Votive

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Imprint Page

Dedication

Maps

Epigraph

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

PART TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Glossary

Acknowledgements

About the Author

TALLOW: THE CURSE OF THE BOND RIDERS BOOK I

Votive
: a small candle often burned during a religious or other ceremony

Votive
: given or dedicated in fulfilment of a vow or pledge

Votive
: dedicated, consecrated, offered,
sacrifice

‘B
Y THE GODS
! S
TOP!’

Katina stumbled into the clearing. Blood soaked the front of her shirt. Debora and Alessandro cried out and raced to her side. She shook them off and stared in horror at the spectacle before her. ‘I said, stop!’

She strode forward and struck the knife that had been about to slice open Baroque Scarpoli’s neck from Santo’s hand. It flew through the air before skidding to a halt in the dirt.

‘What are you doing?’ growled Santo, scrambling to collect his blade.

His partner Stefano made a noise of disgust and released Baroque, shoving him face first into the ground. The spy sprawled helpless, his hands and feet bound. ‘Where have you been?’ Stefano spat at Katina, his face inches from hers. ‘I waited for you at the pledge stone. But you never came.’

Katina swiped the spittle from her cheek, her mind racing as she searched for an answer that would satisfy him.

Before she could, Baroque, their captive for over a week, groaned. Santo scooped up his knife and landed a vicious kick in his side. ‘You can make enough noise now, can’t you? But you won’t tell us what we need to know.’ He thrust his boot into him again and bent down, dragging him to his feet by the collar, his dagger poised.

‘That’s enough!’ Katina pushed Santo hard in the chest. He staggered backwards and would have hit the ground forcefully but for Stefano. Katina went to snatch the knife.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ drawled Stefano, stepping protectively in front of his partner, his hand shielding the blade.

They locked eyes. Tension made the air between them contract.

Katina shook her head but she lowered her arm. ‘Back off, Stefano,’ she growled. ‘Now is not the time and you know it. Call off your … lover.’ Her gaze slid to Santo, who slowly regained his feet, his face twisted in fury. A shift and whisper of movement behind her followed by a soft intake of breath let her know Alessandro and Debora, her own partners, had her back.

‘Now. Why don’t we all calm down?’ Katina said, moving away before anyone could challenge her, making sure she was positioned between Santo, his knife and Baroque. With deliberation she turned and, drawing her own dagger, knelt down and began to cut Baroque’s bindings.

‘What in the gods’ name are you doing?’ shouted Santo. ‘Let’s just slit his throat and get the hell out of here!’ Stefano had to prevent Santo from launching himself at Katina. Alessandro also blocked his way.

Katina stopped, her knife held out like a sharp finger. ‘Not until
I
say so. In case you’ve forgotten, I am in charge.’ Her voice was low and deadly. ‘Anyhow, Santo, don’t you think there’s been enough death already today?’ Her eyes bored into him.

He gave a bark of laughter. ‘We had instructions to kill the chandler, Katina. Remember?’

Katina held his gaze a fraction longer before she resumed cutting Baroque’s bonds. They were tight. ‘The Elders did not say that Dante’s death had to be so –’ she searched for
the right word ‘– brutal. That particular bit was your contribution – your only one as far as I’m concerned.’

Santo frowned and shot a look at Stefano, who shook his head. He laughed again. ‘You’ve become weak, Katina. Your last stint here in Serenissima sapped your courage. It’s diluted your loyalties. You’ve developed affection for those who are our targets. And now you’re protecting someone who was trying to interfere with our mission.’ He flipped his hand towards Baroque. ‘Why, he’s nothing but a filthy spy!’ With a snort, he walked away.

Out of the corner of her eye, Katina watched as he began to untether his horse from the nearby trees. While it riled her, Santo had a point. She was not the same anymore; her feelings had been engaged and her eyes opened.

Baroque’s bonds fell to the ground. Debora knelt by his side and began to rub life back into his wrists. Katina worked his gag free. It rested against his neck like a noose.

Stefano gazed judgementally at Katina. ‘Santo’s correct. You’ve changed. You’re too soft.’ He lingered briefly, as if he had more to say, then joined his partner.

Katina quietly released her breath. Shooting Debora and Alessandro looks of gratitude, she sheathed her dagger and helped Baroque sit up. The marks of their interrogations were livid on his flesh. His lips were cut, his nose broken; one eye was so puffy, he must have been barely able to see out of it. His clothes were ruined and the patches of exposed flesh were a combination of bruises and dirt – it was hard to distinguish which.

