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That no one had even whispered the suspicion that the necromantic trade might be involved struck Luca as both amusing and irritating. But such was the way in Riamo; egotistical, political squabbling with no clear understanding of the real clandestine powers that flowed beneath their lives like an underground river. It was a belief that Luca did his best to promote but lately he was begi
The thought transformed his expression from one of contempt to consideration as he made his way inside. He was not fond of crowds, palazzos, or the nobility; the first clouded your thinking, the second hampered your vision and the third… He caught sight of Piero Bruni, his manservant, standing patiently in the wings by the great double doors and nodded his head to indicate that they would be leaving shortly. The third would betray you faster than your heart could stop beating beneath a cutter’s knife. But unfortunately all were necessary evils at the moment. He would have to remember to thank the Huntsman when he finally returned home. Schooling his expression, he headed for the knot of people standing beside the ducal throne.
The Bishop of San Salvadore had a firm grip on Joha
At the door, he paused a moment to speak with Dante Corsini, a long-distance trader of powerful influence in legitimate as well as illegitimate affairs. Although untainted by the necromantic trade, he was nonetheless deeply involved in all other aspects of the city’s unlawful activities. The two men treated each other with a guarded respect, so when Luca gave the other man a formal nod of greeting, Dante caught up a glass of wine from a passing servant and raised it in response.
“A bad business this, Preto,” he stated before the man had moved out of earshot. “Terrible for trade with Pisario.”
Luca frowned at him. Most of the wealthy merchants in Riamo treated their servants as if they were blind, deaf, and mute, but generally Corsini was not so careless; such thinking had led too many men of both their acquaintances to the gallows. All of Luca’s servants were members of the trade and carried binding spells so strong that their very skulls would explode if they even considered betraying him, but Corsini did not have that luxury. No matter how powerful a Court Mage he was reputed to be, only the Death Mages were capable of such precautions. The servant who had brought him his drink also carried Luca’s binding spell, but Corsini could not have known that when he spoke. Outraged grief or stu
Corsini dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand. As he lifted the glass to his lips, Luca saw the tiny flash of a discreet, blue purity spell scatter throughout the wine and nodded inwardly. At least Corsini wasn’t completely stupid. It paid to be careful, even in pedantic, law-abiding Riamo.
“I wonder if they’ll linger over the funeral arrangements now that the cold weather’s here,” he mused, steering the conversation to a slightly less dangerous topic.
“I heard the bishop dispatched his own people to Pisario straightaway to prepare the body,” Corsini answered. “And that old fart, First Minister Poggeso, sent messages out to the five cities just as swiftly. Ducal parties mean ducal security but it also means increased business opportunities.” He sipped his wine thoughtfully. “I wonder if Eugene will be replacing Poggeso now,” he added with a speculative expression.
Luca shrugged. “I shouldn’t think he’d make any changes until after the funeral, but if you have a candidate in mind you should bring it to his attention as soon as possible-before too many other people offer their own choices.”
As one, they both glanced over to where the bishop was still monopolizing the duc’s company.
“He’ll be expected to take a wife now, too,” Corsini noted sourly. “And you can be certain her family will be swift to exert their own influence.”
“The bishop will likely come to that subject soon enough. He has a niece of marriageable age.”
Corsini grunted. “So have I, but my sister married a scheming little viper and I’ve no intention of increasing his power base. Pity you and I didn’t think to have daughters. That might have been our influence.”
“It was an oversight, yes,” Luca agreed dryly.
Corsini gave him a sly glance. “How are your sons, by the way?”
“They’re well. Alesandro’s finally taken over his late father’s business now that the Goldsmith’s Guild has accepted his membership.”
“He cast the communion goblets for Santa Lucia’s, did he not?”
“He did.”
“He’s a fine craftsman. No doubt that little shop of his will do well for him. There are plenty of opportunities in Riamo for a young man with ambition, if he knows where to look for them. His mother would be proud.”
“I agree.”
“And Domito?”
“In Cerchicava negotiating a new trade agreement with the Vintner’s Guild.”
“How old is he now?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Who would credit it? Why it seems like only yesterday that you took him in. What was it, fourteen years ago?”
“Yes. His youth and vigor make me feel old.”
“Bollocks. Get yourself a new wife and sire one of your own blood if you want to feel young again, or better yet, marry him off; that’ll take the wind out of his sails.”
Luca smiled tightly. “I understand your son, Vincent, is to be married this spring.”
“To the daughter of a long-distance trader from Calegro. In point of fact, her father and I are outfitting a ship bound for the far east. It could turn a pretty profit for anyone with shares in the venture; if you’re interested.”
“I might be.”
“Mention it to Alesandro and Domito as well. It’s time they began making decisions as men. They can’t hide behind their father’s purse strings forever, you know.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Later, standing in the center of his workshop beneath the Palazzo della Rona, a compact riverside manor house he’d inherited from his late wife, Luca lifted a delicate glass vial containing a sliver of brain matter from Corsini’s late father. The old man had died of strangulation, leaving everything to Dante. So much for not hiding behind a father’s purse strings, he sneered.
Luca’s own father had been terrified of the trade and had exhausted the family fortune trying to buy enough protection for the family mausoleum to keep the Death Mages at bay. A decade after his death, Luca had harvested necromantic components from every single corpse inside, including his father’s. It paid to be careful in Cerchicava even more than it did in Riamo.
The crimson preserving fluid within the vial sparkled seductively in the lamplight and Luca savored the many offensive possibilities it afforded before exchanging it for a plain ceramic urn with an expression of real regret. Then, tying a leather apron about his waist, he popped the seal on the urn and poured the contents onto his dissecting table before selecting a fine bone-handled knife from the wall.
“Find out what the cargo on Corsini’s new ship is and who his backers are, Piero,” he said without turning. “Then make sure we have at least one sailor aboard sworn to the trade.”