Warrior Genius

  Giacomo looked at his friends. The offer was tempting, but in the end, he decided he’d rather stay at the palace.

  “I want to be here when Aaminah wakes up,” Giacomo said.

  “I understand,” Ajeet said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Kavi trotted away.

  Pietro swooped down on Tito. “I heard all the commotion. It sounds like the mission was a success! I knew you four would come through.” Then he paused and tilted his head, sensing something was amiss. “Wait … where’s Aaminah?”

  Giacomo and his friends set to telling him the whole awful tale.

  28

  THE FOUNDRY

  Cries and screams echoed through the dungeon. Zanobius listened to his fellow prisoners’ anguish day and night, unable to help them from inside his iron coffin.

  Nerezza had sealed the metal box with her Genius’s beam. Hundreds of metal spikes protruded from the walls, so if Zanobius shifted in any direction, the barbs pierced his skin. This was one cage he wasn’t going to be able to break free of.

  Through a narrow slit, Zanobius saw his cell door swing open and four soldiers march in. Grunting, they rolled Zanobius’s coffin out of the dungeon and through a labyrinth of dimly lit tunnels. The wheels clunked over uneven stones, and the air turned hotter and smokier. With a clatter, the soldiers heaved Zanobius up a ramp and into a huge underground foundry, where workers clad in sooty aprons stoked blazing fires and poured glowing liquid metal into giant blocks of plaster.

  Is that Nerezza’s plan? Zanobius wondered. To cast me in bronze and display me in her throne room like some kind of trophy?

  If that was the case, Zanobius had only himself to blame for his predicament. He was still berating himself for showing Nerezza mercy, knowing she was incapable of showing him any.

  The soldiers wheeled Zanobius onto a platform that was so large even Victoria could stand on it, though how Nerezza’s Genius had gotten into the underground foundry was a mystery.

  Nerezza flicked her brush, and Victoria struck the coffin with a violet beam, breaking the seal on the door. It fell open and hit the platform with a heavy clang. Zanobius made a break for it but took only two steps before a spiral of light wound around him, freezing him in place.

  “Stay put,” Nerezza said, disdain engraved in her wrinkles. “Minister Xiomar?”

  An old man dragged himself up the platform steps, out of breath. He was followed by a burly worker with a soot-marked face who set a large block of plaster on a table next to the Supreme Creator.

  “Open it,” Nerezza ordered.

  With a hammer and chisel, the worker split the plaster in two. The pieces fell away, revealing an exact replica of Zanobius’s arm. It was like the arm Savino had sculpted, except this one had been cast in dark bronze, its hand clenched in a fist.

  “Beautiful work, Your Excellency.” Xiomar turned to the worker. “Put it in place.”

  The worker slipped the hollow end of the bronze sculpture over Zanobius’s stump.

  Xiomar smiled. “A perfect fit.”

  That was when it hit Zanobius. There was only one explanation for Nerezza wanting to repair him. She wants to control me.

  Zanobius thrashed against his sacred geometry restraints.

  Nerezza watched Zanobius struggle, the foundry’s flames reflecting in her eyes. “I wish Ugalino were here to see this.”

  She gestured sharply with her brush, and Zanobius felt his chest ache. When he looked down, his pattern was ablaze with the outline of a cube.

  “Bound to me through the Creator’s Pattern and the energy of the five Universal Solids—” Nerezza intoned.

  Those words … I’ve heard them before …

  With another swish of her brush, Nerezza changed the shape to the triangular-faced icosahedron. “You are a Tulpa—”

  The ache became a burning.

  Ugalino recited the same incantation to me, many times …

  The tetrahedron appeared. “My creation—”

  The burning became hotter. His insides were on fire.

  I’ll forget everything again …

  The octahedron flashed. “Mine to order—”

  The last shape—the dodecahedron—flared. “Mine to control!”

  With Nerezza’s final flourish, the end of Zanobius’s sculpted arm liquefied. Tendrils of bronze twisted up his biceps and across his shoulder and chest. They seared his skin, burrowing into him. He pictured the metal snaking through his insides, wrapping around his mind, strangling every last memory from it.

