To the Barren Fields with you all, she thought bitterly. I won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing you hurt me. I’d hurt myself first, a thousand times, before allowing you that pleasure.
The banded oaken door, the only way out of her prison, rattled and groaned as it swung wide. Her visitors were the last two people she’d expected to see: Rhys Jernigan and Dante Uccello.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded.
The king folded his arms and shot a look at Dante. “Took the words out of my mouth. First he convinces me to have you arrested, now he’s—”
Livia was on her feet in a heartbeat. “You? You arranged this?”
Dante favored her with a patronizing smile. “Of course I did. And now that the three of us are united at last, I can explain why.”
“You told me why,” Rhys said. “To throw some red meat to the god-botherers and shut them up.”
“Yes. Right. I lied a little. Sorry.”
Dante swung the cell door shut. Rhys and Livia both converged on him, as confused as they were furious.
“Let’s start by considering the angles.” Dante held up his hands to placate them. “King Jernigan. You thought about selling the signorina here to her brother, to extort favors out of him. Of course, that plan fails when you realize that it would make you Carlo’s next target. Hmm. There must be a way to exploit this dear lady and her family ties, but how?”
Rhys bristled. “How did—you couldn’t know that.”
“It’s the first thing I’d have considered if I was in your shoes. Oh, don’t look so shocked, Livia. It’s beneath you. As for you, you’ve got a queen’s heart but a pawn’s leverage. Or you did, until I gave you a helping hand. Have you looked outside lately?”
She cast an uncertain glance to the barred window.
“Go on.” He made a shooing motion at her. “It won’t bite.”
Livia edged to the window. Down below in the courtyard, at least two hundred faces stared back up at her.
“They’ve been there since you were brought in,” Dante said. “And a few more are coming by the hour.”
Livia frowned. “What do they want?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Dante chuckled. “They want you. You’re a sensation.”
“She’s no dancing cow,” Rhys muttered.
“You’ve a talent for turning a crowd,” Dante said. “I saw that in you, even when you didn’t. You drew them in and won them over; I did the rest. Finding their weak spots and selling them what they needed. Selling you.”
Livia turned from the window, glaring at Dante. “To what end? You told me that celebrating Saint Wessel’s feast would save my life. It’s done the exact opposite, because of you!”
Dante paced the cell, stroking the stubble on his chin.
“Did it? Did I? Or did I just stoke the fires of your fame? You’re not seeing the whole picture.”
“Neither am I,” Rhys said, “so you’d best get to painting.”
“Let’s consider Lerautia. We all know that Carlo is a sterling example of the priestly breed. Venal, incompetent, and a puppet. Whose puppet? The College of Cardinals’? I’m sure they’ve been tricked into thinking so. No, I sense a greater hand at work. A steadier hand.”
“You’re talking about Lodovico Marchetti,” Rhys said. “I’ve a man in Lerautia, he’s convinced Marchetti is some kind of war profiteer. That he’s engineering a crusade so he can sell carpets.”
Dante held up a finger as he paced. “Grievously doubtful. The carpets, I mean. Ultimately, we can agree that Carlo is a puppet. His reign is as stable as a house built on sand. And therein lies your opportunity. The more Carlo works to push the Empire into a third crusade—a war which, I promise you, none of Theodosius the Lesser’s ministers want, and a war they certainly cannot afford after decades of laying siege to Belle Terre—the more precarious Carlo’s position will become. Theodosius is a fool, but his underlings are considerably more reasonable.”
Rhys knitted his brows. “What sort of opportunity?”
Dante stopped in his tracks. He extended his hand to Livia and smiled.
“Offering an alternative option. The Empire is beholden, at least in public matters, to kneel at the feet of the Church. There’d be an uprising if they didn’t—their devout citizens wouldn’t stand for a ‘heretic’ on the throne. But nobody says it has to be Carlo’s ring they kiss.”
Livia’s jaw dropped. “You’re talking about an anti-pope. Creating a schism in the Church.”
