“Go back to bed,” he growled.
She turned back around, reaching out for him. Her fingers brushed his cheekbone.
He caught her hand, nostrils flaring. “Don’t touch me.”
“Why do you wear it?” she said.
He let go of her, stalking out of the outer room and through the door to his bedchamber. When he reappeared, he was tying the mask over his face. Now, she registered that his chest was bare, and he was only clad in a pair of loose trousers. He looked vaguely ridiculous that way—masked and half dressed. He crossed back to her. “I’ll escort you to your room, then?”
“Everyone says you were mauled by a bear or in an awful fire or something, but there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re very handsome, in fact. Why would you cover your face like that?”
He took her by the arm and tugged.
She looked at his chest, taking that in. He had a smattering of dark hair over the top, and more hair accentuating the lines of his pectoral muscles. He was beautiful there as well, and she followed her impulse to reach out and touch him, even as he pulled her towards the door of the room. She ran splayed fingers over hard, warm muscle.
He made a horrible gurgling noise and let go of her. He took two steps back, holding up both of his arms to ward her off.
She bit down on her bottom lip, eyes wide.
He straightened, lowering his arms. He drew in a steadying breath. “Please,” he said. “I can’t bear that.”
“Bear what?” she murmured.
“Your hands on me like that. Never do that again.”
“I’m sorry.”
It was quiet.
He sniffed. “I can smell the liquor on you.”
“I might have had a bit too much.” She cringed. “But you must tell me why. What is the purpose of the mask? Is nothing they say about you true? You don’t actually have violent sexual appetites? You were never scarred? What else have you concocted about yourself?”
“Go back to bed,” he said. “Or to bed in the first place, rather, since I’m realizing you haven’t been there yet.”
“You won’t tell me anything,” she said, looking him over. “Do you wear the mask so that you won’t be recognized? That would make sense. And it would be easy enough to tell people it was because you were scarred. That would keep them from asking you too many questions about it, I suppose.”
“Ziafiata—”
“Who is it you don’t want to recognize you?”
He lurched toward her, and then thought better of it. “I suppose if I’m going to take you back to your room, I’ll have to dress first, won’t I? You’re very drunk, and you’ll probably try to touch me again, although I don’t understand why you would. Haven’t I been horrible to you?”
“Everyone has been horrible to me,” she said. “You’ve at least been honest.”
“I’ve lied to you about everything.”
“Well…” She considered. “Yes. But you’ve been honest that you were going to be dishonest, so I suppose that counts for something.”
He let out an exasperated sound and went off through the door into his bedchamber.
She followed him. “It’s my father, isn’t it? This is all about him. Having revenge on him? He would recognize you, and that’s why you wear the mask.”
“Not just him,” said Chevolere, opening his wardrobe. “Well, I suppose the rest of them are dead now. Your father’s the only one left.”
“How does he know you?” she said. “What did he do? Is that why you don’t like to be touched?”
Chevolere shrugged into a shirt. He began buttoning it, but he didn’t tuck it in. “You should attempt to drink something before bed if you don’t want to be miserable in the morning. There’s water in the kitchen that was boiled earlier and should still be safe enough to drink. I’ll fetch some for you.”
“I can do that myself,” she said. “You needn’t trouble yourself.”
“You, Ziafiata, are nothing but trouble to me.”
She laughed. “Oh, truly? From the way I catch you staring at me sometimes, I could swear you don’t mind.”
“Is that so?” He folded his arms over his chest, surveying her. “I catch you staring back more often than not. And here you are in my room in the middle of the night. What are you doing here? What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know.” She glared at him. “I didn’t think it through. I wanted to see you, so I came in here. Obviously, I’m not welcome, however.”
“No,” he said. “You aren’t. I don’t know how to make that more plain. What other horrors must I visit upon you before you will come to your senses and despise me?”
“Who says I don’t despise you?”
“Do you?” His eyes flashed.
“I loathe you,” she decided.
“Good.”
“Oh, that pleases you?” She clenched her hands into fists.
“Infinitely,” he growled.
She left his room and slammed the door in her wake.
CHAPTER TEN
Chevolere woke Ziafiata the next morning, too early, and she groaned and pulled the covers over her head and burrowed into her bed.
He stood over her, arms folded over his chest. “If you’d like a tiny dram of iubilia to help with the pain in your head, speak to Lacci and tell him I’ve authorized it. But you oughtn’t do it too often. That way lies dependency, do you understand?”
She pulled the covers away from her face. “This is why you’ve awakened me?”
“I need to know that you won’t say anything.”
“About?”
“My face, obviously.”
She pulled the covers back up over her face. “This is why you’ve awakened me.” Her voice was flat.
“I’ve gone to great lengths to establish that I’m badly scarred, and if you tell anyone otherwise—”
“I won’t.” She was still under the covers. “Now, get out of my room.”
“Thank you,” he said. He gazed down at her form under the blankets. He found himself wishing she’d show her face to him again. “Listen, I’m sorry if I was harsh with you last night. When I’m awakened in the night, I can be… unpleasant.”
