The Storyspinner (23 page)

Chapter 66

Johanna

Three gazebos nestled in the shade of towering balsa trees. Their silver branches, frothy with heart-shaped leaves, whispered with the breeze that blew through the meadow. Late summer asters bloomed in jewel-toned clumps, each a bright spot of color against the blue silk curtains draped from the gazebos’ eaves.

The scene was peaceful and private, a perfect place for the nobles to put aside old arguments and hash out new agreements.

It was that element of perfection that made Johanna nervous. Her brothers had the ability to turn the most idyllic settings into disasters.

“Promise me,” she said for the fiftieth time since they had left the estate, “that you two will be on your best behavior. No tumbling, no wrestling, no yelling—”

“No fun,” Michael added. He sank down against one of the fat tree trunks and rested his sulky face on his fist.

“You can have fun.” She ruffled his blond curls. “Just make it
quiet
fun.”

“We’ll stay out of the way and not snitch any treats,” Joshua promised, his blue eyes wide and serious. “We’ll be so good that you won’t even know we’re here.”

Guilt burned bitter at the back of Johanna’s throat. She didn’t mean to leech the enjoyment out of the day, but Lady DeSilva had been so kind, so understanding. Johanna didn’t want to do anything that would disappoint her employers.

“But Lord Dom said we could have cake. Lord Dom said—”

“Michael, I don’t care what Lord Dom said. I’m here to perform and you’re here to stay out of trouble.”

“Did I hear my name and ‘trouble’ in the same sentence?” Dom’s boots crunched over the undergrowth as he approached. “Whatever it was, I didn’t do it. Unless you’re referring to some missing
dolce de leite
. I might have had something to do with that.”

Dom reached into his pockets and pulled out two paper-wrapped packets, presenting a caramel treat to each boy.

His words were light, but his smile seemed a bit too forced. “Did I tell you boys about the fish I caught yesterday? There’s a stream not far from here. The water is lower than usual this year and some big fish have gotten trapped in the deeper pools.”

“Why don’t you go see if you can find them?” Johanna straightened from her crouch and dried her suddenly damp palms on her dress. “Stay where you can see the gazebos. I’ll come find you in a minute.”

Neither of her brothers questioned their sudden freedom and darted off in the direction Dom pointed.

“Is something wrong?”

He hesitated, shuffling the dirt between his feet before he spoke. “Rafi believes you’re in danger. That someone among one of the visiting groups may be planning to hurt you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I don’t know all the details,” he said, checking to see where the closest servant stood. “Rafi needs an excuse to stay close to you. For your protection.”

“Oh please. Rafi
wants
an excuse to stay close to me.” She meant it as a joke, but her face flushed as brightly as the asters.

“I wish that’s all it was, Johanna, for all of our sakes, but he is deadly serious about this.”

“No one is going to hurt me, and Rafi is certainly not responsible for my safety.” She rotated her wrist, letting him see the gleam of the dagger she kept there. “I can take care of myself. ”

“He was afraid you’d say that. So . . .” Dom stopped, licked his lips, and then continued. “He’s letting everyone believe that something happened between you last night, when he chased you into the forest. I’ve spent most of the morning confirming the rumors.”

“You
what
?” She’d seen him joking with the servants and underlords who’d come out with the first wave of picnickers, but Johanna never imagined she was the subject of their conversations.

“Rafi thinks the best way to keep you safe is to make sure his interest in you is known.” He checked over his shoulder as hoofbeats neared. It was the remainder of the party led by Lady DeSilva. “No one is going to hurt you or
your family
if they know it will draw Rafi’s anger.”

“No one wants to hurt us. We’re nothing. Nobodies.” She turned in the direction her brothers had run, wishing she could call them back.

“Johanna, I don’t know why anyone would want to do you harm, but I do know my brother.” Dom frowned, and Johanna realized that underneath all the charm and laughs, he could be as intense and serious as his sibling. “If Rafi says you’re in danger, then I believe without question that you are.”

Perhaps it had something to do with her mother’s confrontation in town, or maybe someone among the nobles carried a long-standing dislike of her father.

“You don’t know anything else?”

“Nothing.”

Johanna worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Was there some way to use her so-called relationship with Rafi to figure out who intended to harm her?

“What do I need to do?”

“It’s simple. Flirt. Innocent touches.” Dom dug a trench in the dirt with his boot. “That sort of thing.”

“I can do that.” And watch the reaction of everyone who noticed.

Chapter 67

Jacaré

Jacaré pushed his crew hard. They rode at a breakneck pace out of Performers’ Camp, headed toward the Santiago estate. Elma was certain the girl and the Von Arlos had settled there after Arlo’s death.

“She’ll be safer there than anywhere else,” she assured them as they entered the Council House. “The DeSilvas are the best kind of people in Santarem. They were devoted to the king and his family, and were the first to muster troops to come to the Citadel’s defense. If they realize that they’re harboring Wilhelm’s heir, they’ll protect her fiercely.”