“I’m talking,” Dante said, “about Pope Livia Serafini, long may she reign.”
Rhys snorted. “A woman on the papal throne. You’ll have a hard time selling that idea.”
“Not as hard as you might think. Livia has a gift. She can sway the people—the growing vigil outside this very tower bears the truth of that. And don’t forget the power of national pride. Once we get everyone puffed up about the glory of having the first Itrescan pope, wresting the Church’s seat of power from Verinia, you’ll be surprised how quickly her regrettable lack of a cock will become a secondary concern.”
Rhys fluttered his hand at the barred window. “The ‘people’? Who gives a damn what they want? The peasants think what they’re told to think. You really believe a man like Cardinal Vaughn will accept this plan of yours?”
Dante shook his head. He had a tiny, amused smile on his lips as he went back to pacing, his shoes whispering on the rough stone floor.
“In any society,” he said, “the elites are the most resistant to change because they benefit most from the status quo. This can be remedied. If a man is corrupt, and most men are, simply demonstrate how change will personally benefit him. Offer incentives to cooperate.”
“And if he’s a true believer?” Rhys asked.
“Then remove him.”
“Remove?” Livia echoed.
“A single rock falling is nothing,” Dante told Rhys, ignoring her question, “but if enough fall at once, you get an avalanche. Build a groundswell, a cult following, among the citizenry. Appeal to their hearts on all fronts. For the nationalists, she’ll be a symbol of Itrescan power. For the romantics, she’ll be a symbol of triumph over unthinkable adversity, an unbreakable spirit to kindle their hearts’ fires. For the women—well, I should hope that appeal’s obvious. It doesn’t hurt that she’s attractive, either, though we’ll need to spruce up her wardrobe. She should have gowns tailored to draw the eye to the bust, without being too obvious about it.”
“Wait.” Livia held up her hand. “Slow down. And stop talking as if I’m not in the room. This is absurd, and I won’t do it.”
Dante almost stumbled, falling off his stride. He blinked at her.
“Livia…I’m offering you the papacy. You would be the most powerful woman in the world. Arguably the most powerful woman who ever lived.”
“Why? So I can be a painted doll propped up in a toy throne? So you can scheme behind my back.” She flung out a hand, pointing to Rhys. “And so he can, what, use the Church to extort favors from the Holy Empire?”
Rhys shrugged a shoulder. “I was mostly thinking about the money. Gold flows like wine where the Church is involved. The Murgardts would have to toe the line with me, though, wouldn’t they? It’s an appealing thought.”
Dante stepped closer to her. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she angrily jerked away from him.
“Livia,” he said, his voice soft and smooth, “this is the way of the world. No ruler is crowned by the Gardener’s good grace alone. You know this. There are deals. Negotiations. Concessions. It’s ugly, and it’s rough, but it’s also unavoidable. Yes, we’ll benefit from your ascent, but does that mean you couldn’t do wonderful things with a church of your own? Holy things? Sometimes the end justifies the means.”
Livia turned her back on the men. She walked to the window and looked down to the square below. It felt like more people stood there, massed in a silent crowd and staring up at her prison tower, than there were just a momen
t ago.
“I made an oath,” she said, her voice strained, “to purge my father’s church of corruption. I will not be a party to further corruption, even in the name of reform. I won’t stain my soul with that sin.”
“So you’ll let Carlo drive it into the mud,” Dante said. “You’ll let it be pillaged by the College of Cardinals. You’ll let it be puppeted and twisted and broken beyond any hope of repair, all to protect your precious soul.”
Livia’s stomach clenched. Her eyelids snapped shut. In her mind, she was back on the deck of that fishing boat, leading the refugee fleet away from Lerautia. The Alms District burned behind them, the raging fires consuming the ramshackle buildings and the corpses of the dead with equal hunger.
None of it had to happen. She’d found a spell in Squirrel’s book, a spell to help her escape. She’d tricked Carlo into giving her a parakeet to “keep her company.” A blood sacrifice to power the magic. And she’d stood beside the birdcage with a knitting needle in her hand and…stalled. And stalled some more.