‘Senta, Baroque Scarpoli.’ She pushed the gag over his head. ‘This is your last chance. Tell us who you’re working for. Why you’re following Tallow.’

The spy’s one functioning eye twinkled.

‘I told you. I even told them,’ he said, indicating Stefano and Santo. ‘I work for myself. But no-one will believe me.’
He made an attempt at a chuckle. Blood sprayed the air and his cheeks. He spat on the ground and a tooth dislodged. ‘I didn’t need to lose another,’ he said dourly. He took the gag from Katina and used it to wipe his mouth before letting it fall in the dirt. He rubbed his wrists, wincing as circulation returned.

Katina rose to her feet, never taking her eyes from him. That he’d been tracking Tallow was beyond debate – they’d been watching him watch her, and that meant he knew the girl was an Estrattore. But who had hired him and for what purpose remained a mystery. Stefano and Santo were right: they should dispatch the spy now. But something made her stay her hand, and it wasn’t only the image of Dante’s death – a sight that played over and over in her mind. If Santo hadn’t killed Dante, would Tallow have come with them? Would they be loitering here in front of the Limen, afraid to return to the Elders with news of their failure?

Katina glanced at the Limen now, a nacreous sentinel in the fading light. A misty rain began to fall, deepening its radiance.

After Tallow had jumped into the canal, they’d tried to find her. Combing the fondamenta, attempting to appear indifferent while desperately searching the canals, the water-stairs, and every paline that rose out of the lagoon, in the hope they’d find her clinging to one. They checked nearby rami and calles, but there’d been no sign. The mob that had been cowed into silence was furious – one of their own, a young chandler on the cusp of manhood, had been callously killed, and by a Bond Rider.

When the soldiers arrived, they’d had to end their search, leave Serenissima quickly and covertly. It would be a while before they could openly return. They’d have to wait at least until memories of what they’d done – what Santo had done, corrected Katina – faded.

‘You couldn’t have stopped him,’ whispered Alessandro, understanding where her thoughts had taken her. Reaching out, he gently kneaded Katina’s shoulders. ‘He believes he was following orders.’

‘He was,’ said Katina. Her tone was bitter, angry. She didn’t understand why Dante had to die. It made no sense. She kept her concerns to herself. ‘Only no-one said the young man’s death had to be so dramatic, so public.’
Not when a knife across the throat or a dagger slipped between the ribs would have served equally well.

Aware Baroque was listening to their every word, she bit back what she wanted to express. Who else knew about Tallow? And what did they want? If Baroque was working for himself as he claimed, then it would be for the reward the Doge offered and, if that were the case, he would have kidnapped the girl already. But he hadn’t. He’d been following her, gathering information, just as they were. Katina didn’t like what that signified one bit.

If they killed Baroque, her questions would never be answered. They needed him to believe he’d convinced them with his tale of working alone. That he’d escaped Bond Rider justice … this time.

Katina sheathed her dagger. ‘In light of what’s happened, killing this man would be … ill considered.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Stefano, leading his horse over. ‘Are you
mad
?’

‘We need to find Tallow. When we can return to Serenissima – ‘her eyes flashed at Santo ‘– that will be our mission. This man found Tallow once. He can do so again. More than ever, we need ears and eyes in the city, ones that will not turn an Estrattore over to the Cardinale or the Doge.’

‘But he’s a spy! How many times do
we
need to say it? He works for soldi, not out of allegiance.’ Santo kicked a stone in frustration.

‘Which means he works for whoever pays the most. Am I not right?’

A smile pulled Baroque’s lips. ‘Sì.’

‘And, if we paid you enough, would you work for us?’

‘You have my word. On my honour,’ he said, placing a hand over his heart.

Santo guffawed. ‘Honour? What would you know about honour?’

‘About as much as you,’ snapped Baroque, finally hauling himself to his feet and making an effort to stand straight. He pulled what remained of his clothes around his body. ‘You snatch me from the streets of the Chandlers Quartiere and drag me over here to the mainland and start beating me, making wild accusations, crazy assumptions. Where’s the honour in that? You attack me, and why? Because I am following a little boy.’

The Bond Riders glanced at each other. Katina’s eyebrows shot up. ‘A
boy
? You know he’s a great deal more than that.’

‘So what if I do? That doesn’t prove I’m working for anyone other than myself.’ He looked around at their sceptical faces. ‘Senta, listen: I swear, I am working for myself.’

