David Blixt - The Master of Verona

"Tell me."

The deep-set eyes were momentarily lucid. The fog lifted. "The irony is, I have spent all my life trying to bring down the Scaligeri when all I had to do was let them alone. They are perfectly capable of destroying themselves." Sweat poured down the Count's face. Spittle flecked the corner of his mouth.

Morsicato appeared, followed by a priest. The doctor frowned and told Pietro that he shouldn't be up here. The Count had to receive extremunction. The last rites.

Bonifacio said, "Come back and see me, boy, when I'm dead. I have stories to tell. I have a secret. It's one secret no one else knows. Not even your master! It's only mine. All mine. Two secrets, twins, entwined snakes! The caduceus ! When I'm gone, someone has to know. I want to tell someone — someone who will suffer in the knowledge — someone who will, can, when the time is right, tell Cangrande the truth of it-"

"Then tell me now."

"No, no, no! You'll tell him too soon! Too soon! I have to have my secrets! Their lies killed me, so my lies have to live to kill their lies! And you, too, boy! You wore my armour! They told me! From beyond the grave I'll haunt you! Down, down down!"

Morsicato pushed Pietro aside. "Go. He won't be lucid again."

Exiting, Pietro made his way down the stairs to the open loggia he knew so well. He dropped down onto a stool, tired beyond all reckoning. In the garden a firefly blazed to life, momentarily visible in the dark night. Pietro tried to predict where it next would be when it glowed again. He was wrong, so he guessed again. He was wrong a second time and it became a game, a silly, stupid, mindless game that Pietro enjoyed because it kept him from thinking.

Somehow he knew when the Scaliger took up a position over his shoulder. He felt no need to turn his head. "Tharwat has made a strong case. The Count as well, though he didn't know it. Was that part of the plan, too?"

"The decision is yours."

"Is it?"

"Grow up, boy." Cangrande's voice was flat. Affectless. Unmusical. A scroll tube was dropped beside Pietro's stool. "Here. I just finished writing this." Pietro knew what was in it — a formal acknowledgement of Cesco as the heir to Verona. A stroke of the pen more dangerous than any of steel. Pietro didn't pick it up.

Cangrande said, "Your father and sister are upstairs. Tell them what you like, but you need to take them with you. The doctor as well. Whatever your decision." Pietro heard the crunch of the booted heel. Cangrande was gone. Pietro was alone.

Or so he thought.

Unseen, the boy had been creeping through the grass for minutes, stalking the firefly. All at once he sprang up and clapped his hands gently around the segmented insect. It glowed in his grasp, making two of his knuckles shine. The hands lifted. When next the firefly glowed, it cast light upon the delighted face of a child.

Watching, Pietro thought of his dream of yesterday morning. He thought of prophecies, star charts, the accumulated weight that lay upon those tiny shoulders. Unbidden, words came back to Pietro: Live a life that is worthy of respect and honour. Protect the innocent . Pietro's choice was already made.

Grinning at his glowing hands, Cesco opened them. The firefly circled into the darkness, winking like a star. A second glowing ember flew across its path. They hung in the air like lovers before disappearing into the night.