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L ady Pulissena sized up Nonna Ursula with a single glance.

She took in the cloudy eyes, the hearing horn, the heavy cane leaning against the table by the bed.

She also noted the bump on her forehead and the black-and-purple bruising that extended down the side of her face into her nose, and the way she rested against the pillows, pain puckering the skin of her forehead.

In aching pity, Lady Pulissena said, “Ursula . . .”

Nonna Ursula stared, looking through the shadows in her room toward Lady Pulissena. She must have recognized the voice, and disdained the pity, for she pointed her shaking finger; and without hesitation, she charged into the fray. “Pulissena! You ordered the murder of my son!”

“Way to tell her, Mamma!” Elder enthused, and settled down to enjoy the show.

Immediately Lady Pulissena fired back a bolt. “He killed my husband and I was left a widow in exile. Your son deserved to die!”

“Your husband tried to seize power from the house of Leonardi. He deserved to die.”

Old Maria sat beside the fire, staring at Lady Pulissena as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“I told the old goat he couldn’t win against Prince Escalus, but he insisted we do it for his son. His son. ” Lady Pulissena breathed hard and painfully.

Cal helped her toward a comfortable, pillowed chair by the window, but Lady Pulissena pointed toward Old Maria’s wooden chair beside the bed. “There,” she said. “There. If we’re going to fight, I want the old grimalkin to hear me.”

“You’re loud enough Mephistopheles himself can hear you in hell.” Nonna Ursula scowled. “Sit down if you’re going to!”

“I’m getting there as fast as I can,” Lady Pulissena snapped.

That was the first notice Nonna Ursula had about her onetime friend’s worn and crippled joints. She watched as Cal helped Lady Pulissena hobble over, and as he and I lowered her into the seat. “You’re a shipwreck!” Nonna Ursula exclaimed.

When Lady Pulissena caught her breath, she agreed. “Battered on the rockbound coast of age.”

Nonna Ursula handed me one of the blankets from her bed to wrap around Lady Pulissena’s knees. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

While the two women contemplated each other, I summoned Old Maria and commanded she send to the kitchen for warm spiced wine, bread, fruit, and cheese.

“So . . . about Bastiano’s son,” Nonna Ursula suggested.

“As soon as Bastiano married me, I saw the boy for what he was. A sneaking little weakling waiting for his father to die, stealing what he couldn’t have for free, a jack-a-dandy, no ambition—”

“Iseppo was the greatest swordsman to run away from every fight,” Nonna Ursula said.

Lady Pulissena’s laugh sounded like a creaky door.

“You ever had a way with words, Ursula. Iseppo died fleeing the first battle. One of Escalus’s guards had to chase him down to kill him.

Bastiano was shocked by the boy’s cowardice, if you can believe that.

” She’d slipped from a confrontational mode to a conversational tone.

Nonna Ursula picked up the pace. “If it was all for his son, why did you take the reins when Bastiano began to slip? I know it was you, Pulissena. You used your knowledge gleaned from our friendship to sabotage Escalus. If it hadn’t been for Barnadine’s fierce defense, he would never have fought his way free.

Then in the end . . . you resorted to drugs and assassins. ”

“I didn’t!”

“Didn’t use our friendship? Do you expect me to believe that?”

“No, I did that,” Lady Pulissena admitted frankly.

“Bastiano, who had begun the fight with all fire, in the death of his son, withered and wept, a pitiful shell of a man. He’d led us to destruction, then faded before the final battle.

Yet we were condemned by his actions, and I .

. . did envy you your position as mother to the podestà.

I did what was needed to win. But—she held up one finger in front of Nonna Ursula’s face—“once all the battles were done, and the house of Acquasasso was vanquished, I did not order the assassination of your son. I did not.”

Nonna Ursula shoved that finger aside. “Who did?”

Lady Pulissena grinned, her wrinkled lips stretched tight over her teeth. “Your séance didn’t uncover the butcher?” Apparently, this woman had experienced at least one of Nonna Ursula’s séances.

