The Blood Burns in My Veins by Megan Derr

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

"This idea was one of vengeance to me, and I tasted it slowly in the night of my dungeon and the despair of my captivity."

― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

 

 

Dante yawned and stretched as he rolled out of his bed and climbed to his feet. When he'd worked out the morning kinks and stiffness, he folded up his bedding and put it away for the day, then went over to the cabinet where he stored his clothes and considered his options.

Last night had been all about cheap, second-hand clothes, jewels he could afford to have nicked, and masks to give everyone the comfort of pretended anonymity. He'd bought drinks for practically everyone, and food to go with, ensuring everyone spread word of the eccentric, generous Conte di Esposito.

By the time of the betrothal ball that night, all of Verona would be buzzing with his name.

Today, however, was not for faded, gilded velvet and cheap booze. No, today was for a silk kimono, in a handsome, vibrant blue for summer, with rolling waves along the bottom and an ocean green sash. His jacket was the same color as the kimono, but he didn't bother with the hakama that were so popular on the continent.

He swept his hair up into an ornate knot secured with lacquered hair sticks from which hung jade charms of songfish and tucked a green folding fan decorated with blue songfish into his sash. Finished dressing, he turned his attention to Forthwind, unsurprised to find him sprawled naked across his bed, snoring loudly, hair half-covering his face. Laughing softly, so as not to wake him, Dante left Forthwind to recover from their evening.

At the door, he collected his coin purse, rapier and mano sinistra, stepped into his formal sandals, and headed off.

Thankfully, since they'd taken rooms on the main island, Isola del sangue dell'oceano, more often simply called Isola del sangue, the walk to the bank was a short one.

He removed his shoes at the entrance and was greeted by a woman dressed in pink and lavender, who escorted him to a waiting area and brought fragrant jasmine tea and a variety of treats, from mochi filled with almond paste and matcha sweet biscuits to savory rice crackers flavored with crab, black sesame, or soy sauce.

Dante nibbled and sipped as he waited, enjoying the soft scent of wisteria that wafted through the building, complimenting the atmosphere and the food.

After half an hour or so, the woman reappeared and escorted him through the austere building to a private office. She slid the door open, stepped in to announce him, then bowed herself out. A handsome, elderly man in a pretty, summery yellow and blue kimono bowed in greeting and invited him to sit.

Dante took his place at the low table on a dark green cushion, murmuring through the usual greetings and platitudes as another woman appeared with a fresh tray of tea and sweets.

After the first cup of tea had been drunk over the expected idle chit-chat, the man said, "It was exciting to get your letter, Esposito-don. That poor property has languished too long. It will be good to see it flourish again under your clever and generous care. I would never speak for the gods, but I like to believe Oceana herself greatly approves. It's always sad to see the blood and bone properties suffer."

Dante hadn't missed the flowery way business was conducted in Verona. He'd wanted no part of it when he was a boy. Now, though, he was smart enough to know that he had to play the game anyway. His mistake as a boy, as a Ferro, was taking it as understood that he could do as he pleased—even defy his family—and everything would work out to his favor. He'd been a foolish, spoiled boy so busy watching the horizon that he hadn't noticed the looming storm clouds or the circling sharks.

So he sipped tea, dipped his head in a gesture of humility, and replied, "It would be the grace of the gods that brought me such prosperity, and it is the generosity of others that has brought me to the point I am permitted to do this. For instance, your generosity, Ito-san, in agreeing to see me on such short notice and in expediting the process."

"Your note was quite moving," Ito said, almost sounding like he meant it. "I know when the Sacred Lady is urging me to take action. If you like, I can have the papers brought in for you to look over."

"I'm sure your people would not like to be even further rushed," Dante replied. And so they continued on with chit-chatting.

"You should definitely join the other revelers in attending the betrothal ball tonight," Ito said, as the conversation turned to parties, performances, and other social events. "They'd be most pleased to know a foreign nobile thought their fête worth inviting himself to."

Dante chuckled and sipped his tea. "Oddly enough, I've been invited by a couple of the Ishikawa-donni already." He related how he'd saved Naoki and Haru, and Ito's face lit up—probably at the chance to share such prime gossip that no one else had yet.

"You should have more care, wandering at night, Esposito-don. That part of the city is dangerous; you're not always so fortunate as to only encounter one brigand. They more often run in packs. I am glad nobody was harmed."

"Especially the Ishikawa family. Even on the continent we know the tales of the great Ishikawa-donni and their feud with the Ferro family. This marriage must be a happy occasion for all of Verona."

