The Outcast Blade Read Free

possibly…?”
    “It was announced last Sunday.”
    So cross was the old Moorish admiral that he growled in fury. It would have been funny if he hadn’t also fallen into a fighter’s stance the messenger was too ignorant to recognise. Atilo’s temper was about to boil over. When it did he would strike for the man’s heart.
    The night air would fill with the stink of blood, and Tycho would have to fight his hungers. He was exhausted, sick from days at sea, and uncertain he could stop himself from becoming the beast he was on the night of the battle.
    “Let it go,” he said.
    Atilo swung round, seeking his one-time slave. “
You dare question my authority?
” The messenger was forgotten and all Atilo’s attention on the perceived insult. When Atilo gripped the handle of his sword, Tycho wondered how far the old man would take this…
    “
There will be no fighting
.”
    The voice from behind Tycho sounded less confident than its command suggested. And the red-headed girl who pushed past as if he didn’t exist was shaking with anger, nerves or tiredness. At Lady Giulietta’s breast was an infant, half covered by a Maltese shawl.
    “Tell the mainland I accept quarantine. I do not, however, accept being confined to this ship with idiots. The Council of Ten will find another solution. You may use my name when you send this.”
    The messenger bowed low.
    And Giulietta di Millioni, Prince Leopold’s widow and motherto his heir, turned for her cabin secure in the knowledge she would be obeyed. The Millioni were good at that. Assuming others would carry out their wishes without question.
    So good, that they always were.
    Tycho slept through the next day in the darkened hold of the
San Marco
on earth he’d brought aboard at Ragusa, a port on the Adriatic coast. The sun hurt him, being above water made him sick, daylight blinded him. His illness was well known.
    The sailors avoided him. Everyone avoided him.
    Atilo’s officers were careful to give him the courtesy his recent knighthood demanded. And his friendship with Lady Giulietta, complex as it was, made them more uneasy still. Only Lord Atilo’s betrothed, Lady Desdaio Bribanzo, came and went as if nothing had changed.
    “Tycho…”
    Rolling to his feet, Tycho only realised a dagger was in his hand when Desdaio said, “Is that really necessary?”
    “My apologies, lady.”
    She looked doubtfully round the hold.
    His walls were crates, his floor space made by pushing those crates apart. A square of old canvas over the top kept out any sunlight that might filter through a hatch above. His thin mattress rested on red earth.
    “It makes me feel less sick.”
    “You always know what I’m thinking.”
    “Some days I know what everyone thinks. Your thoughts are usually more pleasant.” He watched her blush in the gloom, turning aside to hide her embarrassment at his words.
    “I came to say Lady Giulietta’s message has been answered.”
    “My lord Atilo sent you?”
    Desdaio almost lied out of loyalty to the man she was to marry, then shook her head because honesty was in her nature. “I thought you’d want…”
    A snort above made them both look up.
    Giulietta stood at the top of the steps, with Leo asleep in her arms and a starlit sky behind her. She wore a scowl, and a black gown bought in Ragusa. Both scowl and gown had become armour in recent days.
    Tycho only just caught up with her.
    “What did you come to tell me?” he asked.
    “That Lord Roderigo is here.”
    “Captain Roderigo?”
    “He’s a baron now. My uncle’s doing. I’m surprised your little heiress didn’t tell you that. You seemed to be having a friendly chat.”
    “It’s not…”
    “Like that? Isn’t it? What is it like then?”
    “My lady, we need to talk.”
    “We have nothing to talk about. You should know I plan to leave Venice the moment I get the Council’s permission.”
    “Where will you go?”
    “What business is that of yours?”
    “I simply wondered, my