Fruit of the Golden Vine (8 page)

“About last night…”

“I don’t remember it very well. I drank a little too much wine.”

“Oh.” Adelina twisted a curl of hair around her finger. “Um. Do you recall—”

“Ada, it might be best if you don’t ask.” Silvana took a scone and slathered jam on it. “Your father wants me to keep my distance from you. He believes I’m a bad influence. You’d do best to forget I’m even here.”

Adelina stared at the floor. Her shoulders moved with quick breaths, as if she were on the verge of panicking or, perhaps, succumbing to tears. “Um. Father has agreed to let Rafael take Irena into town today, under the condition I go as her chaperone. As if Irena needs a chaperone. And I was hoping you’d like to join us.”

The food churned in Silvana’s stomach. “I told you, I can’t.”

“But he even said you could accompany us. He doesn’t mind.”

Silvana closed her eyes. He would say that, of course, to put upon her the onus of disappointing Adelina and to protect him, the good father, from any blame. “Adelina, as I said, your father has asked that I don’t take up too much of your time. I’m hardly going to question the wishes of my host.”

“You’re not fooling me. You argued with my mother all through dinner. You’re not scared of anyone.” Ada stood and folded her arms. “I don’t care what my father says. If he’s warned you off me, then ignore his warning, damn you.”

When Silvana had been a child, her father had forced her to drown a litter of kittens. She’d kissed each one before holding it beneath the unsparing water. Her father had watched. She’d wanted to push him under instead, to grip his shoulders until the last bubble spat from his mouth and his body ceased its struggle. But that had only been an angry fantasy. She’d been powerless, forced into cruelty. Just as she was now.

“I think you’ve misread me.” Silvana tried to keep her breath steady. Goddess within, this was hard. “I have no interest in spending time with you. I’m a woman with things to do, and you’re a foolish girl who wastes my time with fairytales.”

Without a word, Adelina walked to the window and opened the curtains, letting in a flood of light. It seemed absurd that, in a moment of such cruelty, the sun still shone.

Adelina turned to face the bed, and Silvana’s stomach clenched as she prepared herself for a vision of grief. But no—Adelina’s face was composed, her eyes clear and her lips steady. “Give me that tray,” she said. “I’ll take it back to the kitchen.”

“I’d like to finish my breakfast.”

Adelina grimaced. “I want the tray back! Damn you, I…” She clenched her fist and looked away. “Enjoy your breakfast. I won’t bother you again with my childishness.” She strode to the door and reached for the handle. As she turned it, a sob escaped her body, and her shoulders heaved. Weeping, she ran into the corridor.

Silvana stared at the empty doorway. She had expected tears and perhaps anger, but not this heartwrenching display of strength. The last kitten, she remembered, had refused to drown. She’d lifted it from the water, and it had somehow heaved the air back into its little lungs.

Then her father had shaken his head, and she’d plunged it back under. Bravery meant nothing in an unmerciful world.

With a shaking hand, Silvana took the flask of milk. The cool liquid settled her stomach, and her head cleared. It was over, at least.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor. She looked up as Rafael put his head through the door. “That girl just ran past me in tears,” he said. “What did you do? Tell her she was ugly?”

“Don’t talk about it.” Silvana lifted a slice of honeyed bread. “Hungry?”

“I’ve already eaten. Hell, I’ve already dressed.” He gestured to his outfit, a tightly-buttoned jacket, patterned trousers, polished boots and a feathered hat tilted at an absurd angle. “I suppose I’ll try to cheer up the poor creature while we’re in town. Tell her a few funny stories.”

“If you like. I don’t care.”

“Well!” Rafael whistled. “You certainly put the steel back into your spine.”

“She’s just another woman in my wake, Rafael.” Silvana drained the last of the milk straight from the flask. “Now we won’t have to worry about any trouble with her father.”

“Not on that front, anyway. Well. Good.” Rafael frowned. “Silvana, this doesn’t sit right with me. You were so dewy-eyed when you spoke of her last night. You’re not acting, are you?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, you’re not ordinarily so hard-hearted. It’s almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“I’m only angry at myself for being so witless. Now will you leave me to dress and bathe in peace?”