  Zanobius shut his eyes and fought with all his strength to rip the impostor arm from his body. But he couldn’t move a muscle.

  Once the burning in his chest faded, Zanobius opened his eyes again. He found that he could still recall everything, including, most important, the reason he had come to Virenzia. He locked onto Nerezza’s smug face and obliterated any thoughts of mercy. Victoria’s gem dimmed, and as soon as his sacred geometry restraint had vanished completely, Zanobius lunged.

  “Stop!” Nerezza commanded.

  Zanobius froze in motion, his outstretched hand inches from Nerezza’s throat. The corners of her mouth twisted into a satisfied grin.

  “The Tulpa is yours now,” Xiomar said.

  “I need to be absolutely certain,” Nerezza said, then shouted to one of her guards, “Bring him in!”

  Two armored soldiers escorted a prisoner in tattered clothing onto the platform. At first, Zanobius thought Nerezza’s influence was muddling his mind, but as the prisoner stepped closer, there was no question whom Zanobius was looking at.

  “Enzio?” he said weakly.

  The boy’s cheeks were sunken, his face bruised. Enzio stared back blankly, as if he didn’t recognize Zanobius.

  “What did you do to him?!” Zanobius spat.

  “Silence!” Nerezza shouted, and with a muffled grunt, Zanobius’s jaw locked.

  “Now, throw Enzio into the molten metal.” Nerezza commanded him, pointing down at the foundry floor, where giant crucibles filled with white-hot liquid bubbled.

  I won’t! Zanobius wanted to shout, but he was still unable to speak. To his horror, he watched himself lumber over to Enzio, lift him off his feet, and hold him over the railing.

  The wave of heat seemed to snap Enzio out of his stupor, and he started to struggle. “Please, Zanobius, don’t do this!” he begged.

  Zanobius looked into Enzio’s fear-filled eyes. This shouldn’t be happening, he wanted to reply. The whole reason he had left Giacomo and fled hundreds of miles was to prevent something like this from ever occurring again. He cursed Ugalino for turning him violent, he cursed Nerezza for making him into a monster, and if he had believed in the Creator, he would have cursed him too.

  Zanobius hoisted Enzio over his head. Sweat dripped down the boy’s face. He screamed.

  “That’s enough,” Nerezza interrupted. “You can put him down.”

  Zanobius lowered Enzio back onto the platform. The boy collapsed against the rail, breathing heavily and wiping his face.

  Nerezza nodded to the armored soldiers. “Take him back to his cell.” The soldiers pulled Enzio to his feet and dragged him away.

  With the handle of her brush, Nerezza tapped the bronze plating that covered half of Zanobius’s torso.

  “Tell me, Zanobius. Have you ever visited Rachana?”

  * * *

  The morning sun sparkled on the Bay of Callisto. Nerezza took Victoria up higher, then banked away from the water and toward a rocky outcrop beyond the city’s walls. They arced over the top of the cliff, then glided down into a cavernous space inside the earth. Three winged ships were docked within the hollow mountain.

  Teams of Marinai filed belowdecks, where they would soon take their seats in the galleys. Each vessel required nearly a hundred wing-rowers to fly. Nerezza had requested double that so teams could rotate. The journey to Rachana would be much longer than the one to Niccolo’s villa.

  Companies of soldiers were milling about, but as soon
as they saw Nerezza, the troops scrambled into orderly columns and stood at attention in front of the ships.

  Victoria landed on the deck of the largest ship, the wood groaning under her weight. Zanobius dismounted, then helped Nerezza down.

  Minister Strozzi, clad in a golden suit of armor, marched over to Nerezza and bowed. He scowled at Zanobius, but if he disapproved of the Tulpa joining them, he didn’t bring it up. “We’re almost ready to depart, Your Eminence.” In the crook of his arm, he cradled a helmet with carved wings and a brim that stuck out like a bird’s beak. “But may I speak honestly?”

  “If you must.”

  “Rachana is a formidable enemy. I’ve gathered our best, but I fear that three ships alone won’t be sufficient to achieve a decisive victory. If we send more forces by sea—”

  “No, that will take far too long,” Nerezza said, cutting him off. “Giacomo and the Tools might be gone by then. We leave today.”