“You’re always unpleasant, Chevolere.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” He sighed.
“I want to go back to sleep,” she said.
“You’d like me to leave.”
“Yes.”
He hesitated. And then he walked out without another word. He shouldn’t have apologized. It was better if she loathed him, after all.
It was only that he found himself wishing she wouldn’t.
At any rate, he didn’t have the luxury of contemplating Ziafiata that day. He had other business to contend with. He left the tavern in the cold light of morning and went down to the docks on the south side of the city, where he watched the boats come in.
When he finally spied Matteo and Pietro, he let out a breath of relief. He had been growing worried that they weren’t going to be coming after all.
But there they were, and a haggard, bearded man staggered out of the boat with them.
Chevolere offered the man a hand to help him out. “Geolli Varti, I presume? I’m quite pleased to meet you.”
Geolli looked Chevolere over. “Well, the Beast of the Barrens. They said it was you who had sprung me, but I didn’t quite believe it. I was hoping…”
“That finally, after all these years, your cousin Federo would show that he still cared about you? Not a chance.”
Geolli’s chin wavered a bit. “No, I suppose that was a foolish thing to think.”
“Come with me,” said Chevolere. “It’s only a short walk back to my tavern. You can get cleaned up and have a meal. Rest, if you need it.”
“And then I suppose you’ll explain why it is you’ve freed me from the Caputio fortress?” said Geolli. “You didn’t do it out of the kindness of your heart.”
“No,” Chevolere agreed. “But I hope our intentions will be
aligned in this. There’s no need to speak of it yet, however.”
“You wish for me to feel further in your debt before you ask anything of me?”
“You are already in my debt,” said Chevolere. “I could offer to return you to the Caputio fortress, but that’s rather an inconvenience for my men. If you’re determined not to assist me, you’re of no use to me. It would be easier to tell one of them to put a bullet in your skull.”
Geolli glanced at the musqueteers who had freed from and escorted him across the water. He looked back at Chevolere and raised his eyebrows. “Well, when you put it that way, I don’t see that I have much choice.”
Chevolere squared his shoulders. This wasn’t how he had intended for this to work. “I don’t mean to threaten you. Truly. Will you come with me willingly?”
Geolli gave him a curt nod.
They set out together.
Once back in the tavern, he had a bath drawn for Geolli and left the man to soak.
Ziafiata was asleep again. He looked in on her and she was curled up in her bed, her hair spilling out over her pillow.
He stood in the doorway and gazed at her and wondered if he needed to hide this from her. She hated her father, it was true, but blood was thick. He also wasn’t sure how close she would have been to Geolli, who was her cousin as well.
It would be next to impossible to hide it completely, so he wouldn’t attempt to do so. And if it came down to it, he could restrain Ziafiata. He’d promised not to, of course, but it would only be for a short time.
He shut the door on her.
Geolli was dressed and shaved and clean within an hour and Chevolere received him in the outer rooms of his chambers. It was still early, before noon, so Chevolere did not offer Geolli anything alcoholic. Instead, he served him coffee and buttered bread from the kitchen below.
Geolli ate and drank eagerly, barely looking at Chevolere as he crammed three pieces of buttered bread into his mouth, one after the other.
“Your cousin Federo left you to rot in the Caputio fortress,” said Chevolere, sipping his coffee. “It’s been six years. I don’t know if you are aware of the passing of time.”
Geolli looked up, chewing. He swallowed and wiped crumbs from his face. “Six? Indeed?”
“He had no intention of ever freeing you. And it was on his orders that you were doing the job that got you captured, is that not true?”
“It is,” said Geolli.
“Did you ever think about Federo during your imprisonment?”
Geolli drank some coffee. “I did.”
“What were your thoughts?”
“They weren’t complementary.”
“Did you ever think of taking revenge on him for what he put you through?”
Geolli regarded him. “Perhaps.”
“Listen, you were close to him. He trusted you. If anyone could get close enough to cut his throat, it’s you. I’ll pay you, of course.” Chevolere set his cup of coffee on the table.
“You want me to kill him?”
“Yes,” said Chevolere. “And before he dies, tell him something. It’s important that you do. Tell him that the world will go on without him, just as it went on without Allicionne. Can you remember that?”
“How much will you pay?”
Chevolere picked the coffee cup back up. He looked into the dark liquid, which he always took black. He named a price.
A sharp intake of breath from Geolli.
“I thought it would be sufficient if you wished to relocate elsewhere, away from Rzymn.”
“Yes, you’re right. It’s quite acceptable.”
“You’ll do it, then?”
“Yes,” said Geolli.
Chevolere drew in a breath. He waited to feel something, relief or vindication or even anxiety about the deed that was to be done. But there was nothing. Perhaps he should have known that. There was nothing when he dispatched the first of the men, after all. None of them had made him feel a thing, and yet he was driven to find them all, to destroy them all.
Once Federo was gone, it would be done.
But it would never be over, because he had been turned into this, into what he was now. He had been changed by it all, and it lived on in his metamorphosis.
