Free The Exiled Blade: Act Three of the Assassini by Jon Courtenay Grimwood

. . . She refused.”
    “I gave Frederick the wolf sword.”
    “I know. But that alone wouldn’t be enough. So afterwards, when you disappeared and my niece was stamping round like a sulky child refusing to eat or sleep and crying in corners, I started to wonder why Frederick withdrew so easily.”
    “His war pack was dead.”
    “His army still existed. The city was hungry and beginning to starve. You gave him the
WolfeSelle
, which saved him from outright disgrace when he got home. But to leave so easily. It took me until you returned to work out what I’d missed.”
    “You asked Giulietta?”
    “I examined Leo. Magic clings to the scar.”
    “And you let him live, my lady?”
    Alexa shrugged. “We were ready to give the city to Emperor Sigismund if we had to. Better that than let the Byzantines have it. This way Venice remains independent for the moment, and a child of Millioni blood inherits the throne for all that a German emperor pulls the strings. Sigismund has no legitimate son as yet. My hope is he makes Frederick his heir. That would make Leo second in line to the imperial throne . . .”
    Tycho could see how that might meet with the duchess’s approval.

12
    The night was chill and Lady Giulietta unhappy at being woken. She wanted poppy, and was put out to be given a sharp-tasting draught of nux vomica instead. Tycho understood. At least he understood sweet dreams were more comforting than being woken, wrapped against the cold and bundled downstairs and through a door between the palace and the basilica. “What must I see for myself?”
    The lamp Tycho held stank of fish oil, because all the lamps in Venice stank of fish oil, and its light glittered on glass mosaic and bounced off gold leaf. The rood screen exploded into light as they approached. But Giulietta simply glanced at a fretted brass censor high overhead – as she did every time she visited the cathedral – and her fingers tightened a little on his. Tycho was glad. The passive and drugged young woman of recent weeks was not someone he recognised.
    “Down here,” he said.
    “No . . .” Lady Giulietta pulled away. “Why are you doing this?” The sight of the stairs to the crypt made her turn away.
    “Aunt Alexa says you must see for yourself.”
    The habit of obedience carried Lady Giulietta down the stone spiral. When she halted at the bottom, Tycho put his hands on her thin shoulders and walked her into the chilly room. When she saw the small shroud-covered body, she turned away and would have bolted if he hadn’t held her tight. “You can’t make me.”
    “Look closely . . .”
    “Why are you doing this?”
    Because Alexa says you have to discover the truth for yourself. Because Frederick wanted to see you before he left. Because I’m not as kind as you think I am . . .
Tycho sighed. “Because I must.” Pulling back the sheet, he lifted his lamp to light the naked infant. “Is this Leo . . .?”
    He wanted to say,
This isn’t Leo, is it? Look carefully, you’ll see it’s someone else’s child.
But that was the best he could offer. Bending close, she forced herself to look carefully at the small boy, the sharp edges of her face softening as hope melted them. The horror at what Tycho was making her do ebbed, the bitterness left her mouth. Happiness, which went missing when she thought Leo dead, flickered in her eyes, like life returning. He held her then, fighting his own emotions as she sobbed into his shoulder, her body shaking. “I shouldn’t be happy.”
    “Yes, you should.”
    “Not when . . .” Reaching down, she stroked the dead child’s face and flinched at the cold. “How?” She asked, meaning the scar.
    “A knife. Maybe a little magic. It’s deep enough to make the scar and shallow enough to have healed quickly.” The
who
was obvious; although he let her get there herself.
    “So Leo is alive?” Her eyes widened as she realised something else. “My Uncle Alonzo has him?”
    Nodding, Tycho led her to