“Even me?” someone said, from the doorway.
Bezio started to curse and looked up, only to swallow whatever he’d been about to say. And to choke slightly. And then to start doing something that Mircea couldn’t quite—
Oh. He was trying to bow. But there wasn’t room so he mostly looked like he’d just collapsed beside the bed.
Antony eyed him for a brief moment, a single brow raised. He was still in armor, a golden breastplate framed by the dark red draperies of a distant age, a golden helmet stuck under his arm. How the hell he’d walked through the streets like that, Mircea didn’t know. But it was Antony, and the rules didn’t seem to apply to him.
He regarded Bezio a moment longer, and then apparently decided he didn’t care and came forward to slap Mircea. Or perhaps it was supposed to be a friendly cuff on the arm. But the way Mircea felt at the moment, he was surprised he didn’t fall off the bed.
Of course, that would have required more room.
“There’s a good sturdy fellow,” Antony said heartily, while Mircea struggled not to be sick again.
“I—thank you, consul.”
Antony grinned. “That never gets old. Consul,” he rolled it over his tongue. “Mmm, yes.”
Mircea lay there awkwardly, trying not to rub his arm.
And trying to remember the thought he’d had a second before, the one that had seemed . . .
“W-would you like some wine?” Bezio’s muffled voice came from somewhere near the floor.
Wine, Mircea thought, that was it. “What were you saying just now?” he asked. “About Sanuito’s wine?”
But Bezio appeared too awed to answer. Luckily, Jerome had no such trouble. “Sanuito had two containers of the antidote,” he explained, as Antony bumped him over and sat down on the end of the bed. “Either there were two to begin with or he made another after Marte saw him give you the first one, on the assumption that she’d take it. It wouldn’t have been difficult; it was made with his blood, after all.”
“And he put the other . . . in the wine?” Mircea didn’t know if it was because he was at considerably less than his best, but that sounded a little . . . odd.
“He didn’t have much time,” Auria pointed out. “He had to know she’d come looking for him as soon as she left you.”
Jerome nodded. “And he must have known she’d check his room, so that was out. And mithridatum is . . . pungent. She might have been able to find it by smell alone if he put it anywhere in the house. Unless, of course, he dissolved it in something that already had a strong odor.”
“I told you he was smart,” Auria said, looking sad and proud at the same time.
“But it was hidden,” Mircea pointed out.
“Well he couldn’t just leave a decanter of wine lying around,” Jerome said.
“Not in this house,” Paulo added.
“Sounds like a fun place,” Antony put in.
“And everyone knew we raided the cook’s stash,” Jerome finished. “He might have thought it was the best way to get some of it into you. Or, more likely, he just needed a place to put it where Marte wouldn’t find it. And the sheer volume of stuff in the pantry made it a good hiding place.”
Mircea lay there for a moment, feeling sick for a different reason. “So he stuck it in a bag of beans.”
Jerome nodded.
“And if I hadn’t stumbled across it that night—”
“Oh, you’d be stone cold dead,” Antony said cheerfully. “Like that damned Anoubias.”
“Anoubias?”
“He means Marte,” Jerome said. “That was her real name.”
“Named after the god of the dead,” Antony agreed. “And I don’t care if it was a common name at the time, as a certain someone tells me. That’s prophecy if I ever heard it!”
“But . . . she’s dead?” Mircea asked, trying to remember what happened. But it was mostly a blur. “I didn’t kill her. I don’t think . . .”
“No,” Jerome said, glancing at Auria. “But you weren’t alone.”
“Lucky thing, too,” Antony added. “I sent troops to help you, but I doubt they’d have arrived in time. The damned woman’s venom was strong enough to render you unconscious, antidote or no, and heart blow or no, she was still mobile. Fifteen hundred years gives one certain . . . advantages.”
Considering that Antony wasn’t dead even after having most of the bones in his body crushed, Mircea assumed that to be true.
But then . . .
“You killed her?” he asked Auria.
She nodded, silently.
“But . . . how?”
“She was distracted with you. I think she thought I was done for. But she hadn’t killed me, just stunned. And there was shattered glass from the lamp everywhere, and her neck was unprotected as she attacked you. . . .”
“But why were you even there?” Mircea asked. “I didn’t think anyone could find me.”
Auria scowled. “She made the mistake of sticking me on the ground floor, near the back stairs. We were scattered all over the place, to serve as distractions for you, if you showed up before they closed off the place. But either she was in a hurry, or a hundred years has a few privileges, too. Because the suggestion she used on me started to wear off.”
“And you went looking for her.”
Auria nodded angrily. “I didn’t know what she was doing, but I damned well intended to find out. But by the time I found her, you were fighting that guard and I was afraid if I distracted you . . . and then she jumped you before I could do anything, and the sword was so close to your neck. . . .” She shuddered.
“It was very brave,” Mircea said, only to have her look at him heatedly.
“It wasn’t brave! It was like with Sanuito, all over again. I heard what she said—enough anyway. I knew what she was! And I was so afraid—that I’d get you killed, that she’d turn on me, that I’d only make things worse and we’d both—” She broke off.
“But you did it anyway.”
“I couldn’t just stand there! The last time I did that . . . and there was no time to go get anyone else, and you . . . you weren’t even as powerful as me, but you were fighting her. You were fighting!”
“I was trying,” Mircea corrected ruefully, but it didn’t seem to affect Auria’s euphoria.
“It’s something I never thought I could do,” she told him. “To fight back. But . . . it’s not as hard as I thought it would be. It’s easier, in fact, than all those years I spent so afraid. So sure I couldn’t do anything about what happened to me. That because I didn’t have strength, I’d never be anything. But I helped!”
“You did more than that,” Mircea said. “But I still don’t understand how you reached me. I barely made it down the hall on the other side, and that was through luck as much as anything. It couldn’t have been easier on yours.”
She nodded. “The winds were appalling. I think that’s what helped me shake off Marte’s suggestion, as much as anything.”
“Then how did you manage?”
She blinked at him. “I didn’t.”
“Then how—”
She looked at him oddly. “I just went up a floor.”
Mircea stared at her, and Antony burst out laughing.
And then he got up.
“Well, this has been fascinating, like so much these days,” he said, looking satisfied. “But I have to be going. I’ll let an . . . acquaintance . . . of yours know that you’re all right, shall I?”
Mircea nodded. “Thank—”
“And that you’ve regretfully declined her invitation to join us in Paris.”
“In . . . Paris?”
“She thinks you’d do well at court. I, on the other hand, see you prospering better here. I’ve had a word with the Watch. Don’t think they’ll be troubling you in the future.” He dropped a heavy purse on the side table. “Lovely place, Venice.”