When she finally found her nerve and cast the spell, it was too little, too late. She’d waited too long, too afraid of committing an unforgivable sin. Long enough for Amadeo to launch a rescue, and for the massacre that followed in retribution.
Never again, she had told herself, looking back at the burning waterfront. Hundreds died because she hesitated, because she feared for her soul more than she cared for her people. And now Dante was putting her promise to the test. She spoke softly, aloud but to herself, as if trying the words on to see how they felt.
“My father’s church,” she said, “is more important than me. The people are more important than me. And I have to use whatever tools I’m given to make things right. No matter the consequences.”
The men said nothing.
“I’m listening.” Livia turned from the window, locking eyes with Dante. “Tell me more.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“It’s simple,” Dante told Livia. Nothing about you is simple, she thought, but she held her silence for now.
“First we fan the fires of your newfound fame. Not just among the masses; we’ll pick out some high-profile leaders, churchmen, guildmasters, and pressure them into speaking out in your favor. When the time is right, we coronate you and officially challenge the legitimacy of Carlo’s reign.” Dante looked to Rhys. “Your Highness, do you think there are twenty or thirty priests in your fine country who might want to form the new College of Cardinals?”
“I think I can find twenty or thirty who’d slit their own mothers’ throats for the chance,” Rhys said.
“Excellent. Once established, we wait. As the crusade goes on, draining cartloads of gold from Murgardt’s treasury every single day, the Emperor’s ministers will have their backs to the wall. Theodosius the Lesser can whine and stamp his feet all he likes, but the bottom line is clear: no Carlo, no crusade. Our Livia will be a pope of peace. The Empire will support us, simply to escape bankruptcy.”
“Isn’t that up to Theodosius?” Livia asked.
Dante chuckled. “Of course. But a curious thing tends to happen to rulers who alienate their inner circle, their armed forces, and their nation’s banking elite all at the same time. They become…strangely unlucky. Prone to accidents. Slipping in the bath and suchlike. Trust me: the Emperor will buckle, or soon we’ll be dealing with a much more reasonable replacement.”
“There’s a flaw in your reasoning,” she said.
He steepled his fingers before him. “Do tell.”
“Challenging the legitimacy of Carlo’s reign. His reign is legitimate. He’s my father’s only son.”
Dante reached under his vest, sliding out a sheaf of meticulously folded letters on faded parchment.
“There’s something I’d like you to read.”
He laid them out on her cot, one by one, side by side, and let the letters tell their story. Livia and Rhys read them together, Rhys’s lips quietly moving to follow the words on the pages. Livia’s face turned the color of ash. She got to the last letter, then immediately went back to the beginning, starting over again.
Ten minutes of unbroken silence ended with two whispered words.
“Half brother,” Livia said.
Standing behind them, Dante nodded. “Your mother. My father. They both took that secret to their graves, but these letters betray them.”
Rhys squinted at Dante, screwing up his face in disbelief. “Carlo’s a bastard?”
“I’m afraid not one drop of the beloved Pope Benignus’s sacred blood runs through Carlo’s alcohol-tainted veins.” Dante put his hand on Livia’s shoulder. This time, she didn’t pull away. “Livia. You’re Benignus’s only child. You are the last Serafini. His rightful heir. You always were. And from this seed of truth, we will grow your church.”
“Anyone can write a letter,” Rhys said.
“Certainly,” Dante agreed. “And many will call these forgeries, Carlo himself most of all. But these aren’t just empty accusations. There are references in here to specific dates. Events. Conversations involving people who, while elderly now, are still alive to remember them. All put together, they have the feel of truth. And you know as well as I do, Your Highness, that what people believe to be true is far more important than the actual facts.”
“But it is true.” Livia turned to face him. “It is, isn’t it?”
“It is. You have a bona fide claim on your father’s throne. The only thing holding you back is your gender. And we’ll just rewrite that rule, shall we?”