Rafael raised his hands. “Fine, fine! I’ll see you this afternoon when we return. There’s to be a musical recital this evening. Don’t look too excited.” He grinned and shut the door.

Silvana sat for some time, chewing on a scone and considering the morning sky beyond the window. Thoughts and feelings moved treacherously within her, but she ignored them. She’d forget Adelina eventually—forget the way she’d reached for that goblet, forget the rush of emotion that had stopped Silvana as she lay with Nerine. Forget it all. The way she’d forgotten the names of her kittens. Even the one that had fought so hard to live.

Silvana took the final scone and hesitated. A folded piece of paper lay beneath it. She frowned, set the scone aside, unfolded the paper and held it to the light. It was a note, pleasantly perfumed and written in a careful hand.

Nobody had ever written a poem for her before.

Silvana lowered the page and raised a hand to her cheek. The skin burned beneath her touch. How could that be? She never blushed, not since she’d had her first woman, all those years ago. She traced the lines with a fingertip—her finger trembled, why did it tremble?—and she whispered the words as a mist fell over her eyes.

Adelina huddled in the back of the coach and willed the world to burn. Infuriatingly, it continued to thrive with its usual blissful idiocy. The town passed by the coach windows, a sunlit confusion of stupid people and ugly buildings. But moronic as they all were, nobody topped Adelina herself for sheer slackjawed stupidity. She was the unquestioned queen of the idiots, a stupid child who’d put her heart on a page and left it for a callous bitch to laugh at.

“Oh, Ada,” said Irena. “Must you look so surly on such a beautiful day?”

“I think you might be getting the pox. You’ve hideous spots all over your face.”

Irena shrieked and pawed at her face. Rafael laughed. “Your sister is teasing you, my dear,” he said. “Your face is as pure ivory, with not a blemish in sight.”

Adelina snorted, slid along her seat and stuck her head out of the window. Townsfolk wandered the streets and plied their trades behind stalls, and the hot summer air carried the aroma of grass and sweat.

“Stop here!” Rafael rang the bell above their heads, and the coach shuddered to a halt. He drew aside the curtain and helped Irena to the street before extending his hand toward Ada.

“I don’t need your damn help.” Ada pushed his hand aside and stepped down from the coach.

They had stopped by the town green, a place lively with colored tents, stalls and banners—the Sunday market. The attendees were dressed in their finest silk and leather, and the scent of perfume and cologne mixed with the heady aromas of the field. The knot of anger in Adelina’s chest eased. It had been so long since she’d had the chance to see the market, after all, and Rafael and Irena were still better company than one of her father’s skulking cronies.

“Sniff that air!” said Irena. “I can smell cinnamon somewhere. Oh, Ada…” She took Adelina’s arm. “Please let’s be happy.”

Adelina considered pulling her arm free, but it would have seemed childish. “I’m here to chaperone you, remember. No kissing or holding hands.”

Rafael chuckled, and Irena’s cheeks turned pink. “I promise to be on my best behavior, my mistress Adelina,” Rafael said. “Come! Let’s chase down that tell-tale cinnamon. I do suspect a baker is the culprit, and we could start our day with some sticky buns.”

God, he was so fawning. There was no way he truly spoke like that, not inside his head, not as if he were some absurd gentleman sprung from a handbook on civility. Not if he was that woman’s brother, at any rate. A bitch like her would have a bastard for a brother.

Irena tugged Adelina’s sleeve. “Look! A juggler!”

Adelina looked, a pang of curiosity stirring. The juggler stood beneath the shade of a great tree. A series of colored balls sparkled and leaped in his hands. He never once tripped in his act, and as the number of balls grew, it took all of Adelina’s sulky conviction to prevent herself from applauding.

“Can you juggle, Rafael?” said Irena, returning her attention to her deceitful suitor.

“Oh, not nearly so well.” Rafael tilted his hat lower, shading his eyes. “This heat is remarkable. How do you ladies survive the summer dressed in those thick dresses?”