Ito bowed his head slightly. "We hope the union is one of happiness, harmony, and prosperity. As I'm sure your fine contribution to the island will be, in buying the Nakajima property. May your generosity be returned in kind." He rang a bell at his elbow, and a young man appeared bearing a thick stack of paperwork.

It took another two hours, and a handful of officials, before everything was done, but eventually Dante signed the bank note authorizing them to withdraw twenty imperial fiorino and put his seal to the pages. The money was brought, counted in front of him, all twenty gleaming oblong disks, and Brom's former home at last belonged to him. Ito slid the keys to him, and Dante tucked them away in his sash with more platitudes.

Another half hour of pleasantries, and a cup of saké as the proper end to things, and Dante was finally able to take his leave. He returned to their rooms above the shoemaker's shop, where he found Forthwind sprawled at the table eating a breakfast of rice, miso, and an herb omelet. "Ciao, Forthwind."

"You look pleased with yourself. Managed to buy the stable, then?"

"For a mere twenty fiorino." Double what the place was worth now, but well worth it for expediency and discretion.

Forthwind rolled his eyes. "Sit. Eat. I made plenty."

"It certainly looks more appetizing than all the silly tea sweets I had to eat." He sat at the small table, sitting with his legs folded in front of him rather than properly under him, and dished out tea, rice, miso, and the remaining half of the fragrant omelet. "Dōmo for the food."

Forthwind bobbed his head in acknowledgement of the words, but didn't pause in his own eating.

Breakfast on the continent was mostly a minor affair—coffee and a pastry, sometimes a fruit salad. Lunch was the main meal there. In Verona, it was the opposite. In both places, dinner was a time of leisure. For the working classes, it was a chance to relax with family and friends before going to bed in order to wake with, or even before, the sun. For the wealthy, it was the start of another night of carousing.

Stealing the last of the miso, Forthwind said, "So what's on the agenda for today? Until the great betrothal ball, of course."

"I need to purchase gifts, you're going to buy up some debts in my name, and then I am off to a fancy teahouse to befriend a little principessa."

"Sounds intriguing," Forthwind replied. "Where am I going?"

Reaching out to the sidebar against the wall on the far side of the table, Dante retrieved a piece of paper on which was written a long list of businesses, from the most prominent rice shop in the city to a couple of shady lawyers. "Go to each of these places and tell them you are there to pay off the debts of Gorvenal-giudice. Demand discretion—you want it known only that an anonymous person is taking on the debts. Request a chit for each one, with seals of authenticity."

"Oh, I know all about debt collecting," Forthwind replied.

"Of course, my apologies."

Forthwind grinned over the edge of his teacup. "To be fair, I've always been the one greatly in debt. Being on this side of matters is new."

Dante smiled fleetingly. There wasn't much in the world that made him truly happy, but Forthwind was one of those few things. He had not expected to find a friend in Faria's son, and still wondered most days why Forthwind put up with him.

Finishing his food, Dante rested his chopsticks on his bowl and clapped his hands twice softly, fingers pointed up. "Dōmo for a fine meal. Now I am going to change."

Forthwind set to cleaning up the dishes, and Dante quickly exchanged his formal kimono for a more casual yukata, though it was woven from costly mainland cotton rather than the hemp that was used for most Verona-made casual and working clothes. This one was dyed a blue ombre, with white reeds along the bottom, and a white sash scattered with blue and orange fish. He tucked a folding fan, blue with orange and green fish painted in watercolor, into it, and then redid his hair in a simple knot secured with wooden sticks. Finally he added a coin purse and a small bag full of items he tended to find eminently useful.

Finally, he added his rapier and mano sinistra. He drew the rapier and ran his fingers along its length, blood humming at the presence of good steel—blood steel—crafted by his own hand. A true Ferro blade, or would be if he hadn't been callously cast out for the convenience of his conniving parents.

That was fine. Their days were coming. Dante wanted to see them suffer. All of them. But he would not be rushed. He needed to gather his pieces and put them into place. Then he would knock down each of his targets one by one. That worthless thief really had gotten off lightly, compared to what Dante was going to do to the rest.

"It's never hard to tell when you are thinking over your revenge," Forthwind said with a sigh, and shrugged into the bright blue jinbei he'd pulled out, Dante's crest on the left breast where it would be clearly visible as he folded and tied the jinbei into place. Beneath it he wore snug black leggings, and he carried only a coin purse, folding fan, and a long dagger. He looked like a servant being sent out to run the day's errands. He tucked the slip of paper with the list of shops into the coin purse. "It's the closest you ever look to happy."

"I will be happy when they've all suffered."

