David Blixt - The Master of Verona

Katerina said, "All that is irrelevant."

Her brother smiled mirthlessly. "Then pray tell us what is relevant."

"Cesco's future. Even if we are to believe that you don't want him dead, your wife does. Pathino, too — or at least removed from the field of play. He'll probably sell him into slavery or the like. Until they are dealt with, they are each a threat."

"True," agreed the Scaliger.

"Then Cesco cannot stay here."

"I concur."

Katerina showed genuine surprise. "You'd let him go? You'd let me take him off, someplace you cannot reach?"

"Ah- ah ! Not so fast, my dear. One part of al-Dhaamin's prophecy will come true. Little Cesco will be passed into new hands to thrive. I'll make certain he's well taken care of. But you, my sweet — you will have no part of it."

Katerina's chin rose defiantly. "You cannot do that."

"Oh yes I can. And here's why — Pietro, did you ever wonder why Cesco's mother gave him up?"

Pietro recalled a conversation over his sickbed. "Someone was trying to kill him."

"Quite right. But my wife did not then know of his existence, nor did the Count. Nor did I. In fact, there was only one person other than Cesco's mother who knew he'd even been born."

Disbelief raced across Pietro's face. Cangrande winked at him. It had to be a lie. But no, there was no other explanation. A horrible emptiness opening within him, Pietro turned to Katerina, who held his eyes with a steady gaze.

Cangrande laughed. "Yes. To fulfill her part of the prophecy, she wanted — needed — Cesco's mother to give him up. Katerina hired the killer to force the lady's hand, and mine. The threat of her child's death sent the poor woman running into Katerina's arms, seeking protection for her son."

Katerina said, "He was in no danger. I knew the prophecy would protect him."

"If he was truly the Greyhound. If not, what better way to find out, eh? One less mouth to feed. Though it was a dangerous game. If he'd died, Katerina would have incurred the wrath of our father's curse. Blood of our blood extends to her. But it did work, and she got to raise the boy. Her dream has come true. Such a shame it has to end."

Ignoring Pietro's horrified stare, Katerina said, "You can't take him in yourself, Francesco. He will only become more of a target."

Cangrande nodded. "Which is why he's going to Ravenna. With Pietro."

That rocked her back on her heels. "To Ravenna? With Pietro?"

"Is there an echo? Yes, my sweet parrot, Ravenna is the answer to all our troubles. An idyllic place, close to the water, and never any trouble. I will sign a document certifying him as my heir if I have no legitimate issue. But hereabouts we will say he died from shock. There was plenty to shock him today, so it will be believed. So tragic. We will bury an empty coffin here — perhaps build a church in his memory. In the meantime, as Ser Alaghieri has proven himself capable of meeting any challenge, and possessed of a rudimentary grasp of subterfuge, he will raise the boy as his own kin. Cesco will live safe in Ravenna surrounded by great minds and decent people. There he'll be safe from everyone — including us."

"Us? Oh!" The lady opened her arms in appeal to the clear skies above. "O, are we to do this once more? I wish you would give me one of your birds, that I could teach it to recite my part. I wounded you, I withheld your destiny, I ruined your life. Do I have it properly memorized?"

"Something like that. The boy must go."

"To protect him from me? From my evil designs? I didn't realize we were in the theatre! From what are you protecting him?"

Cangrande didn't look up from his sword's edge. "From the weight of your expectations."

"Stop posturing!" Katerina's unbandaged hand shot out to encompass his wrist, stopping the stone's repetitive motion. "Put away your props, Francesco. The best actors don't need a crutch."

Obediently, Cangrande slid his father's sword into its scabbard. Touching the hilt with two fingers, he said, "I wonder, how much does it gall you that you will never wield this?"

Katerina hand fell to her side. "Do you hate me so much?"

"To this day you remain the single most important person in my life. I am what I am because of you." All unexpected, tears came to the lady's eyes and Cangrande's voice became relentlessly harsh. "Unfair, Donna Katerina. Tears are unbecoming."

"They are a woman's weapon," she said, trying to quell them. "And as you pointed out, I am a woman. I use what I have. Francesco, everything I did was for you."

The Scaliger coughed, or sputtered, or cried. He bent over, clutching his stomach as if struck. Then he flung his head back and stumbled to a turret for support. Only when the light of the moon reflected on his perfect teeth was his expression recognizable as a smile. "Kat, you're priceless! If you'd take the job, I'd fire Manuel in a heartbeat. All for me? For yourself !"

"You admitted you want to be the Greyhound."

A stabbing finger. "Not half as much as you wanted me to be."

"I wanted the best for you," protested Katerina.

The Scaliger slowly slid down the stone wall, ending flat on the rooftop with his legs splayed out before him. "The best would have been to let me grow unmolested! If love was too much to ask, then at least indifference!" Calming himself, Cangrande returned his voice to one that would not distress the guards far below. "There is a tale, Pietro, of a thane of Scotland — Donwald, a loyal servant to the true king. He was told by some mystic hags that he would someday be king himself. That very night he and his wife murdered honest King Duff while he slept. Here's my question — would he have done it had he not heard the prophecy? Would it not have happened in any case? Why not sit back and allow Fate to run its course?" Cangrande winked at Pietro with dark humour. "A man may control his actions, but not his stars. It has become my motto, I will blazon it through the sky." His gaze shifted to study Katerina coldly. "You would slay the king in his bed to bring the future to you. I would serve the king as best I could, and wait to see Fate unfold itself."

"More fool you, then."

Cangrande extended an accusing finger. "That! It is that which ultimately convinces me that, in your heart of hearts, you don't believe in the prophecy. You work too hard to make it come true."

"If I believe too little, then you believe too much."

"Perhaps." The Scaliger stood and began pacing the length of the roof. "Pietro, you wondered at my expression tonight? You thought I was overjoyed to see Cesco dead. It wasn't that at all. It was because Fate had failed. Destiny was wrong. Cesco was not the Greyhound. The stars were fallible. Everything that Katerina pins her hopes on was less than dust in the wind. That's what you saw: for a single moment, I felt free — free to finally step up and claim the destiny I've wanted, tasted, since I could think or hear or walk." He stretched his arms towards the sky. Pietro looked at the power in those limbs as they quested to pluck at the stars themselves. "I was told it was mine. From the time I was born until I became a man, I was told I was destined to be something great. I wasn't rejoicing in the death of the boy — I was seeing my future open up again."

"But he's still alive," said Pietro harshly.

The arms fell. "And so the walls reappear to hem me in once more. Cabined. Cribbed. Confined. I am not the Greyhound. I never will be. But I want it, Pietro, I can taste it. That's what she did. My loving sister was so utterly afraid of not fulfilling her destiny, her part in a myth, she tried to make me into something I'm not. She let me live a lie to soothe her own need for power."

Tears were streaking down her face, but there was no hitch in the lady's breath. "It was not I who took the dream from you."