The Blood Burns in My Veins by Megan Derr
Chapter Six
"These violent delights have violent ends."
― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
Dante skimmed the crowd as he waited for his turn in the receiving line. The air was redolent with the scent of fresh water, expensive flowers, and myriad perfumes and colognes. The overwhelming combination would give him a headache before the night was out.
It would be worth it, though, if his plans for tonight came to fruition and traps for the next stage were successfully laid.
Officially, the ball had started roughly an hour ago, but the receiving line would continue for another half hour at least, and then the dancing would begin. After a couple of hours of that, they'd move on to the banquet, then to speeches, music, and more dancing.
As a child, he'd loved to sneak in and watch until one of his caretakers caught him and dragged him back to his room. As an adult, all he saw were playing pieces waiting to be used.
First, however, he had to get past the receiving line—in more ways than one. He found it highly unlikely anyone, even his own mother, would recognize him, but he wouldn't know for certain until she'd greeted him as a guest, possibly schmoozed the new money in town, and let him go on his way.
The receiving line was in two parts: the betrothed couple and then their families, the bride's first, followed by the groom's. Most people were keeping their greetings and well-wishes brief, but there was always a couple of talkers who wouldn't shut up and ruined the easy flow of guests for everyone.
Thankfully, the latest nattering culprit had just been smoothly shuffled off by a servant, and the line started moving again.
That meant the first test in whether his new identity would pass muster with his own kin was his sister, Selinah. She was even more beautiful at thirty-four than she'd been at nineteen. Strange his parents had let her go unmarried this long, but his investigations hadn't turned up much in the way of reasons—only a couple of affairs that had necessitated trips to the continent to ensure she did not give birth to unwanted babes. That was hardly unusual; you were barely considered a noblewoman if there wasn't at least one such scandal in your wardrobe.
No, the likely explanation was that nobody wanted to get tangled up in a guaranteed blood bath. Power was all well and good, but not when the risk of death was that high.
Selinah's brow furrowed slightly as she saw him, perhaps wondering after a face she didn't recognize, a man arriving completely alone when most people arrived in pairs at the very least, and more often in threes and fours. Then his name was given and the confusion cleared, and she looked him over far more thoroughly, like the little spider she was, wondering if this fly was worth keeping in her web to devour later.
The years had been good to her, retaining the gold hair for which their family was so well known. Dante's had darkened over the years, and though he was only thirty-two, was already threaded with silver. A decade in one of the worst prisons in the world would do that to a person. "Esposito-don, we've heard much about you. It seems Verona thinks this is right where you belong."
"Dōmo, Ferro-donna, it is a beautiful place to call home. Omedetō on your pending nuptials. I wish you and yours every happiness."
She murmured her thanks, and he was shuffled off to her fiancé, the Ishikawa drunk, Naoki.
Dante drew up short, though, as he took in the man he'd not honestly paid much attention to the night before. He'd been more intent on making friends with the younger sister, to set the stage for one element of his revenge.
He certainly did not remember Ishikawa Naoki being so beautiful. All Ishikawa and Ferro were beautiful; they lived lives far too luxurious for ugly to be possible or tolerated. Naoki, though, was a step above even that standard. He didn't possess the sharp edges of his stepmother and youngest sister—the same edges Arata had just begun to grow into when he was murdered—but his softer features were just as remarkable. His hair, an unusual dark brown with red tones, was swept up into a beautiful knot that must have taken ages, and no small amount of paste, to achieve, calling to mind the tide gently lapping at the shore in the quiet hours of the morning.
His eyes were an earthy brown, the kind that would be warm and soft when he let his guard down, the kind of eyes that drew a lover in and convinced them they were the center of the world.
What a pity he was clearly already inebriated—and an Ishikawa. He might have been fun to play with for a day or two otherwise.
"Esposito-don, it is good to see you again," Naoki said, and his smile made him even more beautiful, all the more that it seemed genuine. "Dōmo again for saving my sister and me. We would not have fared well that night without you."
Dante scoffed. "I sincerely doubt that, Ishikawa-don. You are acclaimed quite the duelist, or so I have been frequently told, though you do not engage in such often these days."