Forthwind sighed again, but thankfully did not bother to give one of his protests on why revenge was a waste of time and energy. For fifteen years—then ten he'd been in prison, and the five since his escape—it was all Dante had been able to think about. Partly for what was done to him, but mostly for Arata, heartlessly slaughtered and left to bleed out in the street. They'd been happy. Hurting no one. They'd been trying to leave. That hadn't been good enough, though, and so Arata had been gutted to hide a dirty secret, because of jealousy, because the Ishikawa and the Ferro only cared about one thing, and that thing wasn't family.

It was privilege.

"I should be back here in a few hours, but if I'm not, you'll likely find me at the Golden Chalice." Soon, they'd have to spend most of their time there, to keep up the appearance of a freshly minted conte and his good friend eager to spend their newly acquired fortune across Verona.

Forthwind tipped him a playful salute, and they headed out together, parting ways at the intersection a short distance from the shop.

Dante headed first to a stationary and print shop, where he had them draw up a couple of posters for a job listing. When he had those, he headed off to the stable, taking a boat ride instead of a bridge to reach Isola della vita.

Though it was summer, the late morning was relatively cool, the breeze coming off the ocean doing much to mitigate what would swiftly become unrelenting heat.

He hated the way his heart gave a lurch as he once more took in the stable where he'd spent so many hours as a boy. He and Brom had been best friends since they could walk. His parents had allowed it because Brom was a blood and bone family, but only barely.

Unlocking the main gate, he nudged one of the doors open and slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him. The hardpacked courtyard was overgrown with weeds, littered with droppings and the odd dead bird. The troughs were filled with mucky water from past rainstorms, and the overhang in front of the stables had collapsed. That was only the start of the damage.

Dante made his way past the wreckage in front of the stable and through the fallen doors, into the cool dark of a stable that still smelled the way it had as a boy—must, straw, even a faint trace of the horses that had once filled it. Draft horses, nobile horses, messenger horses, and more. Nakajima had cared for them all.

He climbed a creaky ladder up into the loft, and toed away rotted hay and dead rats, until he reached the very back right corner. The floorboards creaked more than ever, and neglect had made it obvious one of them was not properly nailed down. Dante lifted the board away and didn't know how to react to the little bundle still nestled inside the hollow two boys had discovered on a hot summer day, their faces and shirts still sticky from the fruit salad they'd had with lunch. It had been their little stash ever since, a place for treasures, curiosities, and a way to leave notes for each other.

He lifted out the bundle, which proved to be an old sash, probably from a woman's yukata. It covered an old bamboo box, the top of which had been carved with running horses. Brom's old jewelry case, though he'd used it more for the miscellaneous 'treasures' they found in the city whenever they were out running amuck the way children did.

A pang twisted through his chest, but Dante ruthlessly quashed it. He flicked the catch and pushed the box open. Stared.

It was the little bag of coins he'd handed over for the horses they'd meant to use to run away. It would have been good money for Brom's family then, but to Carac it had been little different than the couple of lira he handed over for buns. Creditors had taken everything from the Nakajima. Even if he'd realized it would just be water in a leaky boat, Brom surely could have used the money once he was left alone to fend for himself and driven to whoring. Why was the money sitting here?

Dante wrapped the box back up, replaced the floorboard, and took the box with him as he left the stable. Locking the doors once more, he used a pot of paste the shop had given him and put the job posting up. One on the doors and the second on a public posting board further down the street.

When that was done, he retraced his steps and returned by boat to Isola del sangue and headed into the shopping district, a warren of shops and stalls that the unfamiliar could easily become lost in and the unwise could easily lose fortunes in.

Dante was neither, and securing suitable gifts for a betrothal ball was the work of a couple of hours. He had everything sent on to the Ishikawa residence.

What a marriage that was going to be: his web-weaving malmignatta of a sister marrying the Ishikawa drunk. Oceana herself wept at such a farce. Or maybe She was as inured to the rampant stupidity of the Verona power families as everyone else.

Next he went to a flower shop and arranged flowers for the mother of the groom, the bride-to-be, and her mother, an old-fashioned tradition, but exactly the kind of thing both mothers would preen over.

Technically, one of them was his mother, but Dante had not thought of her thus in a long time. She was Ferro-donna, Kattali-donna. On the continent she would be Lady Kattalin of the House of Ferro.

She'd been a hard, even mean mother, but once Dante had loved her anyway. When he was a foolish boy who still believed in things like love and family, loyalty and honor. Soon, soon she would pay for that slap, that hated dismissal of his every word. The way she'd let his father throw him out like garbage.

