A knock sounded on the door of Nico's chamber. Through the thick planks, he could hear whimpering cries, and knew that his sister had sought him out, and Charlotte was with her. The baby had been ill tempered of late, and accustomed to his undivided attention while Lucia rested during the afternoons, when the heat formed golden shimmers on the fields and even the flies seemed to weary to stir.

For the last hours, he had listened to the baby wail and hardened his heart, knowing that she must accustom herself to his absence no matter how it pained him.

"Enter," he said, not lifting eyes from the task that had occupied his attention for most of the day.

There was a rush of fresh summer air as Lucia paused in the doorway.

"Her tooth pains her, and only you seem able to soothe her in this mood..."

Her voice faltered as she took in the garments spread across his bed, the traveling cloak and boots, the weapons waiting in formation for his care. A leather purse filled with such coins as he possessed waited on the table next to him alongside a missive bearing the Duchess's seal.

She sighed, and sat on the bed. Though not as luxurious as her own chamber or the one he visited in the chateau, it was a place of comfort, with a goose feather tick and blankets. During the winter, fires had been laid in every hearth to banish the chill, while the thick walls also provided a measure of relief from the heat. Sunshine poured in from the small window, setting his hair aflame. He could smell the faint perfume of the herbs that his mother had planted, basil and rosemary and thyme.

"You do not have to leave, brother," she said. Settled in her lap, the baby reached out, gurgling with joy, a single tooth visible between swollen pink gums.

"I know," he said. Using long strokes, he rubbed the oil into the sword that left a burnished sheen on the metal. Shame roughened his voice. "There was rust on the blade."

She understood at once, having been subjected to the same fires that had forged him. "Nico, it is no crime that you have placed your weapons to the side for a time..."

"A time? More than a fortnight has passed since I last touched the sword, and perhaps another would have as well, had I not heard the sound of men on the march as they travel to battle. I should have done likewise many months past."

Her hand settled atop his, stopping his movements. When he turned, the eyes that had cast a golden light on his childhood were dimmed, and seemed immeasurably older. The last years had aged her far beyond the calendar span of her years. "What harm would it bring for you to remain here with us, Nico? Happiness is no paltry thing. You could be as other boys your age are, without these terrible burdens that weigh on your heart. You could enter a trade, or perhaps the household of my sister. She would welcome you, I am sure."

The simplicity, the beauty, of his sister's suggestion wrapped around his thoughts, as beguiling as the one who tempted Eve. To put aside his blades, and the darkness that traveled with them. To savor the next year's unadorned pleasures, and watch Lotte grow. In time he would laugh again, and bring joy to a mother's heart which had grown heavy with so many losses. Only a small part of the greater world would be his to know and experience, someday to be shared with a wife that he would cherish, and children who would never know his deadly past. Perhaps even God would smile upon him in time.

"And when Henry Tudor learns of your continued existence?" he asked, very gently taking his fingers from her grasp. Charlotte was reaching for him, dimples and the flash of her scarlet hair like blood in the sunshine. Ignoring her entreaties made his heart ache. "When the King of this land learns the weapon he seeks against the English resides within his own borders?"

Stillness fell over his sister, and Charlotte whimpered in protest as Lucia clutched her against her chest.

"I did not think you knew..." She began.

"Too many know!" He burst out, placing the sword on the bed between them so that he could stride through the room. "I ran from the knowledge of Lotte's father, and still it found me. Servants could have heard your words to Mother, as I did. The soldiers who travel with the Duchess, the attendants who went with you to the Field. They all could know! Your safety is founded on a secret shared by dozens! Someday it will be found out, Lucia Borgia, daughter of Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia. And then...What is the fate of a child against the needs of kings?"

Shadowed by the black of her widow's veil, Lucia's face was bloodless with shock. "What must I do?" She gathered her daughter closer despite the infant's protests. Her body tensed, as though preparing to run.

Her trust calmed his racing thoughts, and the path that they must follow unfolded with perfect clarity in his mind. "We must wait for Lotte to grow. A babe traveling through these lands..." He could not give voice to the words, but he met his sister's eyes. The knowledge passed between them, of tiny broken bodies wrapped in rags, of plague and pox and fever.

"I have already spoken with our Mother. She will ensure that should the need arise, you will disappear like smoke on the wind. To Spain, perhaps, or back to Grosetto for a time. For now, you will be safe enough under the Duchess's protection. And I..."

Kneeling, Nico put his hand on Charlotte's chest. She was glad in a fine linen gown, a gift from the Duchess, who delighted in nothing so much as heaping rich gifts upon her remaining family. Beneath it, he could feel the rapid beat of her tiny heart, like a bird in flight.

