EPILOGUE
Epilogue
O n the marble inlay floor, Selene bent her head, both hands on her sword. The light in the chapel dimmed to red as an unseen choir sang from the nave. Her knees were already beginning to ache from the pose.
‘Cry not as we farewell our departed. Rage instead. Rage, rage against time itself for taking him from us.’
‘ Vale ,’ Selene said softly.
‘ Vale , saevus defensor et servus Dei .’
Farewell, cruel defender and servant of God.
‘ Vale. ’
Her heart broke as she dipped her chin at the body laid out on gold and cream tasselled silk. She looked right past the others—Caterina with her gatling on the marble, hands atop it as she bowed almost to the floor, Gabriel with his knives—to the still face of the Exorcist Primus.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Vale, Cesare .
He wouldn’t get a funeral like this or any funeral at all. After God rose again, his shadow had been widely disavowed by the rest of the Vatican leadership. The Imperium Politikos and all Cesare’s lieutenants. The entire hierarchy had turned against him. Despite what he’d done to her, and what he’d tried to take, she could not hate him. He had been her teacher. Her only remaining family. And it ached bone-deep to witness another pillar of her world discredited.
First her father, who had not deserved it. Now her uncle, who had.
The fresh wound ached the most.
She missed Jules’s presence at her side more than anything right now. And she itched to be outside his cell with her hand on her gun. Being away from him made her insides squirm with the unknown of it all. What could be happening to him when she wasn’t there?
The last time they’d been separated he died .
No matter how many times Selene told herself that Jules had not, in fact, died, her truth persisted. She’d lost him. Finding him again only took away some of the sting. She forced herself to remain still, ignoring the scream of aching muscles and bruised knees, her ribs which had been cracked and mended by Lucia, but still seemed to remember.
Adriano de Sanctis found Selene later, pulling her aside. ‘Don’t look so worried. He’s been pardoned.’ Selene bit her lip, holding in her questions. ‘Cesare’s last official action was condemning a man to death, and so, naturally, it has become paramount to absolutely everybody that that man must live.’ He smiled slightly, but his eyes were full of the same grief she felt.
‘Is it official?’
‘Close enough.’
The knots in her chest only loosened an inch—she wouldn’t feel better until Jules was free. She cast a cool glance toward Ambrose, who stood nearby. ‘It’s remarkable how quickly rats abandon a sinking ship.’
Adriano nodded. ‘Nobody recalls how enthusiastically they supported him now. To hear them speak of it, the Imperium Bellum worked alone with nobody the wiser.’
And that was how history would remember. A new dogma was already being written. The tale of the Imperium Bellum, Cesare Alleva, the Shadow of God, who broke all the rules and forced God away. All while the Exorcist Primus’ body was still warm.
Their corporeal God had chosen to save them, and sacrificed himself, leaving his body in their charge. Or so the stories said. He was a warrior god and his rage at having his eternal rest disturbed had destroyed Cesare. Then he’d turned his back on humanity forever.
More lies. Lies upon lies, wrapping this place like a shroud.
Adriano saw the way her lip curled and he chuckled. ‘You know, your father used to wear that exact expression when he was particularly disappointed in others.’ He touched his own incisor. ‘His lip would snag on this tooth right here, just like yours is doing now.’
Selene schooled her expression, pressing her lips together.
Adriano drew a book from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘I think this is yours.’
It was her father’s notebook, seized the morning she and Jules were arrested.
She pressed it between her palms. ‘I never thought I’d see it again.’
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘And maybe you shouldn’t.’
She thought about that later as she walked through the Vatican gardens, after finally having been released from her duty. Nobody was sorry to see her go. She had thought the Alleva name could not lose any more of its lustre, but she’d been wrong. Now she was the last Alleva, and all Rome expected her to be just as much of a disappointment.
At least Matteo and Cesare started out right , they said. She’s been rotten from the start.
She curled her fingers around her father’s notebook, smoothing her thumb over the raised leather. Why shouldn’t she have it? What more was there to know? Seven years after the fact, she’d finished what her father had started. The words on these pages were history now.
A movement in her peripheral vision had her drawing her sword an inch, but then hands wrapped around her waist. Selene knew those hands. She let go of her sword, reaching back for Jules as his lips found the hollow of her throat and he stumbled with her into a small pencil pine. She laughed, inhaling the spicy scent of her own body wash from his skin.
‘I’m a free man again.’ His hair was wet, dripping down his cheeks. ‘An official pardon.’
She turned to face him. ‘So I hear.’
Her relief was so intense it might almost be considered pain.
She pulled his head down, kissing him with all the fury she’d bottled up at seeing him imprisoned.
Jules groaned against her mouth, pulling her an impossible inch tighter to his body. She could feel his heart thundering through the thin fabric.