  Heavy footfalls thudded across the deck, and Nerezza turned to find a red-faced Barrolo heading her way. “You had assured me Enzio was being treated well!” he sputtered. “I just saw his injuries. What did you do to him?”

  Nerezza looked past him at Enzio, who was standing with a group of young recruits, all of whom wore brown uniforms. His contusions had begun to heal but were still apparent. “Don’t act so surprised,” Nerezza said. “He underwent the same interrogation methods we’ve always used. They never bothered you before.”

  “He’s my son!”

  “That doesn’t mean he should receive special treatment,” Nerezza said coldly.

  “But he’s certainly in no condition to take part in a battle.”

  “Don’t worry,” Minister Strozzi interjected. “He’ll be with the archers on deck. As it turns out, he’s an excellent bowman, and we need as many able-bodied fighters as possible for this mission.”

  Barrolo began to protest again, and Nerezza silenced him with a stern glare. “Your son is coming. But one more outburst and I’ll leave you behind.”

  Barrolo shrank back without another word.

  Nerezza called Zanobius to her side, and they approached the ship’s bow. She raised her arms, greeting the rows of soldiers gathered below her.

  “My loyal sons and daughters,” she began, her voice amplified and carried by the cavern’s walls. “Today marks Zizzola’s return to glory! For too long our empire has languished, forced into inaction by an outdated and ill-conceived peace accord.

  “Though most of you were too young to remember Zizzola’s last conflict with Rachana, you have all heard accounts of its savage, bloodthirsty warriors. And now, I have learned that the fugitive Giacomo Ghiberti and his companions have sought refuge with Rachana’s samraat. Giacomo has already acquired one of the Sacred Tools—the Compass—and if he is not stopped, he may soon find the others.”

  Nerezza paused as gasps and surprised murmurs filtered through the army.

  “An alliance between Giacomo and the samraat would be disastrous. With the Sacred Tools at the empire’s disposal, Rachana could transport its warriors into the heart of Virenzia and use its Geniuses to raze the city to the ground. We cannot let that happen!”

  The soldiers roared their agreement.

  “So before the Rachanans can strike at us, we will take the fight to them. We will reclaim the Compass and bring the samraat and his warriors to their knees!”

  Again, the soldiers responded with approval, their voices booming like thunder.

  As soon as her army had marched aboard the ships, Nerezza ordered Minister Strozzi to take her fleet up. He blew a long, low note from a large animal horn. From the decks of all three ships, soldiers began to beat drums.

  Pulleys squealed and ropes pulled taut. The ship’s wings slowly rose, then lowered. The flapping gradually got faster, then the ship lurched. While some of the crew stumbled around her, Nerezza held her balance as her ship ascended through the opening in the cavern’s roof. Her other two ships followed.

  Once they cleared the mountain, the three ships sailed forth into the sunlit sky.

  The war drums beat a steady rhythm. It was music to Nerezza’s ears.

  29

  IN TIMES GONE BY

  After returning from the stables, Milena had refused to leave Aaminah’s bedside in the palace. For days Yaday and his healers buzzed around Aaminah, administering various poultices, prayers, and offerings. But Aaminah didn’t respond to any of the treatments. She and Luna lay next to each other in the bed, their breathing soft.

  During the daytime, Pietro, Savino, and Giacomo joined Milena’s vigil, but the nights were long and lonely. While her friends slumbered in their quarters, Milena wandered up and down the palace halls, hoping to tire herself out. Patrolling guards eyed her suspiciously, but they understood that she was one of the girls who had helped save the horse-Geniuses, so they left her alone.

  Over the course of several nights, she must have passed the painting of the Rachana-Zizzola peace accord a hundred times. She imagined Pietro standing at his easel all those years ago, mixing his paints, Tito by his side. The entire painting was a wonder to behold, yet even though the main subject was Emperor Callisto signing the treaty, the shafts of light coming through the windows directed the viewer’s eye toward Nerezza’s black-robed figure, and cast her in a warm, ethereal glow. Surely, Pietro hadn’t done that by accident.

  One morning, after such a night of staring at the painting, Milena decided to ask Pietro again about his first visit to Rachana.