Charlotte clenched his fingers in her fists and brought them to her mouth, where she bit down with surprising strength. Despite the pain tearing at his insides, Nico smiled. In all the world there was nothing so precious to him as the babe; that he would kill for her was without question, for her first smile had chained his destiny to her more tightly than any oaths he could offer. That he would sacrifice his own happiness for her sake, he also now knew.

"I will become strong enough that no one shall ever harm those I love."

Lucia's finger touched his shoulder. Tears were sparkling in her eyes; she smiled as they painted diamond paths on her cheeks. The sunlight pouring through the windows as the afternoon bloomed to a close, turning her hair to mellow gold, and emphasizing the faint lines that bracketed her mouth, marks of sadness and loss and age.

"Your voice is that of a man now, and to hear it is to have Papa with me once more. I know that you will protect my daughter, Nico, as your mother and father once protected mine. If you swear to me that you will always hold her above all others, then I will have no fear of what the next years will hold."

"I swear it. I will make a place where Lotte can be safe."

Only a small walled city and a thousand men stood to hold back the might of an advancing army, explained the Duchess when Nico had visited her and reaffirmed his decision to leave and enter martial service. As he prepared for departure, Louise took quill and sketched an outline of her country, it's shape like a fist pressed between the divorced parts of the Emperor Charles's domain.

"My husband journeys to the aid of the king as he assembles the armies near Paris, but already the Emperor has sent his forces from the east. They will not arrive in time." She drew a long line through the country, skirting the hills and plains and dense woods. "If the army can enter into the heart of France, they will march unopposed to Paris, and then..." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "Philippe has gone with Le Bon Chevalier de Bayard to lead a force to Mézières, which is a town of no great importance, save that it is on the only road to Paris where an army of 40,000 can travel. They will try to halt their advance there, though I fear it will be of no avail."

Louise looked away, trying to hide the shine of fear that had risen to her eyes. When she turned to face him again, her voice was steady. "Do what you can to aid them, Nico, and then return here. If the fight is certain to be lost, you are not to linger, for you have been charged with the safety of my sister and her daughter in the years to come. Do you understand?"

Nico nodded, knowing the risk to Lotte and Lucia should the coming battle claim his life. "My lady." He bowed, then began pulling on his doublet and boots. In the courtyard, a company of the Duchess's guard waited with the horses and the provisions that would see them through the journey. They were doubtless aware of what had delayed his departure, though none were foolish enough to speak of it.

"And, Nico, for your courtesy..." The duchess hesitated, and began to pull at a loose thread hanging from the voluminous sleeve of her gown.

Nico suppressed a smile. "I am no teller of tales, lady." Then, still seeing the sadness that clung to her, he adopted a teasing tone. "Although if it concerns you, perhaps it would be best if you accompanied me to the battle. A Corella fighting under the Borgia banner once more would be a sight to behold."

Though she laughed, there was hunger In her face for the the life that would have been hers save for the chance of her birth. "That large jawed simpleton Charles would flee before the Borgia Bull, and I would not stop until all of Italy was united under it." Louise took one of the knives from a belt he had yet to don and held it out as though preparing for a strike. She appeared very young amidst the remains of the bed where they had dallied, her hair a tousled mane of large curls and her eyes alight with fire. "Would you follow me into battle, Nico, though I am but a weak woman?"

"I would follow you to the very ends of the earth, Louise, though it might cost me my life."

The Duchess smiled at the familiarity she would only allow in this chamber, where the fires of their blood drew sparks from the other. She did not love him, nor he her, and yet they were so alike in their very natures that words were a superfluous adornment to the flow of communication.

He knelt before her and touched the Duchess's cheek. "If in some way I can repay you for the favors you have shown to my family, you have but to ask and it will be done."

A pensive expression claimed hold of her features as she leaned forward to kiss him in farewell. "Perhaps."

A strong wind from the east greeted their arrival at the city of Mézières after many weeks of travel, and it carried the reek of smoke from a thousand distant fires. From the tops of the trees, ravens called out the promise of battle with raucous voices. They could sense the coming storm, and Nico steeled himself to suppress a shiver as they watched him approach the gates of the deserted city.

Nothing that he could see of the town or its few remaining citizens gave him any cause to hope that the Duchess had been mistaken about the outcome of the battle. Mézières seemed a town empty of all but desperation, its people having fled. Nico understood the fear that impelled their fight. Against the army which had sacked and burned Picardy, a far larger and stronger city, the paltry force of a thousand defenders could last no more than days.

