relax now. The tightness in her stomach left her as she hugged him.
“If pretty women threw themselves at me every time I came home, I’d leave Venice more often.”
Penelope laughed and held him tighter. “Shut up. I’m just happy to see that Lyca kept you in one piece. Your sister is scary; I didn’t want to have to explain all your injuries.”
“Well, I don’t have a scratch on me, as you can see. You need not fear Isabella’s wrath.” Marco gave her back a pat. “Really, Penelope, I’m okay. If you keep hanging on like this, Alexis might show up to murder me in my sleep.”
Penelope let him go and looped her arm around his. “You know he’d never wait until you’re asleep. I’m allowed to be happy that you’re not injured. I’ve seen the news and what’s left of the site. I didn’t realize the destruction was going to be so extensive.”
Marco huffed. “You and me both. Let’s get a drink. The wine outside Italy is awful.”
“I don’t doubt it. I had a beer in Croatia that has ruined me for all other beers.”
Settled in a small wine bar, Marco told Penelope about what really happened in the Bahamas and the ferocity of Lyca’s magic.
“She did warn me she was going to use the cache of magic they had already trapped within the foundational construct, but nothing could’ve prepared me for that. That place was huge, Penelope, and she ripped it apart like it was paper.” Marco drained his glass and refilled it from the bottle.
“I’ve always wondered what she could do with those shadows. I guess now we know,” Penelope said. “What happened to the little girl?”
“It turns out she and her mother had been snatched from a resort playground in Nassau. We told the police that we found her wandering the beach. She’s with her father now, and they are still looking for the mother.” Raw guilt flashed over his face. “Lyca wouldn’t let me tell them about the mother. She wiped the little girl’s memories. I don’t know how far back, but enough. Lyca told me she isn’t as good at it as Alexis, but it will be enough that the girl will never remember her mother’s death. The police will put it down to shock, and that will be that. Then they’ll keep searching for a dead woman.”
“That’s awful. These fucking priests, Marco. At least you were there in time to save the girl. That’s a victory.” Penelope squeezed his hand.
“I know. I still felt helpless watching what Lyca could do. How can a normal human compete with that?”
“You don’t need to have magic to be amazing. That little girl isn’t going to remember the magical, scary woman from the night that terrified her. She’ll remember the man who looked after her until her father arrived. Your compassion is its own kind of magic.”
Marco smiled shyly. “If you keep talking like this, I’m going to have to try to steal you away from Alexis.”
“Ha!” Penelope topped up her own glass. “Good luck. Believe me, with all the weirdness that’s starting to happen, you’re not going to want me.”
Marco’s expression went from playful to serious in seconds. “What’s happened now?”
Penelope told him about the visit to Badija, including the spark of magic she’d used to manipulate the water during her swim with Alexis.
“So you did break the cup that day,” said Marco.
“Lost my temper and caused it to smash without being anywhere near it. I could turn into a walking disaster.”
“You’re currently living on a series of islands. Is this going to be a problem for you as the magical high tide rises? Because Venezia doesn’t need a flo
od every time you get pissed off at the magicians.”
Penelope shook her head. “I’m not that powerful, even with the high tide coming up. I made some water shapes for about thirty seconds, and that was it. All it really did was help clear my head a bit.”
“For now. Who’s to say what you’ll be able to do once you learn how to control it and become a magician yourself.”
“I can translate languages and control a little bit of water,” Penelope said, ticking her abilities off on her fingers. “That doesn’t make me a magician. And if it did, I would be the most useless magician of all. Books and water don’t mix. It’s the stupidest combination to have in a fight.”
“You don’t know that, amica. If Nereus and Poseidon gave you these abilities, then you can bet they saw a reason for them. These are gifts, and you owe it to yourself to use them. You can read anything in the world and understand it. You aren’t a warrior like Lyca, but you’re just as important in this fight.”
Penelope swallowed the ball of unexpected emotion caught in her throat. “Thank you, Marco. I’m really happy that you’re here with me and that you aren’t scared by all of this.”
“You give me too much credit. I’m fucking terrified, but I’m not going to run from a fight. Those bastards hurt my Venezia. They don’t get away with that. As for you? If I left you alone with those magicians, you’d be bound to go crazy and swamp the city.”
Penelope grinned over the top of her wineglass. “Keep it up, Dandolo, and I’ll train the canals to splash you every time you get too cheeky.”
“Such threats don’t frighten me.” Marco grinned. “So, your lost emperor didn’t have the ring. Where will you look next?”
“The Fourth Crusade and the sack of Constantinople. Constantine assures us that that’s when his tomb was robbed and the ring was taken. He didn’t have many nice things to say about your ancestor.”
“Enrico? I’m not surprised.” Marco made a dismissive gesture. “With a name as old as mine, you get stuck with more than one crazy person in the tree. Did Tim say anything about Enrico specifically in his writings?”
The King's Seal Page 10