Her hand twisted in his shirt. ‘Idiot. You’ll freeze.’
He stole another kiss, sighing against her lips. ‘Worth it.’
She took his hand, pulling him back toward her rooms, trying not to let him see her smile. He grinned broadly, lifting her hand to brush a kiss against her wrist.
The day after the Exorcist Primus’ funeral, Gabriel was found dead in the frosted shade of a large cypress. It did not make any official reports. Selene wasn’t sure when each new wound would stop hurting—she hadn’t even really liked Gabriel.
A day later, two more bodies were found. Once they’d been identified—by their teeth, apparently—it got around that they were in the execution arm of the Vatican. Caterina had knocked lightly on their door late at night to impart the news.
Selene knew better than most that Cesare kept his own council. Even when he had condemned Jules to death, he had kept his reasons secret beyond a tight circle of his most loyal lieutenants. Gabriel. Ambrose. The executioners.
After Caterina left, Selene told Jules what she’d learned. He paled and she suspected she knew what he was thinking—that the people who knew about him were turning up dead.
‘I’m sure it’s a coincidence.’
He shook his head. ‘No such thing.’
The hammering of fists on the door to Selene’s rooms made them both snap their heads up. Selene’s gun was in her hand before she knew it.
When she eased the door open, Florentina tumbled in, tears streaking her face. She looked between Selene and Jules then threw herself against his chest and sobbed big, racking sobs. But when she spoke, her words were for Selene. ‘I’m so scared. They’re coming for me next. Please … Selene. Help me.’
Selene and Jules shared a look.
As Jules ushered Florentina through to the sunroom where there was a steaming pot of tea waiting, Selene noticed a large parchment envelope that had been pushed beneath the door. She only opened it after Florentina had fallen asleep. Wordlessly she handed it to Jules.
‘This is bizarre,’ Jules said, turning the page over. ‘Do they really not know?’
Selene carded her fingers through her hair. ‘I don’t know. And … I don’t know who to ask.’
The letter of pardon had arrived, but it was addressed to Eliot D’Alessandro. As far as the current Vatican leadership were concerned, Jules Lacroix didn’t exist.
Cesare had kept his secrets close.
Jules dropped the letter onto the table. ‘This means I’m not really safe at all.’
Selene shook her head wordlessly, but she couldn’t deny it. Without a pardon in his name, he was at risk.
Picking it up, she frowned as she looked closer at the thick wax seal at the bottom. ‘What … what’s this emblem?’
‘Didn’t you hear?’ Florentina raked blonde hair off her face as she leaned in the doorway, coming to sit on the arm of Selene’s chair. ‘They’ve recalled the College.’
‘What does that mean?’ Jules asked.
‘It means the College is in charge,’ Florentina answered.
A chill unrelated to the temperature trickled down Selene’s spine. ‘Only until they select a new Exorcist Primus,’ she interjected. ‘It won’t be long.’
Florentina shook her head, her eyes wide and her mouth pressed into a worried line. ‘No. They say they won’t choose before they investigate what happened. They hung a decree on the doors of St Peter’s barely an hour ago. They intend to root out the corruption in the Vatican.’
Selene went to her window. In the square below stood a figure.
Extremum Filum.
She shivered.
As though he felt her eyes on him, the Filum turned and looked up at her. She resisted the impulse to pull away and held still, her hand trembling on the curtain. Selene felt the charge in the air as they looked at each other, though their eyes didn’t meet. They could not. Because the man had an eyeless gunmetal mask on his face that would never come off.
With the Exorcist Primus dead, they were back.
It was late—or maybe early—when Jules woke with a start. The embers of the fire were burning low, and with a quiet groan he pushed himself off the brocaded chaise and tossed another log on the fire.
It was quiet and he wasn’t sure what had woken him.
Florentina was asleep in his place in the bed, and he scowled at her as he knelt beside Selene. She murmured as he brushed gentle fingers against the bruises on her back and ribs. He pulled her hair off her shoulder and moved the silken strap of her camisole aside so he could press a light kiss to her warm skin. Even battered and bruised with that haunted look in her eyes, she was perfect to him.
She was always perfect to him.
His fingertips trailed along the vertebrae at the back of her neck, over the tiny tattoos. ‘I won’t run again,’ he breathed, so quietly it barely stirred the still.
She didn’t wake so he regretfully moved away, drawn back to the fire by its dancing light. He turned the small folded note between his fingers, then tossed it into the flames.
Written in Sparrow’s distinctive hand, it had been waiting for him when he was released from the Vatican cells.
The Vatican is already devouring itself, and it will only get worse.
St Peter’s is more dangerous now than ever. Especially for you.
Leave tonight.
Sparrow
Jules watched the note catch alight, its edges blackening and curling.
He wouldn’t run. Not again.