"No, no, dueling is a young man's game, and I am to be properly married and respectable now," Naoki said, a faint spark in his eye, a hint of what he might have been, had his family and alcohol not gotten the better of him.
Dante might be disappointed, that such a beautiful, engaging man had been lost to the tides of Verona, but why should he care if an Ishikawa had decided to waste his life on being a drunk?
"Every happiness to you and yours, Ishikawa-don. I hope you will permit me a dance later?" Dante winked. "Or perhaps a duel."
Naoki laughed. "We'll see, Esposito-don, we'll see."
Then Dante was swept onward to the Ishikawa receiving line, which was exactly as he expected: the parents eyeing him speculatively, as they would have heard the rumors of his meeting with the emperor; Mineko-donna dismissing him for not being young enough to be worth fucking and not interesting enough to bother schmoozing for business-related purposes, his money and title too new to be worth her time. Nothing hated new money more than old money.
Haru's face lit up, cheeks flushing ever so faintly. "Esposito-don, you made it! I'm so happy to see you again. Dōmo for coming. Naoki must have been delighted to see you."
"Indeed, your family has been most gracious in making me feel like an old friend," Dante said, mouth curving in a bare smile as he first bowed to the family and then kissed the backs of the women's hands, a continental affectation that seemed to please them.
After a couple more minutes of perfunctory chatter and well-wishing, it was time.
Weddings in the empire had always been an affair of mothers. It was they who raised the children, did the matchmaking, and would also be there to help with the grandchildren. A triumph, a pinnacle, of motherhood and matriarchy. The bride and groom were often almost secondary, or so it could seem to outsiders who didn't understand why so many of the gifts and speeches and fuss were for the mothers.
Nodding farewell to the woman in front of Dante, Ferro Kattalin turned her full attention to Dante. She smiled blandly, stared blankly for a moment… then with confusion, followed by a bare widening of the eyes and her flawless skin leeching of color.
"An honor to make you acquaintance, Ferro-donna," Dante murmured, kissing the back of her hand. "You must be very proud of your accomplishments tonight, bringing together two such powerful families after so many years of strife."
"D-Dōmo, Esposito-don," she said. Her hand suddenly gripped his painfully tight, and she stared into his eyes, her own dark, full of shock and fear, as she whispered, "Please."
"Please, what? Kattalin, are you all right?" asked Acaeus, Dante's father. "You look pale."
Kattalin smiled, though it looked as though it cost her absolutely everything to manage it. "Nothing, darling. Please enjoy your time with us, Esposito-don."
Acaeus didn't seem convinced, but he let the matter drop and greeted Dante, chatting the polite couple of minutes before he was sent on down the line.
Only his mother seemed to have recognized him, which was a relief but also troublesome. She could easily give him away and ruin all his hard work. If his identity came out, that was it for his carefully woven plans. He would be damned if he let that happen.
For the moment, though, there was nothing he could do. She would reveal his secret or she wouldn't. He'd gambled she wouldn't recognize him and he'd lost. So it went. Onward with his plans until something forced him to alter course.
He accepted a cup of costly, imported champagne at one of the buffet tables, sipping it slowly as he took a turn about the enormous ballroom—what was really several rooms during the day, but the doors and walls had been slid back or removed entirely to open it up, a fairly standard feature in Veronan houses, where space was limited and every scrap of it put to multiple uses whenever possible.
It didn't take long to spy his first objective: Gorvenal Toshiaki, the most powerful giudice in Verona. He'd been named Giudice Principale of Verona at fifty, the same year he'd sentenced an innocent boy to spend two decades locked up in Isola del tasso. Now, at sixty-five, he was more powerful and conniving than ever, a man whose acumen with the law was exceeded only by his willingness to accept bribes so that he could live the life he thought he deserved.
Dante could still hear the feeble protest he'd made. As a Giudice Principale, Gorvenal could have refused entirely and walked out of the room. He could have stood strong, stood by the law he'd vowed to uphold. Instead he'd done as bid and given Dante a sentence that was far out of proportion to a crime nobody had ever really proved happened. They'd all made assumptions and punished him for those without once stopping to seek out facts.