Dante breathed in, out. Vengeance was best meted out with a steady heart and a careful hand. Much of the information he required, he'd had gathered long before his arrival. On the Ferro-donni, Ishikawa-donni, as well as a giudice and a principe he'd not forgotten about. Now he was putting all the pieces in place. Like a game of go, he would surround them stone by stone and claim them all.

It was time to place the next stone.

Up a steep hill at the far end of the shopping district was a collection of high-end tea houses and other places to leisure about for the nobili and wealthier merchants.

One of these was especially popular because it was a favorite of Kumiko-donna, the highly adored daughter of Hardegin-principe, born of his estranged wife, who'd departed for places unknown. The people Dante had hired to acquire information for him had found her in a beautiful city deep in a queendom neither her husband nor father-in-law would be pleased she'd ventured to. Sadly, she was of no use to Dante.

The daughter, however, would be plenty useful.

He stepped into the teashop, palming a small bag he pulled from the purse of useful things in his sash. The hostesses called out the usual greeting, and he replied appropriately. He looked around the shop until he found his target. Turning back to the hostesses, he requested a table that would require escorting him past Kumiko's table.

"Of course, signore," the taller of the three hostesses replied, and with a smile, motioned for him to follow her. When they were right upon Kumiko's table, he tipped out the contents of the bag, holding his arm close to his side, lost in the folds of his yukata, so no one would notice the move.

Slick glass beads scattered across the floor, causing the hostess to slip—and with a subtle, easily missed nudge, go crashing right into Kumiko.

Dante rushed forward to help, scooping the hostess up and setting her back on her feet. "Are you all right, signora?"

Red-faced and clearly in fear for her job, the hostess nodded, then immediately turned and started apologizing profusely to Kumiko and her companions. Dante signaled to the servers that came rushing up, bidding them to bring a whole new setting, and some plum wine as well, and he would pay for it all.

As the hostess and Kumiko realized what he'd done, they turned to him. "No, signore, you need not do that! The cost—"

"No, I insist," Dante replied. "I slipped too, and I'm fairly certain I was the reason you went crashing into them. You're not to blame here, signora. Please, I would be most grateful if you'd indulge me in this."

The hostess hesitated, but given the cost of the entire affair, she would be a fool to keep arguing if a nobile wanted to pay for everything. "As you wish then, signore. We will have the fresh setting brought promptly, duchessa-san." She bowed and hurried away, vanishing into the back with a man who looked torn between anger and sheer panic.

Dante turned to Kumiko. "My deepest apologies for interrupting your meal, and so crassly, bella-donna."

"It's not a problem, signore," Kumiko replied, her cheeks flushed pink as she regarded him curiously, face partially covered by one of her voluminous sleeves. She was barely sixteen, and looked it. The maidens around her seemed slightly older, and bodyguards skulked nearby, but they'd fallen back into position almost immediately at the beckoning of the stern-looking woman in a green and orange kimono who was clearly guardian and chaperone. "May I ask who you are, Tani-don?

"But of course," Dante replied. "I am Amore Dante, Conte di Esposito, newly arrived in Verona and hoping to make of it my home."

Kumiko tilted her head. "Esposito? When did my honored grandfather give over that property?"

"I requested it, and he was amenable to the price I offered," Dante said with a small grin that made her laugh behind the sleeve of her delicate, cherry blossom-themed yukata. "If His Grand Eminence is your grandfather, then you must be the famed duchessa I heard so much about. Your beauty far exceeds rumor, bella-donna."

That set Kumiko and her friends to giggling again, while the chaperone looked torn between rolling her eyes and giving him a stern look. Dante winked at her, then turned back to Kumiko. "I apologize again for ruining your tea."

"Not at all, Esposito-don," Kumiko said graciously. "Your generosity is most kind. Would you care to join us? You can tell us of the continent, and perhaps we can tell you a bit about Verona, if you've not been here long."

"I've only been here a couple of days, in fact. Dōmo, it would be nice not to dine alone for once, and what man could refuse the attention of all these lovely daughters to make him feel like a proud father?"

That earned him another round of approving giggles, and the chaperone seemed to relax slightly as Dante joined them.

Dante's people had not learned much on her: Fujioka Caterina, youngest daughter of a powerful conte on the continent, a man who had the emperor's ear, or at least more of it than a mere conte usually did. Unlike her siblings, Caterina-donna was well-behaved and kept to herself and her charge. As her family was at least as dramatic as the Ishikawa and Ferro combined, Dante could sympathize with wanting to be as removed from the drama as possible.

Unfortunately for him, she was good at her job, which meant executing his plan would take a bit more work than usual. But he hadn't come back to Verona because he'd thought revenge would be easy.