“You know better,” Nonna Ursula said without heat.

Lady Pulissena sat back. “In all the long years since, I’ve never heard the slightest whisper of the villain’s name.”

With those white, clouded eyes, Nonna Ursula stared at Lady Pulissena, forcing her to say it all.

“I came here to tell you that. I want to come home. I want to spend my last days in Verona. I want to be with my friends . . . who are left. By my sum and substance, by the divine breath of sweet Jesus, I swear I did not, in any way, wish or work for the death of your son.”

I looked at Cal. I believed her. Did he?

He nodded. That answered his question without him ever having to ask.

Nonna Ursula nodded, too. “Even in loss, it seemed unlikely to be you.”

“Especially in loss. Let me be practical. If Escalus had lived, I would have humbly pleaded with him to allow me to remain in Verona, and he would have cursed more blasphemously, then deemed me toothless and granted my wish.”

“Now you actually are toothless,” Nonna Ursula snapped.

“I still have sharp claws,” Lady Pulissena snapped back.

A moment of perilous silence.

The two old ladies fell into cackles, and animosity slid away like snow in a spring rain.

As they ate and drank, conversation opened, and soon became reminiscence.

When they laughed about Nonna Ursula stripping off her clothes, wrapping herself in a sumptuous robe, and flashing her husband as he spoke to the cardinal, Cal loudly announced he was meeting with his men and hurriedly left, hands over his ears.

I stayed and listened, wildly amused at the two wicked women who conclusively proved the elders of Verona were not always as decorous as they proclaimed.

When they both suddenly wavered, exhausted and yet unwilling to part, I arranged for a bed for Lady Pulissena in Nonna Ursula’s bedchamber and made it understood to Old Maria she should care for them both.

When I left the old ladies, they were both reclining, but still talking. I knew they would soon be asleep.

Tommaso waited at the door, and tried to follow me. “You must remain on guard,” I told him.

“I don’t like this, my lady. I’m here for you.”

“I’m young and strong, and I do swear I’ll remain alert.”

“You’ll go at once to find the prince?”

“I’ll seek him,” I promised. And I did, but Cal wasn’t in his office, and when I inquired of the footman, he escorted me to the large room where the guards lodged.

Everyone was there: Marcellus, Holofernes, Dion, Barnadine, Biasio, others whose names I had not yet learned.

Cal sat with them and led them in a discussion about the battles with the flagellants, asked for suggestions to improve on their tactics, praised his guards for their bravery, and thanked them for their dedication to Verona.

The men spoke with him frankly, yet respectfully, and as I watched, I learned a few things about building brotherhood and seemingly effortless leadership.

Marcellus caught my eye and frowned—with some justification. Clearly, I was intruding on their warrior time, and before Cal could catch a glimpse of me, I backed out of sight.

I glanced into the large interior atrium.

The afternoon sun and the lemon trees created dappled shadows on the pavers and tables, and pink petals of a climbing rose fluttered into the fountain and drifted along the surface of the water.

For all the exotics Cal so treasured, the center of his house felt like home.

For me, it would be a refuge when I needed a break from the duties of wife, princess, and mother to Cal’s longed-for hordes of children.

I wanted to wander there now, but who knew what killer—man or plant—lurked in the shrubbery?

Then I saw him. Friar Camillo walking slowly along a path, hands clasped and head bent.

He was unaware of me, and I’d encountered him without harm before.

Friar Laurence trusted him. His presence could act as my guard.

No one would batter me to death in the presence of a monk, especially not a strong young monk.

I did venture to the nearest bench and seated myself close enough to Cal’s guardroom to let out a full-lunged shriek if threatened. I needed quiet, the scents of good rich earth and growing things. In other words, I needed to think.

These crimes—against Elder, Nonna Ursula, me—had their roots in the past. I had assumed, as did most people, that the Acquasassos, after fomenting revolt and losing, had taken their revenge with Elder’s murder before fleeing to Venice.

But meeting Lady Pulissena had changed my belief.