The town was largely silent; there was no laughter in the hollow city square, no goods for sale in the market, no animal noises beyond the horses and what was needed to feed the army. Outside the walls, crops were left unattended. Even the very nature of the city itself seemed to ensure its weakness before the advancing army; buildings were tucked flush beneath the walls, and the gleaming gold of the thatched roofs awaited only a spark for conflagration.

Nico thought that the faint twitching of Philippe de Bourbon's smallest finger, heavy with a gold signet ring, was like the movement of a predatory cat, poised for the kill.

It was late in the day, De Bourbon having been occupied with the placement of cannon along the wall for the last hours. As he waited, Nico watched the line of smoke from beyond the Meuse River creep closer, the progress of the army slow, but as inexorable as the tide.

The small movement drew Nico's eye again; it was late in the day, and the dust from the roads still clung to his cloak. Exhaustion from the last weeks pulled at his thoughts, slowing them into a murky haze. Although he tried to banish the insistent pangs from his thoughts, he was hungry, and it put him in an ill humor.

The eyes that peered at him for an instant before returning to the stacks of parchment scattered around the table were also arresting; they were a strange golden color, framed by a fan of dark lashes that rendered the soldier's face almost beautiful, and a stark contrast to the defined musculature he could sense beneath the elaborate garments.

The missive from the Duchess fell from Philippe de Bourbon's fingers and was carelessly shoved to the side.

"What use would a beardless boy be to me?"

Shock rooted Nico in place; that his services would be rejected out of hand had never crossed his mind.

Exhaustion and hunger turned his tongue thick and useless. "My sword..."

Philippe interrupted him with a negligent wave. "A child with a sword. The fortunes of my country are saved. No doubt the Emperor will send terms of surrender as soon as he receives word." His tone was mocking. "Go home, boy, and tell my lady that I have no use for children."

Boy. Child. The indignity of it made rage bloom beneath Nico's skin. His heartbeat slowed, throwing the contents of the room and the man who sat opposite of him into sharper focus. Beneath his fingers, the wrapped pommel of his sword felt smooth, the fine leather like butter that could be grasped in an instant and drawn across the exposed throat of the man who had disregarded his skills so easily. Without thought, his muscles tensed, anticipating the fury of battle.

Although Philippe did not look up, Nico saw him stiffen in response to the threat of violence that had suddenly bloomed in the air between them.

Charlotte, he thought. Lucia.

Nico took a deep breath and then slowly released his grip on the weapon. As he prepared to speak again, his mother's soft voice intruded on his thoughts. Though he revered her skill with the blade, experience had taught him that Elizabetta de Corella's mind was her deadliest weapon.

Men are driven by desire, Nico: power, women, battle, it is all desire. If you know what a man desires, you understand the workings of his mind.

What does Philippe de Bourbon desire?

The answer waited on the tip of his tongue, ready to spring forth.

To win.

He kept his voice at a whisper, the rasp of it at odds with his youthful face.

"Then you are a fool, and not worth the trust the Duchess places in you. The armies of the Emperor march to your very doorstep and lay waste to your cities, yet you spurn the aid of one whose counsel you claim to value? If I were no more than a boy with a sword, would she have sent me here?"

De Bourbon's eyebrows raised.

"Continue."

"It less time than it would take the clocks to sound the hour, I could end your life and flee the city unscathed." Nico's eyes moved around the chamber, assessing. "Your hand reaches for the weapon in your doublet, but the knife in my own would pierce your throat before you could draw it from your belt. There are three...no, four ways that I could kill you in a moment, more if I wished for you to suffer. There are no guards placed at your door, and the window at your back opens to a deserted street, filled with shadows. Left, past the wall and the church to the city gates, where I would pass unnoticed, another boy running from a doomed city."

The golden eyes were no longer complacent; they appeared to measure him. "I am more than double your weight, and..."

"And you are strong far beyond the normal measure of a man. And yet you would never touch me."

The utter certainty in Nico's tone stayed Philippe's hand. "A sword in the dark?" The twitching finger resumed it's rhythmic pattern on the table. "How did my lady come to know one of your ilk?"

"My family has served hers for many years," he replied, letting the name of Borgia hang like a threat in the air.

"Come closer, into the light."

Nico strode closer, and found his chin seized in a firm grasp, lifting so that his features could be studied.

"So young...with a face that is almost beautiful. Find yourself a bed in the hall, Nico, and I will think more on how you can be of use."