steel’s been reinforced, or braided, with a kind of materia that we can’t identify. Our equipment picks up vestigial traces, but there’s no process like carbon dating for materia, so we can’t determine exactly what kind of energy was used to forge the breastplate.”
I thought of the rumor that Tasha had heard about Miles developing an alternative light source for detecting materia. It would have been pretty useful right about now. Maybe Selena had planned this all along.
Duessa walked in a slow circle around the holding unit, examining the breastplate from every angle.
Then she turned to Cindée. “Okay. First, tell me what you think.”
Cindée opened up a red folder that she’d been carrying, glancing at her notes. “Well, I’m no expert.
But the design resembles a number of types of armor, forged between 1550 and 1590, roughly during the beginning of Spain’s Golden Age. It could have come from Milan, which had an active arms industry at that time.”
“It reminds me of something I’ve seen before,” Lucian said, absently scratching at the day’s worth of stubble on his cheek. The gesture was unconsciously sexy, and drove me mad. I had to look away.
“In Florence?” Duessa asked.
“Yeah. At the Museo Nazionale. I remember the wings and the eyes. Spooky.”
I looked at him. “You’ve been to Florence?”
“You haven’t?” His expression was playful.
“It does resemble an Italian piece—” Cindée continued, flipping through her notes. “A breastplate made for the Duke of Urbino in 1546—”
“By Bartolomeo Campi,” Duessa finished for her. “Actually, that piece was made closer to 1549.
And this isn’t Campi. It’s much too fine.”
Cindée blinked. “Do you specialize in Renaissance armaments, Lady Duessa?”
She smiled slightly. “I specialize in lots of old things, sweetheart. And I know that what we’re looking at is beyond the skill of a natural armorer.”
“It looks a lot like Campi’s piece, though,” Lucian said. “Isn’t that strange?”
“Maybe Campi’s breastplate was a copy, and this is the real thing.”
“Who else could have forged it, then?” I asked. “I mean, if it wasn’t this Campi guy. Were there blacksmiths in the Renaissance who had access to materia?”
Duessa turned to me. “Some. Filippo Negroli was the greatest armorer in Milan, and some say that he was a mage. Or maybe he stole dark secrets from someone else in order to create what he did.”
Her eyes went slightly distant for a moment. “Such beautiful pieces. He made a pageant shield with a gorgon’s head on it, and I swear, those eyes could turn you to stone. The gold damascene alone must have taken months. And all so some princely fucking ass-hat could march in a parade, looking fine.”
“You think it should have been used in battle instead?” Lucian asked. “A piece so beautiful?”
“Sometimes beautiful things are killers.” She stared at the breastplate. “They have to shed blood like anything else. That shield, and this breastplate, are those kinds of things. They were meant to see blood, death, and carnage. Meant for the field.”
Cindée frowned at the armor. “It seems a bit fancy for battle, doesn’t it? All those eyes and wings?”
Duessa drew closer to the Plexiglas cube that housed the armor. She approached it as one would inch toward a sleeping lynx in a cage. “These things have a memory. If you want to know more, I’ll have to touch her.”
Cindée shook her head. “I’m not authorized to let anyone handle the piece. It has to be kept under controlled conditions.”
Duessa shrugged. “That’s fine. But if you want to know more about where she came from, I’ll need to lay my hands on her.”
“I didn’t know armor had a gender,” I said.
Duessa smiled. “There’s a lot you don’t know, querida. There’s no real craftsmanship anymore. All the stuff you’ve got in this lab, it’s shiny and it works great, but inside it’s just
I thought of the rumor that Tasha had heard about Miles developing an alternative light source for detecting materia. It would have been pretty useful right about now. Maybe Selena had planned this all along.
Duessa walked in a slow circle around the holding unit, examining the breastplate from every angle.
Then she turned to Cindée. “Okay. First, tell me what you think.”
Cindée opened up a red folder that she’d been carrying, glancing at her notes. “Well, I’m no expert.
But the design resembles a number of types of armor, forged between 1550 and 1590, roughly during the beginning of Spain’s Golden Age. It could have come from Milan, which had an active arms industry at that time.”
“It reminds me of something I’ve seen before,” Lucian said, absently scratching at the day’s worth of stubble on his cheek. The gesture was unconsciously sexy, and drove me mad. I had to look away.
“In Florence?” Duessa asked.
“Yeah. At the Museo Nazionale. I remember the wings and the eyes. Spooky.”
I looked at him. “You’ve been to Florence?”
“You haven’t?” His expression was playful.
“It does resemble an Italian piece—” Cindée continued, flipping through her notes. “A breastplate made for the Duke of Urbino in 1546—”
“By Bartolomeo Campi,” Duessa finished for her. “Actually, that piece was made closer to 1549.
And this isn’t Campi. It’s much too fine.”
Cindée blinked. “Do you specialize in Renaissance armaments, Lady Duessa?”
She smiled slightly. “I specialize in lots of old things, sweetheart. And I know that what we’re looking at is beyond the skill of a natural armorer.”
“It looks a lot like Campi’s piece, though,” Lucian said. “Isn’t that strange?”
“Maybe Campi’s breastplate was a copy, and this is the real thing.”
“Who else could have forged it, then?” I asked. “I mean, if it wasn’t this Campi guy. Were there blacksmiths in the Renaissance who had access to materia?”
Duessa turned to me. “Some. Filippo Negroli was the greatest armorer in Milan, and some say that he was a mage. Or maybe he stole dark secrets from someone else in order to create what he did.”
Her eyes went slightly distant for a moment. “Such beautiful pieces. He made a pageant shield with a gorgon’s head on it, and I swear, those eyes could turn you to stone. The gold damascene alone must have taken months. And all so some princely fucking ass-hat could march in a parade, looking fine.”
“You think it should have been used in battle instead?” Lucian asked. “A piece so beautiful?”
“Sometimes beautiful things are killers.” She stared at the breastplate. “They have to shed blood like anything else. That shield, and this breastplate, are those kinds of things. They were meant to see blood, death, and carnage. Meant for the field.”
Cindée frowned at the armor. “It seems a bit fancy for battle, doesn’t it? All those eyes and wings?”
Duessa drew closer to the Plexiglas cube that housed the armor. She approached it as one would inch toward a sleeping lynx in a cage. “These things have a memory. If you want to know more, I’ll have to touch her.”
Cindée shook her head. “I’m not authorized to let anyone handle the piece. It has to be kept under controlled conditions.”
Duessa shrugged. “That’s fine. But if you want to know more about where she came from, I’ll need to lay my hands on her.”
“I didn’t know armor had a gender,” I said.
Duessa smiled. “There’s a lot you don’t know, querida. There’s no real craftsmanship anymore. All the stuff you’ve got in this lab, it’s shiny and it works great, but inside it’s just
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