A Fall of Water
Page 18

“So”—Paulo held out the bread—“do you want it? I brought it for you.”
Jacopo looked at the seemingly innocent boy with the wide, blue gaze. Why would he bring him bread and risk the anger of the master of the house? Was this boy a spy of some sort? Would Jacopo receive a beating for taking the bread from him? Perhaps it was a test.
“I want nothing from you,” Jacopo said. “Why do you bring me bread when Andros wants me to steal it? Do you run to him and tell him of my weakness later?”
As soon as he said it, Jacopo knew it had not been the boy’s intention. Paulo’s face fell, and a hard mask slipped over his previously open features. Jacopo regretted that he had rebuffed the boy’s kindness, but he had no desire to attract the wrath of Niccolo Andros by defying him.
The boy straightened his shoulders. “I brought it to tempt you,” Paulo said with false bravado. “It’s only a shame you can’t taste it for yourself.” The blond boy took a large bite from the fragrant loaf, and Jacopo could smell the herbs the cook had used in the bread. His mouth watered.
He leapt up, pouncing on the boy and knocking him to the ground. Jacopo slapped his face and grabbed the loaf from his hands. Paulo’s eyes watered, but he twisted his mouth into a sneer as Jacopo tossed the bread to the corner.
“Go. Tell the cook I stole your bread and beat you. She will not blame you for the loss.” He stood and held out a hand to the boy, but Paulo rolled away and stood on his own.
“You’re a filthy animal.” Paulo curled his lip. “I can smell you from here. Signore Andros will surely get rid of you when he smells you through the house.”
“Oh?” Jacopo cocked his head. “Has he brought boys to his home before?” What was this madness Niccolo Andros had planned? Where there other boys like him hidden in this cold, stone castle?
“No,” Paulo said. “Signore Andros is a most cultured and honorable man. When he sees you, I’m sure he will be displeased and send you away.”
Jacopo smirked. “So, I am the only one he ordered the cook not to feed?”
“Yes,” Paulo said with a shrug.
He wandered to the corner and grabbed the bread, tearing off a chunk and stuffing it in his mouth. It was the finest thing he had ever tasted. “So I am the only one he keeps like this? The only... prisoner.”
“He calls you his student.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” Paulo was backing toward the door as Jacopo tore off another chunk of bread.
“And I am the only student?”
“Yes, but he will send you away when he smells you, animal.”
A grim smile curled Jacopo’s lips. “Paulo, how many servants does Signore Andros have?”
“Many.” He sneered again. “He has many servants.”
“And how many ‘students’ does he have?”
Paulo’s eyes narrowed. “Just you.”
Jacopo walked toward the haughty boy, towering over him. At seventeen years of age, he was taller than most grown men, as tall as the father he had never met. He stared down at the blond boy in his clean clothes and scrubbed face.
“Well, if I am your master’s only student, and you are one of many servants, then I think we know the one who is expendable, no?”
En route to Rome
May 2012
Giovanni woke, brushing the dream from his mind and looking around the compartment for Beatrice. He could hear the low hum of the engines as they flew. He spotted her sitting in a chair in the corner, notebooks spread over her side of the bed.
“Where are we?”
She looked up with a smile. “Hey! You know, you’re sleeping a lot less now, too.”
“I don’t find that surprising, considering how much blood we exchange.” His wife’s blood was powerful, more powerful than even he had predicted, and his waking hours were growing longer as a result. Though the phenomenon had its advantages, he did not envy her lack of rest.
“I’ve found something interesting in the journals.”
“Oh?”
She nodded with a grin. “I think I’ve finally identified the four original donors.”
He sat up and leaned over the spread notebooks. “How? You’ve been looking for months.”
Beatrice opened her notebook and handed it to him. “I don’t have them exactly, but I’ve been making notes every time he mentions them in his journals, and I finally found a reference to the one I’d been missing, the earth donor.”
“What did you find?” He began paging through her notes, deciphering the strange shorthand she had developed since she had turned. Most vampires developed some sort of unique language for their thoughts over time. Since their minds moved more rapidly than mortals, it was the best way to record thoughts and had the added benefit of concealing their meaning from the casual reader. To anyone else, Beatrice’s writing would have been gibberish; Giovanni alone could read it.
“What is this?” He pointed toward an unknown symbol. “This is new.”
“It stands for ‘Aethiop.’”
“‘Aethiop?’ You mean the earth donor was Ethiopian?”
She nodded with a grin. “Yep, and she—”
“She?”
“Uh-huh, another surprise. The others were clearly male, but this one was definitely female because Geber notes that preliminary testing on her blood showed no discernible difference because of sex.”