Tamping down on the anger before it got hold of him and made him careless, Dante wended his way with careful leisureliness across the ballroom, until he managed to accidentally catch the eye of one of the young nobles he'd supplied with endless drink the other night at that absurd party.
The man burst into a delighted grin and beckoned him over. "Conte! Conte! Ciao, it is good to see you again, my friend. Have you been introduced to our esteemed giudice?"
"I've not had the pleasure," Gorvenal said, regarding Dante curiously. "Though I've heard much about you, Esposito-don."
Dante dipped into a bow, making certain his was just the slightest bit lower than Gorvenal's, unnecessary at his rank, but it had the desired effect. "I hope some of it was good, Gorvenal-giudice. Amore Dante, Conte di Esposito, at your service."
"A pleasure to meet you, Esposito-don."
"A great honor to meet your esteemed self," Dante replied. "You do not have a drink. We must fix that."
The young man took the hint and scampered off to fetch Gorvenal a drink, leaving the two men alone.
"You have made quite a splash with your landing here in Verona," Gorvenal said, eyeing him pensively. "You are just as flashy as they say, like the rainbow koi kept in the pond at the Palazzo della magia."
Dante laughed and spread his arms bombastically. "If I were not a bold, loud man, I would never have caught the ear of the emperor and gained myself a title. The best way to succeed is to know people." His laughter faded, and his words took on the barest edge, though he continued to smile. "But you would know that, being the prominent peer of Verona that you are. I heard your name all over the city, at the candle store, the two tailors I visited…" He rattled off several more of the shops and businesses where he'd had Forthwind buy up debts.
The sickly tone to Gorvenal's suddenly-frozen smile said he had caught the hint like a slap across the face. "Yes, well, I would be a terrible giudice if I did not know my people." He licked his lips. "If you need further introduction to a few figures around town, I'm happy to do so. Shall we meet for lunch in the next few days?"
"That would be most amenable," Dante replied, and bowed as the young man returned with the champagne. "I'll send my man around to your office to make the arrangements. Good evening, Gorvenal-giudice. It was, I assure you, an honor."
"A pleasure," Gorvenal murmured.
Dante departed, satisfaction curling through him. One more step taken.
Shifting his focus, he skimmed the ball room again, focusing on the not-insignificant number who'd shown up masked. Some did it for fun, others for tradition, and many to hide the fact they should not be there at all. On the continent, masks were a requirement for nobility when going out in public. The tradition had mostly fallen by the wayside in Verona, but there were always some who found the practice useful on occasion.
It took him a few minutes, but at last he spied what he sought: a young slip of a girl in a beautiful, simple but luxurious mask, dressed like an older woman but with none of the natural confidence adults gained with experience. Even the daughter of a principe would find herself intimidated at what was likely her first true adult fête, especially given this was likely also her first time without a chaperone. If she was unmasked, it would be the scandal of the century.
Dante smiled and looked around the room for the other half of this particular scheme.
She proved to be by the buffet table serving wine, sipping at something pale pink and bubbly, definitely a young girl's drink. Sipping at it, Haru looked wistfully over the crowded ballroom, clearly hoping for a dance—but few would dare approach such a young girl without permission, and Izumi was too preoccupied with the couple of honor to secure dances for her unmarried daughter.
Especially since rumor had it she was determined to secure a connection to the throne with Haru, so the more untried and unavailable she was, the better. Dante would hate all the plotting and scheming if it wasn't so easy to turn it to his advantage.
Reaching into his sash, he deftly palmed a piece of paper that he'd folded to resemble a flower, a common way for young people to exchange notes. Love notes were always flowers.
Crossing the room to the disguised duchessa, he brushed casually by her, deftly tucking the flower into the edge of her bodice where she would be certain to see it before long.
Weaving through the room, occasionally pausing to introduce himself, make idle chatter, he finally reached Haru, who'd moved on from the buffet to standing in a corner chatting with a few people she would likely call friends but were probably only hangers-on hoping for a foot up into greater wealth and power.