  “As I already said, there’s not much to tell.” Pietro took a seat on a long bench in the palace’s hallway. Savino and Giacomo joined him. “I didn’t do much except paint.”

  “What was Nerezza doing?”

  “I … I’m not sure. She was with her father a lot.” Pietro leaned on his cane and pushed himself up. “I should probably go check on Tito.”

  Milena read Pietro’s hesitation as proof that he was holding something back. She grabbed his sleeve and shoved some tea in his direction. “You just got here. I’m sure Tito’s fine, but obviously you’re not. Why don’t you want to talk about that time in your life?”

  “Because there’s no use dredging up the past,” Pietro snapped.

  “There’s no use keeping it to yourself,” Milena argued. “What happened?”

  Pietro snatched his sleeve back. “Nerezza and I were more than simply acquaintances. Is that what you’d like to know?”

  “Aha!” Giacomo pointed at Pietro, as if he had caught him in a lie. “I knew you’d told me you and Nerezza were friends.”

  Milena gave Giacomo a knowing look. “I think he means they were more than friends.” She turned back to her teacher. “Is that right?”

  “It was … complicated,” Pietro muttered.

  Milena guided her teacher back to the bench. “Then explain. Please. We want to know the truth.”

  Pietro took a sip of tea, let out a sigh, and began his story.

  “Nerezza and I were seventeen. We had known each other since we were children, but only as classmates. We had studied under the same artist.”

  Pietro explained that Emperor Callisto didn’t usually involve Nerezza in political matters, but she had persuaded her father to let her join the delegation to Rachana, insisting that she needed more experience.

  “This was the first time Nerezza and I had spent long stretches together. Aboard the ship, there wasn’t much to do except draw and talk, and it was a long journey across the sea. By the time we arrived here at the Rachanan palace, we had become inseparable.”

  And while Emperor Callisto and the Council members negotiated the armistice with Ajeet’s father, Nerezza and Pietro explored the palace grounds, their Geniuses by their sides.

  “Back then, Tito was still able to sit on my shoulder,” Pietro said wistfully. “Anyway, I was taken by the palace’s beautiful architecture and its gardens, and soon, I became taken with Nerezza, as well.”

  But Pietro didn’t believe the emperor’s d
aughter would ever think of him in a romantic way. “She was royalty. I was just a poor artist from the countryside. So I kept my feelings to myself.”

  Then one afternoon, as they strolled through the gardens, Pietro had gotten the shock of his life when Nerezza kissed him.

  “Are we talking about the same Nerezza?” Savino said. “How could you have fallen for a woman who made it her mission to kill Geniuses?”

  “She wasn’t always like that,” Pietro said. “At least not early on in our relationship. But I began to notice a change in her around the time her father died.”

  Five years after their visit to Rachana, Emperor Callisto was assassinated in a plot to overthrow the government and replace the Council of Ten. That was the official story, anyway. In studios and taverns around Virenzia, rumors began to spread that Nerezza might have been involved in her father’s demise. Some suggested that she had hired the assassin personally. Others insisted there was no assassin at all.

  “You think Nerezza killed her own father?” Giacomo asked.

  “I never learned the truth,” Pietro said. “The Nerezza I cared for seemed incapable of such an evil act, but looking back, I’m not so sure. In the months leading up to her father’s death, I had noticed Nerezza acting withdrawn and secretive.”

  Pietro explained that shortly after she took power, Nerezza became more ruthless, imprisoning anyone who spoke out against her. She believed that Zizzola had grown weak under her father’s rule and that it was up to her to reestablish order and strength.

  “Nerezza demanded absolute loyalty from her subjects. That was something I could no longer give her myself, so I finally put an end to our relationship.”

  “I’m guessing she didn’t take it well?” Milena said.

  “She cursed me, called me a spineless coward, and from that day forward did everything in her power to ruin me.”

  Pietro’s career had been built on commissioned portraits for the city’s wealthiest citizens. But after their breakup, Nerezza forbade anyone to hire him, threatening people’s livelihoods and families if they hung his paintings on their walls. Baldassare Barrolo was the only one who continued to pay Pietro for his art, but his patronage remained a secret.