“I don’t know,” said Adelina. “Maybe we won’t.”

Rafael gave her a sympathetic, even endearing grin. Why did he have to be so persistently likeable? No doubt he was going to break Irena’s heart, the way Silvana had broken hers.

“Come on,” he said. “Before the crowd tramples us!”

The sisters followed Rafael, treading with care to avoid losing their toes. Rafael stopped them at a stall with a slouched purple awning. A series of glistening pastries lay arranged on its table. A fat, flour-fingered man loitered behind them, his eyes alight with covetousness.

“Cinnamon.” Rafael inhaled the air. “Yes, we’ve tracked you down, you rascal.”

Irena giggled. “Let’s buy a bun each, Adelina. And another for our little sister.”

“We have a little sister?” Adelina wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t recall any little sister. Do you mean that hobgoblin that sneaks into our room and steals our hairpins?”

“Yes, the same.” Irena’s shoulders shook beneath a second wave of giggles. “If we feed it, it may leave us alone. Rafael! Will you tell this man we’ll take three sticky cinnamon buns?”

“Certainly.” Rafael tipped his hat to the baker, who inclined his head in the barest suggestion of respect. “Three buns, dear friend, for my lady and her sister fair.” He took out a gleaming handful of money, and the baker’s eyes matched the shine of the coins as he selected three of the largest buns.

The buns wrapped and placed in Irena’s woven bag, the trio pursued the sound of distant music—a piper, a fiddle and the incessant strumming of a mandolin. A circle had formed around the troubadours, and Rafael pushed a way through. Irena and Adelina emerged into the front row and stood, both enrapt, as the musicians performed a ballad. The fiddler was the most remarkable of the three, capering, singing and fiddling all at once, his feet a blur of motion.

Irena laughed at the clowning while Rafael tapped his foot to the beat. Adelina, however, soon held back tears. It was so fitting, these buffoons performing the ideal tribute to her perfectly stupid day.

She twisted away from Irena’s arm and stormed through the marketplace, not bothering to turn at Irena’s cry of alarm. Townsfolk moved to allow her passage. If only they wouldn’t, so that she’d have an excuse to push them over…Damn everything. She’d hang herself. She’d drown herself. She’d put herself in the wine press.

A hand clutched her dress. She gasped and hurried faster. Two men approached her, their mouths forming words unheard, and she lowered her head and scurried on. Dizziness took her. She turned in a full circle. Her stomach clenched. She was lost, hopelessly lost. Hostile faces surged past. Voices and cries clamored with sinister intent.

Yet despite her mortal fear, she wouldn’t weep. She wouldn’t give this cursed ground the satisfaction of being watered.

Adelina ducked into the shade of a large tent. Metal trinkets hung from posts and sat in orderly lines on the merchant’s table. A huge figure stirred in the tent’s recesses.

“I’m lost,” Adelina said. “How do I get back to the musicians?”

“Follow the music, girl.” The man lumbered forward. He was immense, a trunk of muscle that ran directly into a shaven head, and his eyes were colder than the tin toys around him. “Are you stupid?”

“I’m not stupid, I’m lost…”

“Fled from a brothel, have you?” The man sniggered and stared at Adelina’s bodice. “Pity for them.”

Adelina whirled and fled, her heart slamming against her chest. What was she to do? She’d never find the others again. She’d still be lost when night came and brought with it the kind of monsters she’d only read about. A rising tremor pressed against her lungs. At any moment she’d start shouting, even weeping aloud, heedless of the stares of the people around her. Shame and fear boiled inside her, competing to see which could melt her down first.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she screamed.

“Have no fear,” said Silvana. “It’s me.”

Adelina stared agape. Silvana had dressed for the town, and had gone a step further than her brother; in addition to a broad-brimmed hat, a gold-stitched tunic and a loose pair of pants, she had donned a loose, dark green cape fastened at the throat with a silver broach. Combined with her stern beauty, the ornate design gleaming on her cheek and the dark passion of her eyes, the outfit elevated Silvana from merely gorgeous to sublime.