As the fresh tea service arrived, he launched obediently into maiden-appropriate tales from the continent, some his own, some borrowed from Forthwind, all heavily played up. By the time he was able to turn the conversation back to Verona, even the stern Caterina-donna was letting out peals of laughter.

"You must be certain to visit the flower garden," said one of the maidens, clapping her hands together in excitement. "The wine houses, especially Scordato. They're a blood and bone family, and have grown their grapes since they first landed here."

"I think there is a touch of exaggeration to that tale," Caterina said, not without amusement. "Have you visited the library, Esposito-don?" The girls groaned and sighed, but quieted when she gave them an admonishing look. "I promise that while it is not dancing or swimming or drinking, it has value all its own and is worth a visit."

"I have an appointment later in the month to tour the library, in fact." Dante sipped his tea and nibbled at a spring roll. "Tonight, however, I have been invited to the betrothal ball of Ferro Selinah-donna and Ishikawa Naoki-don. Are you attending?"

Caterina's mouth pursed as Kumiko replied, "Oh, no. Papa has forbidden me to interact with Ishikawa and Ferro-donni." Seeming to realize this might indicate something unpleasant on the part of her father, she hastened to add, "They are esteemed families of Verona, and he wants me to meet them properly, at a time and place of his choosing, when I am older and not a young girl stealing away their valuable time."

"You're a gracious lady, bella-donna," Dante replied. "Also a wise one, to heed your father instead of imitating the more reckless youth of the city in sneaking off to the party in a mask and slipping through what is likely to be an unlocked garden gate."

"Esposito-don," Caterina reprimanded gently, then shifted to giving the girls an admonishing look, as though hoping that would quash the ideas Dante had just put into their heads. "These girls are the jewels of their families. They do not crash parties like commoners and their more boorish peers."

He bowed his head in apology. "Of course not, Fujioka-donna. I was only teasing. Such beautiful flowers should not be cast out to the streets."

She let the matter go with a last look, and Dante dutifully dropped the matter—but peppered the rest of the conversation with temptations and ideas, carefully added so that young maidens eager for a chance to break free of their stifling, regulated lives would latch on and plot.

By the time the tea concluded, satisfaction that another piece had been well-placed curled through him. He spent several more minutes on all the appropriate platitudes and farewells, then finally slipped away, back to the streets.

From there he headed back across the island to the lavish rooms he'd taken at the Golden Chalice. The building was situated as the star of a beautiful square, complete with ornate fountain of barely dressed men and women dancing, the cobblestones painted to look like giant, stylized flowers and flitting butterflies.

He slid open the door to the apartments and paused as he heard singing—then relaxed as he registered the voice as Forthwind's. Closing the door and latching it, he discarded the items tucked into his sash and shrugged out of his jacket. Padding over to the balcony that overlooked a private courtyard, he leaned against the railing and waited for Forthwind to acknowledge him, loathe to interrupt whatever thoughts had Forthwind scowling so fiercely.

After several minutes, Forthwind stirred, and lifted his head to regard Dante. "Ciao, Dante. How was your day?"

"Tentatively successful. We shall know for certain tonight. How did the debt-collecting go?"

Forthwind's scowl returned. "This Gorvenal-giudice is not a nice man."

Dante laughed, though not unkindly. "What tipped you to that, caro?"

"The jewelry shop where he is clearly buying things not intended for his wife, to start," Forthwind said sourly.

"No, they are for his longtime lover, Ishikawa-donna."

"Are you serious?"

"Oh, yes," Dante replied. "I feel a fool I never noticed all these little details as a boy, but if I had noticed even half of what I should have back then, I'd probably have fallen in and been as bad as them." He laughed, the sound bitter and worn. "I suppose I am anyway. What else?"

"Huh? Oh, I collected his debts at the whorehouses." Forthwind looked ill and like he wanted to hit something. "Are his wife and mistress not enough for him?"

"The wife is for social standing. Ishikawa-donna is for money. The young girls are for pleasure and ego."

"He has everything," Forthwind said. "They all have everything they could ever need or want. Yet I bought up enough debt to fund six households—at least. When is it enough?"

"It's never enough. Leave it, caro. Let me be the one to drink the poison and feed it back to them. I appreciate your help, your loyalty and friendship, but you are not to be drinking the poison with me."

Forthwind gave him a look. "I don't know how it's possible to avoid doing so, when this entire city seems to be a beautiful flower tempting you to drink."

To that, Dante could make no reply. He left Forthwind to his brooding and went to prepare his clothes for the ball.