The Mosaic

Chapter 50 | Dark Dawn

There was darkness. Outside the carriage, where light had just begun bleeding into the black skies. Inside their hearts, worry, fear, grief. On their faces, drawn and taut like hammered steel, tense in their powerlessness.

If they were too late, there would be war. If Alessandro failed to find something, there would be war. If Giacinto couldn't sway the Lady in their favor, there would be war.

Amand may joke and flirt and twirl his mustache on a good day -- but Alessandro knew the man could summon hell and rain inferno upon his enemies. The old elite despised the Medici. The bishop would know exactly where to pull to make the fragile standstill crumble like a card house.

He had been a boy when he had entered the french court, head held high. They said he had smiled, where others had trembled, right in the middle of a nest of vipers. And he had emerged scarred, poisoned and darkened -- but his fangs dripping venom, saber washed in blood, lips gilded with lies. He had become the king cobra -- the snake that devoured snakes. All of France knew his name.

They revered him. They feared him. And rightfully so.

Silence stretched between them, only the hammering of hooves to be heard. Even Giacinto and Amand had stopped their jabs at Alessandro, sinking into quiet tension.

At first, back in the hall of Giacinto's villa, Alessandro had feared they would murder each other.

A shadow had swept through the room. The temperature had seemed to drop with every step echoing through the hall, from clam, looming fog, to an arctic storm hailing needle-sharp ice into skin. Giacinto's eyes had been trained on the man in violet like a bloodhound. His lips had curled in disgust when he had asked what that was doing in his home.

"Annoying Alessandro, mostly," Amand had smiled, tilting his head, as if curious whether Giacinto would rip his throat out or not. And just like that, Giacinto's snarl had morphed into a grin and he had welcomed the devil with open arms.

"I believe we have the common goal of making this man's life hell." had been enough to turn them into the best of friends -- Alessandro didn't doubt if Amand weren't sick with worry and Giacinto hadn't retreated into darkness, they would be slapping each other's shoulders, drinking wine and laughing entirely too loud.

There was nothing holy in the air when the carriage sped over the Ponte Santa Trinita, the river below a still sea of blood and shadows, glinting in the heavy sun just rising behind the hills. The air was unusually cold for this time of the year, creeping in through crevices with long fingers. Laelia huddled deeper into her hooded cloak. Her features twisted when Giacinto turned away from her pleading glance. He had been avoiding her this entire morning.

Alessandro sighed. There was more between them than one argument. But it would have to wait, as the carriage screeched to a sudden halt. Amand jumped out the second the large wheels stood still. Laelia eyed the window as if she considered squeezing out between the thin golden frames, just to get there faster.

Once the men had stepped out into the cold, Alessandro reached back inside the carriage, offering Laelia a hand. She was in such a hurry to get out she missed the step and fell right into Alessandro. "Stupid shoes," she grumbled. "Why can't I wear boots? I want boots."

Lorenzo chuckled at her pout, but it quickly froze in the long shadows stretching over the deserted piazza. In the hour between dark and dawn, the Medici palace loomed like a sleeping giant over them, massive and dark in the twilight. Only the very tip of the highest tower, pointing towards the heavens like a raised fist, was dipped in bloody red.

No one spoke, as if an invisible gag had formed around all their throats, slowly tightening with dark foreboding.

They had arrived too soon and not soon enough.