Chapter Fifty-Four
Niccolo.
“You again.” The words are rough, unsettled. “I dreamed I was in hell last night. You were there.” His blade digs in deeper, voice hardening. “You knew me.”
“Yes.” I turn around slowly.
Niccolo’s hand flexes, his black-garnet ring catching the light. His knife is level with the hollow of my throat. “Why do you keep following me?”
I swallow, the pulse pushing my skin to the tip of his knife. “Because I knew you once.”
Then I see it. Niccolo’s portrait. One eye glaring at me from his pocket. He’s ripped it from the frame, the edges torn and frayed.
He covers the painting with his free hand. “When the angels attacked, Lorenzo de’ Medici ordered me to destroy all the portraits in a private room. I found this there.” His gaze drops to his ring, a pang of fear flashing through his eyes. “I don’t remember sitting for one.”
My voice cracks. “Don’t let anything happen to it.” I need him to believe me. If his portrait is destroyed, will he die like the girl Lupa possessed? I’m so close to saving him. My fingers curl, wanting to reach for him but knowing they can’t.
A ripple goes across his features. Not surprise, but knowing. “Are you my brother?”
The words wash over me, through me. I can barely breathe.
I’ve wanted to hear them for so very long.
He sheathes his blade. “When I see your face, I can almost remember who are you.”
“It’s all right,” I whisper. “I can remember for both us.”
Everything I want to remind him of fills my lungs to the brim, but there’s not enough time. He deserves more than a few stolen seconds on the threshold of the door I need to get through. He deserves a lifetime.
When I destroy the devil’s portrait—when I end the bargain the Medici made decades ago—Lupa will send him home. She promised me and she’s never broken a promise.
There’s a clamor at the end of the hall. A guard bursts out from a closed door, eyes ringed white with terror. “Signore! The angels are attacking the doors! What should we do?”
Niccolo frowns, and his face shutters like a window that has been fastened shut. He flinches at the sight of me. “How did you get in here?” He glances around the corridor fearfully. “Who are you?”
The distrust in his voice is a knife in my chest. I’ve lost him again. Slowly I tug the folded-up canvas from his pocket. He inhales sharply, hand leaping to his sword hilt. But he doesn’t draw the blade, doesn’t cut me down like he knows he should.
I take the paintbrush from my pocket. Even though the paint is mostly dried, I can still eke out some color. I flip the canvas over and write an address on the back. Casa delle Volpi.
“You’ll find answers here,” I say softly. If I fail, perhaps Giovannia can help him remember. Even if he never does, Niccolo deserves a home where he’s known and loved. I want to give him everything I can. He’s always done the same for me.
Feeling like I’m wrapping up part of my own heart, I refold his portrait. “You were telling me what you wanted me to do with the prisoner. Remember?”
Tricking my brother after he’s been lied to for years feels low, but I ignore the slippery feeling. Without Leonardo’s help, there might not be a home for him to return to. I’m fighting to bring you back, I promise those familiar hazel eyes. Please just wait a little bit longer.
I put the canvas into his hand. “Do you remember?”
He blinks down at it, lost. The expression looks so much like one of mine, I could be looking in the mirror. “Can you remind me again?”
I do.