"Ciao, bella-donni," Dante greeted, and the group of young women immediately smiled and giggled behind their ornate fans. "How are you enjoying this fine affair? Haru-donna, your family home is beautiful, and your mother certainly knows how to host a party."
"She is very good at parties, dōmo, Esposito-don. Do you know my friends?"
"I do not, and would be grateful if you would correct such a terrible oversight."
Haru introduced her companions, and he kissed each of their hands in turn, eliciting more faces hidden behind fans. After chatting for a few minutes, he offered his hand to Haru in parting, and when she took it, pressed the second paper flower he'd palmed into it as he kissed the back. "Dōmo for the introductions." With that parting indication he was only a messenger, Dante slipped away. He left his half-empty cup of champagne on a passing tray and went to the food buffet for a plate of nibbles while he watched his latest drama unfold.
On the farthest side of the ballroom, the masked duchessa was already slipping out a back door. Tucked into an alcove away from her companions, Haru was still reading the note Dante had passed along, her cheeks flushed as she read the words written by an admiring young woman eager to make further acquaintance.
When she too slipped from the ballroom, Dante finished his plate of food and moved on to the next part of the evening.
For that, however, he needed to bide his time, through the dancing, banquet, and speeches, until everyone started trickling back to banal chatter and dancing that by this point was more like drunken bouncing around.
"Ciao, Ishikawa-don," he said as he approached Naoki, distracted despite himself by the man's ridiculous beauty. He looked only slightly like his father, so he must get all his looks from his late mother. The poor woman. Dante didn't remember much, but he remembered she'd been beautiful, and a truly good person. That hadn't been anywhere near good enough for Verona. He could still recall all the ways his family had made fun of her—wrong coloring, too fat, too cheerful, too everything that nobles were not. Nobody had ever known why someone like Ishikawa Azumi had lowered himself to marry a woman who was barely above common. Izumi had garnered much greater approval, to the point everyone seemed to have forgotten she was Azumi's second wife.
As Naoki turned and replied to his greeting, Dante spread his arms. "Have you decided?"
Naoki blinked at him. "Decided what?"
"Whether we are to dance or to duel."
Laughing, Naoki splayed his arms to indicate his cumbersome layers of formal dress. "I'm not sure you noticed, Esposito-don, but I'm capable of neither."
Dante scoffed. "What is the point of a ball that is all about you if you cannot enjoy it? Surely something can be arranged, if you would choose. You look like a dueling sort."
"Did someone say duel?" a nearby woman asked, turning toward them eagerly. "That would be marvelous!
That drew more attention and comments, just as Dante had hoped.
By the time Izumi arrived to see what all the commotion was about, there was little she could do but acquiesce to the desires of her guests. Signaling a trio of servants, she sent one to get the rapiers, and the other two helped Naoki out of his many layers, until he was able to move enough to fight properly.
Another pair of servants cleared the ballroom floor, and as word spread of what was going to take place, excited conversation buzzed and hummed through the room.
Dante let yet another servant help him with his own layers, so he was only in hose and a thigh-length undertunic. A bit casual for such an affair, but hardly unusual when an impulsive duel had been called.
The servant sent for the rapiers returned and handed Dante one. It wasn't Ferro steel, as no Ishikawa would be caught dead buying it, no matter that it was the best in Verona and only two houses in the empire could be considered their equal.
He let his power thrum gently through the blade. It was Abelli steel, one of the two families that could compete with Ferro. They resided deep into the empire, so obtaining it must have cost even the Ishikawa a sum they would have noticed.
Still, it was nearly perfect. He could feel a few impurities, but nothing that would detract from the quality of the steel. It sang through his blood like the words of a lover, and for a moment, nothing mattered but the feel of iron coursing hot and sweet through his blood.
Then Naoki took up position on the far side of the stylized lotus that made up the center of the ballroom floor, a mosaic of intricate tile work in soft pinks and greens and golds. He lifted his blade in the traditional salute, so it divided his face in half, the point high to the sky. Dante returned it.