Even with that knowledge, Jacaré couldn’t ignore the warning bells sounding in his head.

Yes, they’d caught Benton, but he had been a tool used to accomplish a task. Someone else was in control. Someone Benton wasn’t willing to identify.

“I only met the person once. No name, no face. Just a cloaked and hooded shadow in a dark corner of a bar in Cruzamento,” he had said.

They’d chained the assassin to a chair in the small, two-story building. Five other chairs, carved out of dark wood, and a wall of bookshelves were the only furniture. Two elderly men, both retired Performers and members of their Council, joined Elma, Jacaré, and Tex for Benton’s trial.

“Was it a man or woman?” Jacaré pressed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Benton said with a grin. “The person was taller than me, but so are a lot of people.”

“How do you get your assignments?”

“I get them and my payment from the barkeeper in Cruzamento. He’s just a middleman.”

It took every ounce of self-control not to break the assassin’s fingers, but Jacaré had promised not to touch Benton without Elma’s permission. “Tell me something.”

“Promise me I’ll live.”

“I can’t do that.” Jacaré nodded to Elma. “I need . . .”

The old woman waved off his words and stepped close to the assassin. She pressed one crooked finger against Benton’s chest. Smoke began rising from his shirt.

“That’s good, Elma,” Benton said with a laugh. “But not good enough.”

The smell of burning flesh filled the room. The Council members shifted uncomfortably in their chairs but made no remark.

“Who are you protecting?” Jacaré asked with a growl.

Sweat beaded on Benton’s forehead, but he kept his lips sealed.

“People who hold out under torture only do so for two reasons.” Tex leaned against one of the supporting posts, arms folded against his chest. “Love or fear.”

“He’s an assassin,” Jacaré said, pacing around the chair. “He’s not motivated by love. So who could he possibly fear more than one of us?”

The question was the answer.

“It’s another Keeper.”

Chapter 68

Rafi

The cold snap Santiago had suffered a few weeks earlier seemed a distant memory. The sun beat upon the roofs of the gazebos with heavy fists of heat. The silks provided shade but stopped the breeze from stirring the air inside.

The ladies from Maringa—including Maribelle in the little material that stretched over her—wilted like delicate morning flowers by noon and retired to one of the gazebos to escape the heat. Rafi had helped Maribelle from her horse when they’d arrived. Her bare skin skimmed across his palms and left a layer of sweat he wished he could wash off.

Belem and Inimigo lounged on padded sofas in the gazebo most shaded by the balsa trees, sipping on wine the servants chilled in a nearby stream. That is, Inimigo was sipping. Belem had given up the glass and held a bottle against his chest, where its condensation mixed with the sweat stains on his tunic.

Lady DeSilva was completely unfazed by the heat and led a conversation about water rights. The rest of the southerners, local underlords and a few of the braver souls from Belem, enjoyed the pleasant sunshine, kicking a ball in the meadow, tossing horseshoes, and chatting.

“Oh for Keeper’s sake!” Belem sat up suddenly, knocking over a bowl of grapes as he went. “Go get that Performer girl so we have something to think about besides how blasted hot it is!”

“She wasn’t planning to perform till later this afternoon,” Rafi said, straightening from his slouch. He could ignore the heat, but he had been uncomfortable for other reasons. Every time he passed Johanna, she gave him a come-hither smile that he struggled not to return.

The tilt of her chin, the set of her mouth, the extra sway in her walk were all so blatantly flirtatious that no one could overlook the new attraction between them.

Rafi found himself wishing it wasn’t a ruse.

He suspected Johanna, and the gossip circulating about their relationship, was the real reason Maribelle hid in the other gazebo. As a duke’s daughter, Maribelle rarely had to share anyone’s attention.

“If it’s a matter of money, I’ll pay her myself. ” Belem reached into a pocket and threw a small bag of coins on the table.

“That’s unnecessary,” Rafi said as he rose from his seat. “We have other forms of entertainment. Perhaps we could play a round of Strategy? I’m sure both of you could teach me—”

“Get the girl, Rafael.” Inimigo looked at Rafi through heavy-lidded eyes. “I understand her appeal transcends her ability.”

Rafi’s heart stuttered; he hated to introduce Johanna to Inimigo at all, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. “She is very talented.”

A lecherous grin quirked Inimigo’s mouth. “As I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“She does put on quite a show,” Belem said as he rolled back onto his sofa, looking every bit like a cat, fat and lazy after devouring a plump mouse.

“Send someone to fetch Vibora while you’re out there. I need a few words with her.”

Rafi was pleased when his mother nodded for him to go. He should have insisted on staying—gleaning every bit of intrigue from their conversation—but his mother was more adept at political maneuvering.