He looked at each of the Bond Riders in turn. ‘I promise I will not reveal any of this. Just let me go, please. I will look for this boy for you. I will find him and, when I do, I will tell you. No-one else but you.’ Ignoring the others, he stared long and hard into Katina’s eyes.

‘Upon what do you swear?’ she asked.

Baroque’s breath caught. ‘On my dead brother’s soul,’ he whispered.

In the dimming light and steady rain, Katina could not see the spy’s features clearly. Her eyes flickered over the other Bond Riders. They weren’t happy with what she was doing – that was clear in their faces. Well, Katina didn’t
trust him either, but killing him served no purpose except to sate some sick blood-lust. The gods knew, enough had been spilled. She resisted pulling her shirt away from her body and ripping off her gloves.

In that instant, she made up her mind. She would bear the consequences of this decision. Anyhow, if the Elders didn’t like what she’d done, she could always return and finish off Baroque Scarpoli. It was her other choice she was more worried about.

‘Very well,’ she said to the spy, ‘consider yourself hired. You now work for us.’ Debora and Alessandro glanced at each other, faces drawn in displeasure. Stefano and Santo began to laugh.

‘You stupid cavola,’ said Santo in disgust.

Stefano folded his arms across his chest and regarded Katina carefully, taking note of her appearance. ‘Where were you? You never did answer me. How come you took so long to get here? And why do you have blood all over you?’

Debora stared at her. ‘It’s not yours, is it?’

‘No.’ She hesitated and then changed her mind. ‘All right. If you must know, it’s Dante’s. I went back –’

‘What?’ The word slipped out of everyone’s mouths. Alessandro slapped his thigh in frustration. Debora made a noise of exasperation and turned away. Santo and Stefano hovered between leering at the discord between the partners and fury.

‘To make sure he was dead.’ Katina raised her voice. ‘I wanted to …’ She searched for an explanation, to tell them what had compelled her to return. ‘To say sorry.’

Stefano’s frown deepened. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘Sì, she is,’ Santo mocked. ‘Our leader, the apologist.’ He wound his horse’s reins around his wrist and leapt into the saddle. ‘What are we waiting for?’ He looked down at the group. ‘I’m not going to argue over this. Not anymore.
She can bear the consequences.’ He nodded towards Stefano. ‘Let’s get out of here before she makes us surrender ourselves to the Signori di Notte or the Cardinale.’

Stefano didn’t move. ‘You’re not telling us everything, are you?’

Katina remained silent.

‘You’ve become unpredictable, Katina, and that’s not good in a Bond Rider.’

When she didn’t respond, he clicked in exasperation and, with practised ease, mounted his stallion. ‘Where’s your horse?’

‘Birrichino? He’s back at the pledge stone. Why?’ Katina wrapped her arms around her body.

‘You have to go
back
for him?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Her voice was steady.

‘So you won’t be making the crossing with us.’

‘No, but I won’t be far behind.’

‘What? Like last time?’ Stefano nudged his horse and headed towards the Limen. ‘Well, I’m not waiting for you.’

Santo followed. ‘Me neither.’

Katina shrugged at their backs as they trotted out of the clearing. She waited till they were out of earshot. ‘I deserved that.’ She swung to face Debora and Alessandro. ‘You don’t need to wait for me either. I’ll see Baroque on his way and join you shortly.’

‘We’ll stay with you,’ said Alessandro, taking Debora’s hand.

‘No,’ said Katina. ‘I need you and Debora to cross with those two. I don’t trust them. They’ll be in the Elders’ ears before I have a chance to explain. I need you to prevent that, at best – moderate their tales at worst.’

‘But –’ began Debora.

‘No. No buts. Go. I need you on the other side more than I need you here.’ She glanced skywards. ‘The rain is a
blessing and will cover our tracks. I’ll be careful. I’ve done it before.’

Debora stared at Katina, who refused to meet her eyes. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ The brief silence was laden with meaning.

‘So do I,’ whispered Katina.

Katina watched as her partners mounted their horses and then stepped between them, grabbing Alessandro’s hand where it rested on the pommel, reaching over to link with Debora’s.

Alessandro sighed. ‘You’re up to something and I don’t like it one bit. But I also recognise that tone. I’ll do what you ask, but I’ll be waiting.’

Katina looked at his dark hair pulled back in its long ponytail, the brown eyes and broad shoulders. She noted the determined jut of his chin. She stood on tiptoe as he bent towards her and pressed her lips against his. ‘You’re not the only one who recognises tones,’ she said softly against his mouth. ‘Wait. If you must.’