The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3
Chapter Forty-One

“The idea came to me long before Father ever appointed me Alpha of his house,” Duccio continued. “I’d lived an entire mortal’s life, all of it in the lakes region. I wanted more of what the world offered. Since I was a boy, he’d told me stories about his travels, the other places and cultures he’d lived in, and his love affairs there. To be contained in the gilded cage of Castello Palatino and Father’s protection became an agony for me.

“‘One day,’ was always his answer. One day when I was strong enough, when no one could stop me, all the world would be open to me. ‘Don’t let your mind labor on what you cannot change, Son.’”

“And I did as he advised me, working to refine every skill I might need during the sea of time I faced. I unraveled any minutiae to keep my mind busy. If I’d already known how to fence, I worked to become the greatest swordsman standing. I sent for the finest master, Ridolfo Capo Ferro, from his salon in Calgi, to have him instruct me eight hours a day for months. We sparred until I could deflect any move he made with an unconscious flick of my wrist. And when I finally had that power, all its form and grace, I suffered an invariable depression. For what was the talent of a sword compared to my wolf’s talons?”

“‘Produce something,’ Father challenged me. ‘Make something tangible. Make art—a sculpture, a painting—it will soothe you and shield your mind from the hours that pass. Build something. Do you think I built this castle because a single man needed so much space? Even in wanting to build a new family, I knew there would never be many lycan to house in this isolation. I built it because I love creation. I love to see its beauty staring back at me.’”

“Again, I did as he asked me, adding to the castle and refurbishing entire wings in the style of my age. I could import something rich and beautiful to Como—furnishings, art, silks, leathers, anything at all—I spared no expense to bring it to the castle. I became so invigorated by the project that I all but leveled most of the house. Deeming it sacrosanct, I left Father’s beloved recreation of the Pantheon untouched as the sole expression of the former ancient style. Father nodded and affirmed my choices the whole time as he watched the castle he built change around us. Even when I second-guessed how the changes might affect him, he never once resisted the new passion I’d found.

“And like all things, one day, my work finished. Once again, I felt a harrowed longing for more. And even in the sumptuous opulence of the refurbished Castello Palatino, another depression took me.”

“During all this time, my elder siblings left us for one reason or another. Living under Father’s shadow dissatisfied some, and they left to start their own packs. Religion drew others away, their wolves more allured to the structure of its violent doctrine than Father’s sterile logic. Though I empathized with wanting the freedom to roam the world, I had no taste for religion. I loved the simple Christianity of my human youth, but how lycan worshiped God disgusted me as much as it did Father.

“My idea was to open our borders to allow lycan from neighboring states to travel safely to Castello Palatino. Some would appreciate it and remain if they could see what Father had created. They couldn’t all be religious zealots, I hypothesized. Further, it would mean I could venture out and see more of the world under the protection of such an international pact.

“Father was dubious of my idea. ‘One day,’ he repeated his reliable phrase. He stated his reasons, but it was a dismissal at its core. The theocratic lycan world would never accept such a pact. ‘You can never trust them to honor such an agreement,’ he said. ‘And if they were to harm a single human on our lands, I would slaughter every foreign wolf here in one night.’

“I understood his points, but I also knew if I didn’t try, it might be centuries before I saw Paris or London. To offer my proposal, I wrote to the Alphas of neighboring states, introducing myself as Don Alfredo Lupofiero of Castello Palatino. Some returned my letters with condemnations. Heretic, they called me—the foolish son of the Devil. Others, like Emperor Vitellius of Rome, did not respond at all. I presumed this was because I was Alpha of Palatino in name only. Or perhaps he had no taste for Father, the only wolf on the continent who would not bow to him.

“But some alphas returned my letters with optimistic praise. The Marquis du Archambault of Paris offered to meet me in neutral territory to discuss such a partnership. Prince Adelchi of Venice sent an ambassador to Castello Palatino to discuss the matter. Adelchi was Father’s grand nephew, separated by over a dozen generations, but he trusted the ancient wolf would never betray his extension of respect.

“Of all my prospects, I believed Adelchi would be most agreeable to such an alliance. The Venetian wolves were the most secular of the neighboring governments. Their aristocratic rule was based more on the accumulation of wealth and power than on faithful worship. If anyone might respect Father’s mandates in his borders, I believed Adelchi would bend, his secularism able to envision a peaceful alliance.

“I received Ambassador Rambaldo with open arms, lavishing upon him the full hospitality of our home. The meeting lasted only for one night, the discussion held over a dinner, the three of us debating the requirements of such an alliance. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“‘There must be room to allow for the worship of God here, maestro,’ Rambaldo said when I proposed suspending Venetian religious practice while visiting.

“‘Never,’ Father countered. ‘Your people may keep their god in their hearts if they must, but they will never practice their crimes on these lands. I will not tolerate harm to a single human. Only my children’s just hands may dispatch those evil-doers we deem unfit for life. None will die to appease the worship of fanatics.’

“I interjected, ‘What if they brought with them the meat of humans slaughtered in the Veneto to perform their rituals?’ And to this point of negotiation, Father stared at me with absolute disgust.

“‘This means so much to you,’ he countered, ‘that you’d pollute your home to float through the canals of Venice?’

“It was a rhetorical question, and my answer was pointless. He was ashamed of me and my failure to see the impossibility of Rambaldo’s proposal. In the morning, Father sent the man home with a message of love and affection for Adelchi, offering a distinct outline of what it would require were he ever serious about such an alliance.

“Once alone, Father sympathized with my disappointment, taking me in his arms to kiss me. ‘Do not despair, Son, and don’t misunderstand me,’ he whispered. ‘I admire your nerve. You foresee what the world will become one day again. And I want nothing more than for you to see that beauty realized. But that day is still far away from us.’

“I was grateful for his affection but agitated beyond measure, and he sensed my dissatisfaction.

“‘There is still so much for you to learn and experience right here, Duccio,’ he countered my silent protest. ‘You have never taken a wife, never fathered a child. I would offer Pompeia’s hand to you with unreserved joy if you were serious about devoting your heart to her.’

“‘I’ve bedded her a hundred times,’ I said, the impatient answer darkening Father’s eyes. ‘Our union will never produce a child.’

“‘She’s not a dog to be bred, son. Are you so childish that you can’t see the value of loving someone? Strength lies in such devotion, in exposing your heart unreservedly.’

“He stared at me with such emotion, espousing anger, despair, admiration, and dedication, all at the moment.

“‘I challenge you to grow once more,’ he said, taking my hand in his. ‘You will take the next lycan to come of age in our lands as your child. You will raise them to maturity and set free their wolf.’

“‘A child will not change me,’ I countered. ‘My brothers are less than half my age. I already see them as my children. Pompeia is not even thirty.’

“Father squeezed my hand to stop me. ’No, they are my children, Duccio. They rely upon me. I protect them and nurture them—you merely play with them. You will see the world differently when someone relies upon you to survive, body and mind,’ he insisted, and he placed his finger on my temple to accent his point. ‘You are so strong-willed, so strong of mind. As I’ve nurtured that gift in you, I challenge you to nurture it in another.’”

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