The Raven (The Florentine #1)(47)

“So you recognized it?” the Prince mocked.

Ibarra didn’t answer, his face a mask of fury.

“It wasn’t one of ours,” Aoibhe answered quickly. “It was an older feral. I can’t imagine it was in the city long. We’d have had more than several bodies piling up.”

Ibarra cursed Aoibhe in Basque, using extremely derogatory terms.

“Enough!” the Prince growled. “Ibarra of the Euskaldunak, you are hereby banished from the city of Florence.

“Aoibhe and Niccolò, escort Ibarra from the council chambers and remain with him until sunset. Take a detachment of guards with you and escort him to the border. If he resists, kill him.”

The Prince dismissed them with a wave of his hand and turned toward Lorenzo.

“See that the banishment is publicized among the citizens and that it is strictly adhered to.”

Niccolò and Aoibhe exchanged a look and moved to flank Ibarra.

“There was no breach.” Ibarra spoke through his teeth. “I would have heard of it. It would have been reported.”

The Prince didn’t bother looking in his direction. “If you return, you will be executed.”

Ibarra cursed. “Our borders are sound. Our patrols our vigilant; I trained them myself. If the feral came from outside, someone must have helped it enter the city.”

“That’s preposterous,” said Aoibhe. “Who would do such a thing?”

Ibarra gave her a hard look. “The Venetian informer. We were never able to discover who sold the schematics of our old security systems. He must still be in the city, trying to wreak havoc. How else was the feral able to slip past our patrols?”

“An expedient excuse,” Lorenzo commented. “Can you produce evidence of this?”

“No, but I will.”

The Prince lifted his hand and all grew silent.

“Ibarra, you’ve had two years to find the traitor. You investigated everyone who knew of the weakness in our security systems and yet you were unable to discover which of them betrayed us. I have no confidence in your ability to discover the traitor now. You have failed in your duties and are lucky to be leaving the principality with your head. Get out of my sight.”

The Prince nodded at Niccolò and Aoibhe, who began escorting Ibarra to the door.

Ibarra cursed as he was led away, shouting his displeasure at the Prince and the Consilium.

When he was halfway down the aisle, he flew to the nearest wall and tore a sword from its hooks. Brandishing it with both hands, he sprinted toward the throne.

In an instant, the Prince was on his feet.

“Take one more step and it will be your last.”

Ibarra ignored the old one’s warning and ran toward him, lifting the sword.

Lorenzo retrieved a matching sword from a nearby suit of armor and tossed it toward the Prince.

He caught it and tore the robe from his shoulders, lifting the sword high just as Ibarra lashed at his head.

The clash of metal against metal echoed in the hall as the two supernatural beings did battle.

The Prince had the advantage as he stood above Ibarra on the platform. But he advanced down the stairs, striking blow after blow.

Ibarra was strong, but clearly no match for the Prince. Again and again he lunged, looking for an opening, while the Prince easily deflected every thrust.

At once Ibarra swung at the Prince’s legs and the Prince jumped, somersaulting over his back. Before Ibarra knew what was happening, the Prince slashed at his head, the sword whistling as it sliced through the air.

Ibarra’s head took flight from his shoulders and rolled across the floor. It came to rest at Aoibhe’s feet.

She sighed as she looked down into her recent lover’s eyes.

The Prince lifted his bloody sword, so that all could see it, and drove it deep into the stone at his feet.

“Let this be a sign to traitors.”

He returned to the platform and retrieved his robe, wiping his hands with it before tossing it away in contempt.

“Lorenzo, take the traitor’s head and display it on a spike next to the sword. Parade the citizens in to look at it. Maximilian, you and Pierre take the body outside the city and burn it.”

The Prince made eye contact with each of the remaining council members.

“The next one who betrays me will not receive so swift a death.”

Chapter Eighteen

Raven believed in science, the testimony of the senses, the power of human reason, and the veracity of her own perceptions. She did not believe in religion, sacred texts, the supernatural, or the afterlife.

And that was why she believed the intruder was a member of an organized crime faction and that the so-called feral was someone who was in mental distress and in need of help.

Three days after she gashed her forehead, the wound had healed, leaving only a pale, shiny scar. She was still struggling to formulate an adequate, scientific explanation for that fact, and for the piece of metal that was stuck in her bedroom wall like a dart in a dartboard.

She knew enough Newtonian physics to conclude that the intruder must have incredible strength if he could hurl the cane at so great a force it would pierce the plaster and stone. But to have the cane embedded several inches into the stone . . .

(Perhaps he took steroids.)

And what of his words to her, in Latin?

I am innocent of the blood.