The Prince waved a hand in his direction.
Niccolò turned to face his detractor. “I am eager to hear your alternatives, Sir Maximilian. But before we entertain them, I’d like you to accompany me to the principality library. I want to show you the accounts of the Curia’s massacre of Prague.”
The other members of the Consilium began to murmur in response. Niccolò continued to stare at Max until the Prussian giant lowered his gaze.
“We must do all we can to avoid Prague’s fate. The best course of action is for the principality to exist quietly and avoid undue attention. Will you mind the new recruits? Keep them from killing when they feed?”
Max remained sullen.
Niccolò turned his attention to the other Consilium members. “Friends, the austerity measures are temporary but necessary. We must work together to promote them amongst the citizens and persuade them to obey.”
“Precisely,” said the Prince. “We don’t know the Curia’s plans. As intelligence is gathered, we may modify our response. But unless you wish hundreds of blackcoats swarming our streets, you must support and enforce the new laws.”
His gray eyes moved from member to member, pausing perhaps a bit too long when they met Aoibhe’s eyes. The Prince nodded at his head of security to continue.
The lieutenant bowed. “With respect to the Curia, there are wheels within wheels. It’s possible they’re looking to make an example of a principality in order to demonstrate their power to the Americans, who are notoriously unruly. If we bide our time, perhaps their eyes will fixate elsewhere and we may regain our former liberty.”
“We could distract them.” Pierre stood and bowed. “Why not send a killing party to Zurich, London, or Berlin? Have them pile bodies in a public square. Panic will ensue and the Curia will have no choice but to forget Florence and deal with it.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” the Prince observed. “If you were caught, the diversion would be in vain. We’d find ourselves under renewed scrutiny and at war with another principality.”
“They would have to deal with panicked humans first,” Pierre countered. “If the spectacle was large and public, the Curia would have to investigate it. They’d be focused on another city, not Florence.”
“They’re adept at dealing with more than one principality at a time. But I agree, it would attract attention.” The Prince gazed at Pierre with renewed interest. “Are you volunteering?”
“It would be an honor, my lord.” Pierre gave an exaggerated bow.
“The covens in Switzerland are sparse and weak. We needn’t fear retaliation from them and certainly the Curia would be surprised by killings within those borders. But Switzerland is near. What about Paris? If you were caught, they’d think you hailed from the city.”
“That’s true, my lord.” A hint of discomfort shadowed his face. “I had thought of Russia.”
“The eastern covens are at war with the patriarchs,” Lorenzo interjected, tapping the staff of the principality impatiently on the stone floor. “The patriarchs despise the Curia and would never let them past the borders.”
“A fair point.” The Prince peered down at Pierre thoughtfully. “Paris is the obvious choice, given their history with the Curia. They’ll be too concerned with staving off a massacre to wage war with us, even if they discover who sent you. Who would you choose to accompany you?”
“Max.”
The Prussian growled. “It’s a fool’s errand.”
“You were just bemoaning the fact that you wouldn’t be allowed to kill or add new recruits.” The Prince’s tone was sharp. “Pierre’s suggestion will enable you to have your fill of killing.”
He gestured to Max to stand. “Maximilian, you are hereby ordered to assist Pierre in his mission. I am placing you under his command.”
“That’s an insult!” Max spluttered. “I outrank him by over a century.”
“Audentes fortuna iuvat. In case you’ve forgotten your Latin, that means ‘fortune favors the bold.’ Pierre will lead the mission to Paris and you will accompany him. If you fail, it will mean a death sentence. If you succeed, you will be rewarded.” The Prince leaned forward on his throne. “If you refuse, I will kill you.”
If Maximilian could have gone pale, he would have. His eyes widened almost to the point of bulging, his large fists clenching and unclenching. His gaze flickered to his left, but it was unclear who he was looking at. Both Niccolò and Lorenzo avoided eye contact.
Max returned his gaze to the Prince and nodded.
The Prince turned back to Pierre. “I want you to leave at once. Gregor will see that you are outfitted for your journey. Tell no one about your mission. We can’t risk the news reaching the ears of the Curia.”
Pierre and Max bowed and exited the chamber.
The Prince cast his eyes on the remaining three members of the Consilium. “Our numbers are dwindling. We have yet to replace Ibarra and will be without Pierre and Max indefinitely. Lorenzo, invite Stefan of Montréal to join us at our next assembly.”
“As you wish.” Lorenzo bowed. “But he lacks the requisite years for Consilium membership.”
“He is a person of influence, despite his youth,” rejoined the Prince. “Let us return to the matter at hand. Are there any further objections to the new laws?”
Aoibhe stood. “None from me, my lord. I saw what the Curia did in Paris to a coven of old ones. I came here because it was widely known that Florence was one of the only European principalities the Curia ignored.” Her expression shifted. “I support the Prince and his new laws.”
The Prince nodded and Aoibhe regained her seat. He waited a scant minute before turning to Niccolò.
“Remind the brethren they are free to leave the city, should they find the new laws too restrictive. Suggest they wear the safety vests we procured to protect them from hunters, but remind them if the Curia invades, the vests won’t protect them. Let us hope we’ll have good news from Paris in short order.”
The Prince stood, as did the Consilium members, who bowed before him as he swept from the council chamber, his black velvet cloak streaming behind him.
“Take this missive to Venice at once. Instruct Tarquin to hand over the delinquent tribute immediately or risk the consequences.” The Prince addressed his lieutenant, holding out an envelope that had been sealed with the mark of Florence.
He was annoyed at having to deal with a minor irritation—the puppet prince he’d installed after defeating the Venetians in a recent war.
Lorenzo eyed the envelope nervously. “My lord, I am eager to serve you in all things. But if I deliver this message, the Venetians will kill me.”
The Prince tossed the envelope on top of his desk. “And risk another war? I doubt it. We culled their army when we defeated them.”
“Forgive me, Prince. Perhaps Niccolò would be a better choice?”
The ruler’s gray eyes lasered into his lieutenant’s. “Why would you say that?”
Lorenzo’s lips pulled into a sour expression. “They fear him.”
“If they fear him, they are more likely to kill him.”
The lieutenant’s expression relaxed, marginally. The change did not go unnoticed.
The Prince sat back in his chair. “If Venice is foolish enough to execute a high-ranking member of my principality, I’ll invade them and execute their leadership.”