From the stage, the flautist played the sharp note that signaled the start of the duel.
Dante surged forward, never one to wait for his opponent to move first. He thought battling the Ishikawa drunk would be more difficult, in that he'd have to find a way to make the match last long enough to accomplish his goal.
Instead, he found his opening strike soundly parried, forcing him to retreat slightly.
Naoki came at him like a storm wave, moving with the ease and fluidity of the ocean herself. Dante countered, defended, dodging slashes and attempting his own thrusts, only to be knocked away to begin again.
Sweat soaked the nape of his hair and beaded on his brow, stinging as it dripped into his eyes. He shook it away and countered another powerful slash, impressed despite himself by this fierce man who had replaced the apathetic drunk. If he'd thought Naoki beautiful before…
Even ignoring he was an Ishikawa, now was the not the time to notice such things.
Dante ducked just in time to avoid another blow, bringing his own sword up in an arch that was counted with the resounding ring of metal on metal. They slid their blades apart, and the blunts on the end somehow went tumbling to the floor and rolled away.
Well, that certainly made things interesting. Whoever had been responsible for placing the blunts would be in serious trouble for making such a dangerous mistake.
The general rule was that the duel should immediately halt, but either Naoki hadn't noticed the blunts had been lost or he simply didn't care.
Neither did Dante. Leaving aside this could work to his advantage, he was having fun. Who would have thought, an Ishikawa and a Ferro having fun together. Not that he was a Ferro any longer, and he'd had plenty of fun with Arata once…
Dante snarled and renewed his attack, though it required every scrap of self-control he possessed not to use the full weight of his Ferro magia, as it would give him away as quickly as his looks had betrayed him to his mother.
The water in the little stream that wended throughout the whole house splashed up, as though reacting to Naoki's emotions, which it probably was. Noticing that took Dante's attention for a split second—plenty long enough for Naoki to surge forward with a devastating swing. Dante moved, but not in time to avoid it completely—and instead of landing on his shoulder, it slashed across the bridge of his nose, tearing open a wound that bled profusely.
Reacting without thought, Dante struck a blow of his own in the space where Naoki froze from shock at the sight of all the blood, matching the cut Naoki had just given him.
"Enough!" Masaru, Naoki's father, bellowed. "Naoki! How dare you!"
Naoki dropped his rapier, which clattered to the tile floor with a harsh jangle. "I didn't know the blunts had come off. That shouldn't have been possible."
Ignoring him, Masaru swung out his right hand, the back of it landing against Naoki's cheek hard enough to bruise. Before Naoki could react past stumbling from the force of the blow, servants came rushing in to lead them away and clean up the mess.
One of them gave Dante a soft cloth, and he pressed it to his wound to staunch the worst of the bleeding. In a small room just off the kitchen, they were seated at a worn, scuffed table and served cups of fragrant jasmine tea.
"The stregona del cuoro will be here momentarily," Izumi said. "Esposito-don, I am deeply sorry you have been treated so, that my son would act so ignorantly and crassly."
"Bella-donna, I assure you, there is no ill feeling for my part. We neither of us noticed the blunts had been lost, and I should have had control enough not to retaliate. The wounds are not fatal, and I'm told a good scar makes one all the more dashing. Please, let there be no fretting on my behalf. Duels come with risks, and I was having a delightful time."
Izumi did not look remotely appeased by the words, but manners dictated she abide by her guests wishes. "You're most gracious, Esposito-don. Ah, here is the stregona."
A tall, handsome woman stepped into the room, lips pursing as she took in Dante and Naoki. But she didn't say anything, only motioned for Dante to stand and remove the cloth. She grasped his chin in long, spindly fingers, turning his head back and forth as she examined the cut with hard green eyes. "Magia steel?"
Izumi's face darkened. "Yes."
"I can heal it, then, but there will be scarring."
"Well, it is what it is," Izumi said, though all the practiced control in the world could not hide that she was beyond angry. "Get on with it then, please, stregona-san."
The woman didn't reply, only cupped her hand over the wound as best she was able. Her eyes then slid slowly shut, and for a moment she seemed to glow, as though her veins were momentarily filled with light rather than blood.
