Raven tugged on the door and he stepped back, allowing her to open it.
“This is far from over.” His voice followed her into the gallery as she quickly shuffled away from the door.
Chapter Thirty-five
“And then there were four,” Niccolò remarked dryly, surveying the remaining Consilium members, excluding the Prince.
Niccolò, Lorenzo, Aoibhe, and Stefan of Montréal assembled in the council chamber underground, awaiting their ruler. He’d cut short their normal rest during daylight for urgent matters pertaining to security.
“Any news from Pierre and Max?” Aoibhe trained her dark eyes on Lorenzo, the second in command.
He reacted with visible annoyance, his hand tightening on the staff of Florence he always held during formal assemblies. “We received a message they’d reached Paris, but nothing since.”
Aoibhe’s gaze moved to Niccolò. “That’s a bit odd, don’t you think? How long would it take to kill a few humans and throw their bodies under the Eiffel Tower?”
“A bit of finesse is required in these matters.” Niccolò’s voice echoed in the large, almost empty chamber. “Not that you can appreciate such things.”
With a snarl, she flew at him, teeth bared. He stepped to the side and, with a flick of his foot, swept her legs out from under her. She crashed to the ground with a loud cry.
Niccolò looked down at her, making eye contact before he spoke. “Not all of us are blinded by your beauty, female. You’d best remember that.”
Aoibhe huffed and leapt to her feet, rearranging her skirts and her hair. She returned to her seat, wisely electing not to turn her back to him.
At that moment, the Prince threw open the doors to the council chamber and strode down the aisle. The Consilium members stood, bowing their respect and waiting until the Prince was seated before regaining their seats. Lorenzo tapped his staff on the floor to call the meeting to order.
The Prince pushed the folds of his black velvet cloak aside, resting his hands on the arms of the gold throne. “Niccolò, you’re head of security. What have you to say?”
The Florentine stood and bowed. “As I reported to you earlier, a member of the Curia was spotted in the city yesterday evening.”
The remaining Consilium members sat silently, dumbfounded.
“And?” The Prince’s eyes revealed barely tempered fury.
The security adviser coughed, clearing his throat. “I spoke with the patrols, my lord. The Curia member in question arrived during the day, wearing ordinary clothes. Since he’s American and new to Rome, he was not identified. However, our intelligence network reported he stayed at the Jesuit house inside the city and he returned to Rome by car shortly after midnight.”
The Prince’s expression became blank. “What about his movements inside the city?”
“I have nothing to report, my lord. It seems he was only noticed when he left. The patrols reported that you were surveilling them that evening, which they found curious.”
The Prince waved his hand casually. “A surprise inspection. Instruct the patrols that I will continue those inspections, sometimes delegating the activity to a Consilium member. I want them on the highest alert. Order our spies in Rome to send photographs of any new Curia members so we are not surprised again. Any suspicious movement outside the Vatican is to be reported to me personally, immediately.”
“Yes, my lord.” Niccolò bowed, obviously shaken.
“A member of the Curia infiltrated my city and I was only notified after the man left. Am I to remove you over this offense?” The Prince’s question was not truly a question.
“My lord, I would be in favor of exactly that.” Aoibhe stood, her tone carefully calculated to sound less than triumphant.
“What say you, lieutenant?” The Prince turned his attention to Lorenzo.
Lorenzo bowed, restraining a smile. “Previous security advisers have been beheaded for less, my lord.”
“True.” The Prince’s gaze moved to the French Canadian. “And you, the newest member of our august assembly?”
Stefan stood, nervously rubbing at his chin. “My lord, it would be premature for me to weigh in on such a matter when I don’t know all the facts.”
The Prince’s lips turned up. “I appreciate your candor. You may be seated.”
Stefan bowed and sat down, noticeably relieved.
The Prince regarded Niccolò for a long time. The Florentine was silent and unmoving under his ruler’s watchful gaze. His expression gave away nothing, but closer inspection revealed the closing and opening of his right hand, an expression of nervousness.
The Prince tapped his hand on top of the armrest. “Sir Machiavelli, you’ve served the principality for centuries and have done so honorably. Although it is my right to execute you for your failure, I am excusing you. I need your service to this body and to the principality for a little longer.
“Security has become the responsibility of every citizen. I want the patrol patterns varied and the number of patrols increased. I want everyone, especially the plebes, to be on the highest alert. Nothing is to be done that will incur the Curia’s ire.
“Now that Maximilian and Pierre are in Paris, a diversion should be forthcoming. However, we must prepare ourselves in case they fail.
“Lorenzo and Aoibhe, the Bacchanalia is to be postponed. Perhaps the delay will impress upon everyone the need for increased vigilance. Every citizen is to make preparations for war. The army is to be at its highest readiness.
“This body is dismissed. Lorenzo, I need a word.” The Prince gestured to his lieutenant, nodding absently at the other members as they bowed before taking their leave.
As they approached the door that led to the corridor, Niccolò turned to Aoibhe. “You’ve made a grave mistake.”
She stopped, her pretty face pensive. “Really, Sir Machiavelli? Tell me more.”
He had just opened his mouth to do so when she kicked the side of his knee, felling him. She stood on his forearm with both feet, preventing him from drawing the long sword that he always carried at his side.
“Aoibhe,” the Prince growled, noticing her display of strength.
She forced a smile. “Just a bit of harmless fun, my lord.” She stepped to the side, leaning over her captive with a triumphant look. “You’re getting reckless in your old age, Nick.”
He swept to his feet. “Not likely.”
“I’m more valuable to you as an ally than as an enemy. You’d best remember that, as your list of allies has grown surprisingly short.” She brushed past him, her eyes meeting Stefan’s. Under the intimidating gaze of the much-older vampyre, Stefan dropped his gaze to his feet.
With a pleased toss of her red hair, Aoibhe walked to the exit.
Sir Machiavelli waited until the corridor was empty before slipping into the Prince’s private study, which was located down the hall from the council chamber. Gregor, the Prince’s assistant, was away on an errand and the Prince himself was deep in conversation with his lieutenant down the hall. Now was an excellent time for the head of security to make his move.
Niccolò disliked surprises. He disliked being embarrassed even more. His anger and resentment toward the Prince burned blue. But he’d learned from his conflict with the Medici long ago not to allow his anger to overtake his reason.
He quickly surveyed the contents of the study and moved to the desk, picking up reports and missives, reading them quickly, then returning them to their positions. But there was nothing of interest. He continued his search, hoping to find something that would either implicate the Prince or support his own position, but soon gave up. Time was not on his side.