The years of exile in that damp climate had washed the canker away from the crumpled old woman, and all she had left was an iron spine, a trembling appreciation for Verona .

. . and a sense of kinship for Nonna Ursula.

After a few moments of testy interchange, the atmosphere between them had changed from ancient enemies to longstanding friends.

Lady Pulissena viewed Nonna Ursula’s sight and hearing loss with surprise and pity.

Nonna Ursula had gripped Lady Pulissena’s warped hand a little too hard and elicited a yelp of pain.Then they both knew what had gone before wouldn’t matter when the earth soon enclosed them.

No one remembers what I remember . . . except you, Nonna Ursula had said to Lady Pulissena.

The ties of past experiences formed a unique bond, for their losses were no longer perceived in status, power, and fashion, but in lives taken by the passage of time.

As I contemplated the past, so tangled for those ladies, and the future, so unlike anything I’d imagined for myself, I reminded myself that unless I indeed discovered Elder’s assassin, I might not have a future, nor Cal, nor our yet-unconceived children.

I heard a step on the gravel and turned in swift alarm, pulling the dagger from my sleeve with a thin hiss.

Friar Camillo backed up and held his hands wide in a compassionate, unthreatening gesture. “No need for that. I swear on the sweet Virgin, I’ll not hurt you, valiant lady.”

Reluctantly I slid the knife back. “My apologies, brother. It’s a fraught time for us all.”

“Would you walk?” He gestured along the path.

I truly did need to puzzle this out before someone else was hurt. On the other hand, I couldn’t be rude to this pleasant young man. “That would be a pleasure.”

As I joined him, he clasped his hands behind his back and strolled. “You’re recovered from your attack by the flagellants?”

“I am quite well, thank you.”

“I hear your family is to be congratulated on the blessed arrival of two living sons.”

“My parents rejoice in their health.” I glanced toward Friar Camillo. He wished to walk with me to exchange pleasantries?

He seemed to be paying me only desultory heed.

His attention seemed fixed on the room where Cal spoke to the men, and I wondered why.

Even with Friar Laurence’s assurances, it was obvious Friar Camillo lingered where he wasn’t needed and took interest in doings that were none of his business.

If I was right and he wished to secure a place for himself in the palace, should he not bend himself to please me, the future princess?

He noted my study and turned to me. The sun fell full on his young face.

Idly I thought how unfairly God distributed his gifts.

This youth, destined and dedicated to the Church, had strong bones, good teeth, bright skin and eyes.

He was in every way handsome and noble, surely the son of some great lord.

When he spoke, his voice was educated, full, and rich.

“With the recent events, I’m glad to see you so wary and ready with your blade.

Does the prince suspect who attacked Princess Ursula? ”

“He suspects everyone.” Right now, so did I. Cal said he trusted my instincts; right now, they clanged like a bell, and I lagged behind Friar Camillo. The monk inquired of matters that shouldn’t concern him.

“Does he consult with you?” Friar Camillo asked. “For I hear he values his future bride for her intelligence, as well as her valor.”

I don’t discuss the prince, my marital future, or my attributes with an intrusive monk.

Which I didn’t say, because although Cal and his men remained within reach of my shouts, Friar Camillo was, as I’d observed, young, strong, and no doubt swift.

If death was his intention, he could kill me in an instant.

Friar Camillo continued to speak. “Your fame of last spring in defeating an evil foe in defense of your family and yourself has caused much discussion in Verona and beyond.”

I backed up, never taking my gaze from him. “I should go back to Princess Ursula. She frets when I’m gone too long, and, of course, I must encourage our men to remain on the ready until her attacker is caught.”

He faced me, feet planted, and his wide, pious eyes had changed, had become narrow and shrewd.

“You remain much on your guard. I do encourage you in that attitude. Life is brief and precious. Treasure it while it’s yours.

Now I go to pray.” He bowed, turned, and strode toward the shrine to the Virgin Mary.

I recognized a warning and a dismissal, and I fled like a threatened rabbit into the palace.