Tetia sucks in a nervous breath. 'I am.'
The silversmith unfolds the sackcloth and a wide smile illuminates his wrinkled face.
Three solid silver tiles gleam. Tetia's pulse races. Half of her is amazed at their beauty and the other half horrified at how wilfully she disobeyed Teucer and effectively immortalised the very thing he wanted destroyed.
Mamarce slides the slabs across so she can see more closely. 'There is burring on some edges. They all need to be gently filed away and then properly polished. I thought perhaps you'd like to re-cut some of the lines, give them greater definition.'
Tetia's fingers slide over the silver. Cool and shiny, almost like ice that will never melt. 'They're so smooth. So rich. They feel like slices of heaven.'
Mamarce smiles and remembers the first time his master let him touch the precious metal.
Tetia is mesmerised. Pesna was indeed wise. Her work had been far from finished when she'd shown it to him. The addition of silver seems to have breathed life into every figure in every scene. She peers closely. The face of the netsvis shows even more doubt than she'd remembered. The unknown demon is larger and more menacing. There is so much desperation and finality in the embrace of the lovers that it makes her shiver.
There seems only one flaw.
The burring from the mould has left three tiny marks on the face of the baby at the lovers' feet – one that looks like a teardrop and two that look like horns. Tetia puts a hand to her stomach to quieten a rumble.
Mamarce's wise old eyes watch her every move.
He scratches his beard and wonders if she will trade the secret of the Gates of Destiny in return for what he has seen in her palm, but has not told her.
Her own destiny. A bloody but momentous one.
CHAPTER 27
Present Day Carabinieri HQ, Venice From the moment she enters the cool shade of the police building, Valentina knows something is seriously wrong.
Voices are hushed. All laughter and lightness have been sucked from the corridors.
Maybe the top brass are visiting. Or worse – some politician has announced further cuts in force budgets.
She climbs the stairs and turns towards her room. Office Manager Rafael de Scalla is heading her way. 'Carvalho is looking for you.'
'Why?' Valentina takes her bag off her shoulder.
He doesn't stop, frightened his face might give away the snippet of awful gossip he's heard from the Control Room. 'You best talk to him.'
She hangs back and checks her cellphone. Damn! Three missed calls from her boss.
The major's door is open. She walks in with the phone held high. 'Sono realmente spiacente. I put it on mute at the morgue, and I've only just noticed.'
He looks up from an untidy desk. Tired eyes. Deep wrinkled forehead. Three plastic coffee cups, one used as an ashtray. Valentina thought he'd given up smoking years ago. It must be worse than she feared.
'Sit down. Please.' He waves her to a chair.
Her heart drums. She wonders if she's done something wrong – seriously wrong.
Carvalho bites at a thumbnail and looks pensively at her. 'Antonio is dead. Your cousin is dead. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this.'
Valentina has to replay the message in her head. 'Scusi?'
'A boating accident this morning. He was heading out from the mooring at Fondamenta San Biagio, out into the laguna.'
Valentina stares at the wall behind her boss's head. She's heard that sometimes people feel numb at times like this, but never really understood what numb meant.
Until now.
'I don't understand. What happened?'
'We're not really sure yet. It looks like a gas cooker exploded in the cabin. That's what the boat crews think.' He pauses to censor his thoughts, to leave out that the blast was so intense it severed his torso and shredded most of his body. 'Forensics and engine squads are all over the debris. There'll be a full investigation.'
She bites her lip. Way down inside she feels the first stab of pain. 'Antonio? You're sure? There's no mistake?'
His face tells her there isn't. 'No, I saw his body myself.'
Shock starts to roll over her. Leaves her speechless. Carvalho watches it ripple through her. 'Can I get you something?' He searches for water and tissues.
Valentina snaps out of her silence. 'Have you – have you – spoken to Antonio's parents?'
He flinches. 'I've just come from there.'
'Are they okay? Is his mother all right?'
Vito sighs. 'No, she's not all right. Nor his father. Nor you, by the look of things.' He moves around his desk, takes her by the shoulders. 'I'll fix for a driver to take you home. Or to your aunt and uncle's, if you prefer.'
Valentina winces. His touch of reassurance somehow unlocks the floodgates. The pain is there now all right, but she won't let it show. 'No, I'm fine, grazie. I can drive myself.' She knows he can see the tears in her eyes, but still she's determined to be strong. Professional. 'What about the funeral?' she asks, taking a tissue just in case.
'Scusi?' Vito is shocked.
'The funeral. I need to tell his parents and the rest of the family about the burial, the release of the body, what arrangements can be made.'
'Later, Valentina. These things can wait.' He pauses while she blows her nose. 'Personnel will be in touch. They'll help you all. The force will show its respect and honour him properly.'
The last comment scares her. The thought of uniforms, guards of honour, gun salutes – it all makes everything horribly official. Permanent.
'Are you sure you don't want me to get someone to take you home?' He starts to lead her to the door.
'No. No, I'm fine,' she snaps. 'Really, I can manage on my own. Molte grazie.' She pulls away from him. 'I appreciate you telling me personally, here in private. It was considerate of you.' She hopes she's not being rude or ungrateful as she heads for the door. She holds her breath all the way down the corridor and almost falls as she rushes down the back stairs. Only when she reaches the garage does she let out the tears, and when she does, it feels as if they'll never stop.
CAPITOLO XXII
666 BC
The Eastern Silver Mine, Etruria It's almost daylight when an exhausted Tetia emerges from the silversmith's workshop. Although her task is completed, she senses that Mamarce wished her to stay. That there was something left unsaid between them.
Larth doesn't speak as they ride through the breaking dawn and she can't help but doze against his broad back.
The journey gives her time to think.
Pesna will be pleased with the finished pieces. They will overshadow all his other treasures and make her the envy of artists across Etruria.
But there is still the problem of Teucer. Soon she must confess that she disobeyed him. Thanks to her, his awful visions have come to life and have been immortalised in silver tiles, which the magistrate now expects him to bless.
The depths of her deception make her sad. Their lives are drifting apart.
Larth pulls the stallion to a halt. 'We're here.'
Tetia doesn't move. Her mind is on the Gates of Destiny. Already they represent the greatest thing she's created and her worst betrayal – lying, cheating and deceiving her husband when he needed her most.
'I said we're here. Now get down – I am tired and still have to ride back.'
Tetia dismounts. She is so drained – part from the work and part from her pregnancy – that her knees buckle and she falls over.
Larth glances at her. Tugs the stallion's reins, wheels round and rides off without a word.