“When?” said Geolli.
“Whenever you are ready,” said Chevolere. “But I don’t think you should delay too long, because news of your escape will have already spread. He will wonder if you do not come to him quickly, I should think.”
“True,” said Geolli. “Tonight, then.”
* * *
Ziafiata spent the day in a fog from her hangover. She resolved she would never drink so much ale again, and she spent much of the day in bed. She might not have even known there was anyone else staying in the upper rooms of the tavern if she had not called for a bath later in the afternoon and heard the servants complaining about hauling water up the steps again.
Curious, once she was bathed and dressed, she went seeking the other recipient of the bath.
When she found him in his room, he was astonished to see her there. “Can it be little Zia?” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Uncle Geolli!” she exclaimed. He was not her uncle, of course, but there had been a time when he was her father’s constant companion, and he was always in and out of her house. Geolli and her father would carouse together quite often. Geolli had been quite close to her father before he’d been locked up in the Caputio fortress. Oh! This was why Chevolere had wanted the key, then. To get Geolli out. But… why would he wish that?
“He has brought you here to torture Federo, I suppose,” said Geolli. “Has he hurt you?”
“What does he want with you?” said Ziafiata.
Geolli sighed. “Ah, my dear, I am sorry. But I have no future here else. I cannot refuse to do as he asks.”
“What does he ask?” she said.
“If you wish to be free of the beast, tell me,” said Geolli. “I will find a way.”
“No, I am quite free,” she said. “He lets me come and go as I please. It’s only that it doesn’t make sense. I know he wishes to hurt Father, and I don’t see how you would fit in.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said, giving her a sad smile. “You would only see good in me. You are a sweet girl.”
She was not a sweet girl. Not anymore.
But Geolli was not interested in telling her anything, and when she went to seek Chevolere, she could not find him. She searched the entire tavern, but he was nowhere to be found.
Finally, late in the afternoon, he appeared with two of his musqueteers, and then he locked himself in his room above the tavern.
She went and knocked on his door, and he didn’t answer. She called for him, and still he ignored her.
But at dusk, he left his room and went to Geolli, who let him in. The men had a long conversation. She tried to listen at the door, but they spoke too softly for her to understand it.
Then when they opened the door, she was discovered.
“Zia!” said Geolli. He turned to Chevolere. “Now, see here. Whatever it is you are doing to this young girl, I want you to know—”
“I am doing nothing,” said Chevolere flatly. “But I wish Federo to think otherwise. That is all. Now, you must go. I do not think there is any time to waste.”
Geolli hesitated, as if he would say more, but he seemed to think better of it and only shook his head. He kissed Ziafiata’s forehead and whispered an apology to her. Then he went down the stairs.
Chevolere went into his room and to the window to watch Geolli leaving the tavern, his figure disappearing into the growing shadows. Long after Geolli was gone, Chevolere stood at the window.
“You’ve sent him to kill my father,” she said.
Chevolere turned to her. “Ziafiata, I had forgotten you were there. Listen, I know this is—”
“I don’t care,” she said. “You don’t need to hide it from me. I suppose he is angry because Father never did anything to free
him from the Caputios.”
“Of course you care,” said Chevolere.
“I don’t.” She lifted her chin. “I have known you were planning it all along. You have never hidden it from me. I knew it would happen eventually. It took me a bit to understand the part about Geolli, but now it all makes sense. What I don’t understand is why you hate my father so much.”
“Your father is not a loving man, and he has even been cruel to you,” said Chevolere. “But you do still care for him.” Abruptly, he crossed the room and seized her wrist. He yanked her through the doorway and shut the door to his room. Then he put his body against the door.
“What was that for?” She gave him an irritated look, feeling out of sorts now. She smoothed her skirts.
“I’ve not forgotten the way you went for Diago. You’re likely to go after Geolli and attempt to stop this.”
“Yes,” she said sarcastically. “That’s why I haven’t gone after him at all but stood here and spoken to you.”
“Perhaps you intend to do me some injury,” he said. He narrowed his eyes behind his mask. “Yes, that’s why you’ve been pretending to be attracted to me against all sense. You thought you could get close to me, but it hasn’t worked.”
“Oh, blazes, Chevolere, it is not that way at all.” She went to the window where he’d been until a moment ago. Should she wish to stop her father’s demise? Why had the thought never occurred to her?
His voice was quiet. “You really aren’t attempting to stop it, are you?”
“Since I have been separated from him, I haven’t missed him,” she said gruffly.
Nothing from Chevolere.
“I don’t know what has become of me, truly.” She wrapped her arms around her own waist. “I haven’t felt things, not truly, since I killed Diago.” Oh. She’d said that out loud, so baldly. She let out a trembling breath. Hearing it out loud made it seem even more real.
“Yes, it does tend to be that way,” said Chevolere.
Her gaze flitted back to him.
“The first man I killed, I thought…” Chevolere looked down at his hands. “Well, it was not how I thought it would be. But after, certain parts of me seemed muted and numbed.”
The Beast of the Barrens Page 9