He took a circuitous route through the picnic area, speaking with his guests and observing Inimigo’s collared servants as they huddled in the shade beneath the trees. They didn’t appear to suffer, all healthy and well fed, but there was something odd about them.

They weren’t talking, he realized. Rafi tried to think of a time when he’d seen a collection of servants who didn’t use their free time to chat and laugh. This group sat silently, studying the woods around them, a tenseness in their muscles that suggested preparedness to act.

Either they were very well trained, or . . . Rafi didn’t know what. He was tempted to pull one aside, but the call of two high-pitched voices drew him away.

“Did you see how far I spit that one, Jo?” Michael grabbed Johanna’s shoulder, shaking her.

She lay on a scrap of tablecloth in the cool grass, her feet in the stream and her dress pulled up high enough to be improper. Her bare legs were pale and well shaped against the dark gray river rocks.

“All the way across the stream?” she asked without sitting up.

“And farther!”

Joshua shook his head. “It landed in the water.”

“Did not!”

As Rafi got closer, he could see that Johanna’s eyes were closed against the dappled sunlight poking through the branches above. Without opening them she said, “There’s a wider bit of stream farther down. The first one of you to spit five grapes clear to the other side wins a prize.”

The boys exchanged a grin and broke into a run, blowing by Rafi without a hello.

Two guards lurked by a tree a few paces away. Rafi waved them off, and they clunked up the river a ways.

Johanna seemed to have dozed off, her lips slightly parted in sleep, one arm thrown across her forehead, half blocking the light. She was vulnerable and completely relaxed, enjoying a lazy afternoon.

Guilt overwhelmed Rafi, knowing that her untroubled sleep would soon be something of the past.

His shadow fell across her face and her eyes opened slowly. She studied him sleepily, then burst into motion, jumping to her feet and smoothing down her skirts. “Do you always lurk over girls while they sleep?”

“I try not to,” Rafi said, hoping wit would disguise his nerves.

“Are you here to make the rumors your brother has been spreading look real?” She stepped into plain leather slippers, holding her skirts modestly so she could see her feet. “
Lovers
would never stand so far apart.”

“And you would know because . . .”

She didn’t answer, pinning him with a glare sharp enough to flay the scales off a fish. “Why do you believe I’m in danger?”

Rafi did step closer. He wanted to be able to whisper so there was no chance they could be overheard. But Johanna did the same. They stood, nearly chest to chest, not touching, but near enough that he could smell the sweet scent of acai berries rising off her skin.

He had plenty of experience flirting, sneaking kisses in shadowed corners, meeting in the gardens or in the barn for a few moments of unchaperoned bliss. Before his father died and so much responsibility had been dropped on his shoulders, Rafi could imagine a moment like this. A reckless moment. Where he’d put his hands around Johanna’s waist and pull her close and kiss her till they were both breathless. Now, things were different. Johanna wasn’t a maid or visiting underlord’s daughter. She was a girl in danger, and maybe the only surviving heir to Santarem’s throne.

More than that,
Rafi
was different. He could see this moment replayed in a thousand different lights. What would his mother think? What would his people think? That he was the rapscallion lord who’d suffered Punishment before his naming day and in whose hands no girl’s virtue was safe?

“Johanna, how well do you know your parents? I mean . . .” He stumbled, searching for the words that would put into question everything she knew about her life, about her station, about her family. “Would they ever have lied to you? Even if it was to protect you?”

Her forehead creased; her gray eyes showed confusion. “What reason would my parents have to lie to me? What would they have to protect me from?” She shrugged slightly, and it seemed to move her even closer. “We led a simple life, traveling, performing, resting at Performers’ Camp when we were between jobs or needed time off. ”

“There was never a time when you doubted you were—” He cut off that line of questioning. Rafi had no intention of hurting Johanna again, and making her question her relationship with her family would do just that.

If I could talk to her mother first . . .

“One of the dukes has expressed an inappropriate interest in you.” It wasn’t a lie exactly. Wanting to kill her could certainly be considered inappropriate.

“And so you’ve appointed yourself the defender of my honor?” She jabbed him in the chest. “I have brothers, you know, and, when all else fails, I’m handy with a knife.”

Had she forgotten the beating he gave her? Yes, she put up a fight, but it hadn’t been enough to save her then and it wouldn’t be enough to save her from a man bent on murder.

The voices in the distance seemed to grow louder. If someone discovered them, this secret meeting needed to look authentic.

Rafi had no choice. He had to touch her. Lightly he set both of his hands at her waist, his thumbs over her hip bones. She was thin, small enough that his fingers spanned the distance all the way to her spine. There was a moment, a craving, to use his grip to pull her closer, to press the entire length of his body against hers. He forced the impulse aside, trying to focus on the words he had to say.

“Please, Johanna. Let me take care of you.”