The Boy Who Wept Blood by Den Patrick Read Free Book Online

history.
    ‘What history?’
    He declined to elaborate. Perhaps you should ask him?
    She picked up her fan and pulled back the curtain to look through the carriage window. Dino clenched his fists, then stretched his fingers with frustration. Demesne was riddled with secrets. Legions of pretty deceptions and unwholesome inventions, all huddling together and breeding more of the same. He wondered if they inhabited the deep places below the castle, threatening to erode the foundations.
    The day had started brightly enough but sombre clouds had drifted in from the east. There had been a storm in the small hours, haranguing the grey sea.
    ‘Did the thunder wake you last night?’
    Everything wakes me.
    ‘Did you get any sleep at all?’
    A little.
    Dino found himself hoping for rain, anything to leach the humidity from the sultry air. The carriage slowed and drew to a halt. The driver tapped on the roof. Dino opened the door and jumped to the road, looking around with a hand on the hilt of his blade. Anea stepped down, taking his free hand as she did so.
    ‘Angelicola was always a complete bastard to us,’ said Dino, voice subdued, ‘Lucien particularly.’ His anger had departed, leaving him maudlin. She caught his eye then pulled him close, the embrace all too brief. They were seldom given the chance to be siblings; the isolation of being Orfani weighed on them keenly.
    I promise we will head to San Marino when things are more stable.
    ‘There’s no guarantee I’ll come back if we go.’
    The same thought had occurred to me. Her jade eyes twinkled with amusement.
    Another two carriages stood empty at the side of the road, horses bored and restless, tails switching at flies. The coachmen idled, smoking moondrake leaf from pipes. One of their number spotted Anea, prompting them to remove their three-cornered hats. Deeps bows were made across the dusty road. Dino nodded back to them, noting the wariness in their eyes.
    They do not trust me , signed Anea. Even after everything I have done, I am still the strega princess.
    ‘Don’t let it concern you, they’re Fontein men.’
    I will have to win them over one day if I am going to survive.
    ‘We could always bring back hanging.’
    Anea rolled her eyes and her shoulders shook with a giggle.
    Time to bury Angelicola , she signed, then resumed a poise of rigid formality, green eyes alert, bronze headdress creating a halo above her corn-blond hair. Dino presented a hand and she rested her own atop it, looking straight ahead, confidence emanating like a nimbus. Her gaze was set on the black iron gates of the cemetery, yellowing bindweed clinging to the metal. The hinges had long since rusted, the portal yawning open, death’s invitation to the living. Anea’s black silk fan beat a steady rhythm as they walked. Numerous gravestones awaited them inside, each a monument to one who had served Demesne – and had the coin to pay House Prospero stonecutters.
    ‘What do cittadini do if they cannot afford headstones?’ asked Dino solemnly.
    Wooden markers. But not here; these plots come at a premium.
    The lesser houses opted for delicately pointed slabs or morose angels sporting pious wintry gazes. The great houses had mausoleums in which to inter their dead, as befitted the nobility. Those who had stood against Anea were buried at sea, an edict she had passed soon after taking the throne. Dino found himself admiring the elegant simplicity of her thinking. There would be no shrines for assassins.
    ‘I didn’t expect so many mourners for an outcast dottore .’
    Many of these people owe Angelicola their health. Some were even delivered by him.
    ‘There’s a terrifying thought. Imagine if Angelicola was the first person you’d seen as you came into the world.’
    Anea began to sign, thought better of it and stopped. The Orfani walked on.
    The mourners were by the graveside on the far side, in positions appropriate to their station. All waited for the Silent Queen’s arrival, a