After a couple of minutes, she opened her eyes and withdrew her hand. Across the bridge of Dante's nose was a lurid cut that looked as though it was a couple of weeks old rather than mere minutes. Even once it was fully healed in a few more weeks, the remaining scar would always be stark, unable to do anything but stand out.
Turning to Naoki, the woman repeated her work, and minutes later he had a matching scar.
Izumi paid the woman, and the servant who'd escorted her through the house led her back out.
Masaru appeared in their wake, looking exhausted and still angry. "The guests are gone. Naoki, what do you have to say for yourself?"
"It was a genuine mistake. I was so focused on the duel, I did not notice the blunts had fallen off. How did both our blunts manage to come off?"
"The servant who made that mistake has been dealt with," Masaru said coldly. "Go to your room. We'll speak of this later, after we're done cleaning up the mess you've made of your own betrothal ball."
Naoki's face filled with anger and resentment for a single moment—then it was gone, like a candle dropped into a bucket of ice water, and he shuffled out of the room, shoulders drooping, eyes downcast. Probably to go find the nearest bottle of saké.
For once, Dante couldn't blame him. He didn't particularly care that Naoki was likely going to be severely beaten for making such a crass, violent mistake, but he commiserated.
The gnawing in his gut that felt suspiciously like guilt, he quashed ruthlessly. The blunts being lost had been a stroke of luck, not intentional. Naoki's pending beating wasn't his fault.
"If you will pardon—"
His attempt to leave was drowned out by a horrific scream. There was so much fear and anguish and pain in it, Dante flinched at the memories the sound dredged up. Arata dead, his blood soaked into Dante's clothing. Everybody angry. Nobody listening.
He ran with the others to the front of the house, where a maid wearing Ferro livery had rushed into the main hall, still sobbing and screaming. "Kattali-donna! Kattali-donna. She—She—"
"She what, damn you?" Acaeus demanded.
"Dead!" the woman burst out.
Dante's breath hitched. Dead?
"What? How? Where is my wife!" Acaeus didn't wait for a reply, but ran off in the direction the maid had come, Selinah close behind. The poor sobbing woman was probably Kattalin's personal maid; his mother had always gone through them as rapidly as she'd gone through wine and clothes.
Sobbing into her apron, with several minutes of coaxing the maid finally managed to explain, "She killed herself, donni."
Gasps filled the hall. Izumi looked ready to faint and collapsed into the chair that a servant hastily dragged over for her. Masaru held her hand, gold-toned skin a dull gray. "Why? How? Are you certain she was not murdered?"
Before the servant could reply, Acaeus returned, looking decades older than he had at the beginning of the ball. In his hand, he held a slip of paper, its wax seal dangling. A suicide note?
Dante hastened forward before anyone else could, urging Acaeus into a chair another servant brought. "Bring a strong drink at once."
Next to Acaeus, Selinah cried quietly, probably the most genuine emotion Dante had ever seen from her, though it was probably over how much more difficult this made her life than any true pain over losing her mother.
Izumi and Naoki looked like they were going to be ill. Who could blame them? Tonight, of all nights, during a betrothal ball to unite their families, the first time the Ferro family had been in their home, the matriarch of the Ferro family had killed herself.
As the servant arrived with the drink, Dante pressed it into Acaeus's hand, deftly taking the note at the same time. Slipping back several steps as Acaeus was inundated in caretakers, he unfolded the crumpled, tear-strewn piece of paper and smoothed it out as best he could.
I'm sorry. Please don't hurt them.
Dante left the note on a side table and slipped from the house, not bothering even to collect his jacket.
The air was brisk, almost chilly. No match for the strange, cold feeling in his chest left by the frustration of having a moment of vengeance ripped away from him. Typical of her to maintain control of a situation right up until the end and get her way by whatever means necessary.
What was that note? She was sorry? Not good enough. She hadn't listened back when he'd begged for her trust, for his own mother to believe in him. Why should he listen to her begging now?
Please don't hurt them.
Too late for that.