Livia strode to the window, power in her steps, and looked down at the crowd below.
“We’ll rewrite more than that,” she said. “We won’t make the same mistakes this time. The College of Cardinals won’t be allowed to run rampant as they did under my father and his father before him. They’ll be kept on a very short leash. A leash in my hands.”
Dante held up a finger. “Have a care, Livia. Don’t ride a bigger horse than you can handle.”
“And what’s the alternative? The old way? Obstinacy and obstruction and having to scheme and plead just to get any work done? My father was a good man, a pious man, but he spent most of his life wrestling with the bureaucrats who should have been supporting him.”
“I’m merely saying you need to learn to trot before you can gallop. The more power you seize at once, the more people will fight to wrest it away from you. You won’t be well liked by the new College, and it pays to make useful connections—”
“Let them hate me, as long as they serve.” She looked back out the window. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to change the world. For the better.”
Rhys coughed into his balled-up fist, clearing his throat a little louder than he needed to.
“Far be it from me to question a gift,” he said, “but I’m missing one tiny detail. I get money and Imperial respect out of this deal. Livia, well, she gets a big hat and a big stick to swing around. What do you get for all your generous help?”
Dante spread his hands. “A favor. Just a small one.”
“I can count the strings already.”
“Not at all. You may be aware that I was once…banished from my home. Livia isn’t the only person who’s felt the toxic touch of the Marchetti family, though my fight was with Lodovico’s father. What I earned, for my virtues, was exile and the threat of the hangman’s noose.”
“I get it,” Rhys said. “You want revenge.”
“Not exactly. Well, not unless you believe, as I do, that the best form of revenge is a life well lived.” Dante paused, looking like a cat with a saucer of cream. “I want Mirenze.”
Livia pulled away from the window, cocking her head at him. “Want it how, exactly?”
“Once the Empire acknowledges your reign as legitimate, you’ll have considerable influence. I want you to request my appointment as city governor-for-life. Mirenze is a client state; the Empire doesn’t care about it beyond what they can squeeze out in tax money and resources. Th
ey’ll have no reason to deny you, and the request won’t cost you a thing.”
“What about the current governor?” Livia asked.
“Let me take care of that.”
“I’ll give you this much,” Rhys said, side-eyeing Dante. “When you arrange a homecoming, you do it in style. So what’s my part?”
“A small loan. No matter what the Empire decrees, certain elements in Mirenze—such as the Council of Nine, and most definitely the Marchetti family—won’t welcome me home with open arms. Considering we know Lodovico has a band of mercenaries at his beck and call, I’ll need to clamp down and establish my authority at once.”
“Money? I can do that.”
“Not money, men. Two veteran companies, armed with spears and crossbows for street-to-street combat. And if they have a taste for rough work, so much the better. Once I’ve recruited and trained up my own militia, I’ll send them back home to you.”
“Marching Itrescan soldiers into Mirenze?” Livia said. “That could be seen as a provocation.”
Dante rubbed his hands together. “Not in the slightest. After all, our new pope, once she’s formally welcomed by the good king here, is Itrescan herself. Those will be Church troops, signorina, sent with the blessings of Pope Livia to endorse my reign. Cross them at your soul’s peril.”
Livia frowned. “The Dustmen played that game, posing as holy knights while they butchered their way through the Alms District.”
“Yes. But ours will be real.”
Rhys kept staring at the letters on the cot, as if they might disappear if he looked away for too long.
“You’ll have your troops,” he told Dante, “but if it comes down to fighting in the streets, you’ll pay a blood price for any men you lose. Veterans aren’t cheap.”
“Agreed,” Dante said.
“And once you’re making yourself comfortable in the governor’s manse, I expect we’ll have some things to talk about, trade-wise. I’m sure there are a few ways Mirenze can extend a friendly hand to Itresca.” He paused, only for a heartbeat. “And vice versa, of course.”
The Instruments of Control Page 20
