The Storyspinner (24 page)

Chapter 69

Johanna

Johanna’s breath caught in her throat. Rafi’s words were honest, his dark eyes sincere. She wanted to lean against him, to let someone else bear her concerns. But what would it cost her to take it all back on later?

“I will. On two conditions.”

He nodded for her to continue.

“First, that your care extends to my family.”

“Of course. I’d never let harm come to them.”

“And second, that protecting me from whatever this threat is will clear you of your honor debt toward me.”

“But—”

She covered his mouth with her palm. Being so close to him, having his fingers at her waist, made her forget that the connection between them was all an act. She slowly lowered her hand. “I want to be able to leave Santiago when this threat is cleared and not worry that a lordling with a misplaced sense of honor is chasing me across the countryside.” She smiled to soften the words. “You’ve done more than enough for me and my family. All debts between us are forgiven.”

Johanna expected a sigh or Rafi’s shoulders to slump in relief, but instead he studied her eyes. She didn’t know what he was looking for, but she couldn’t turn away. She’d never been kissed—not when it wasn’t part of a performance or a game—but she’d seen enough kissing to know what was supposed to be done.

If he’d bend his neck a bit and she went up on her toes, they’d be perfectly aligned. She could hold on to his shoulders or wind her fingers into the curls at his neck to pull him closer.

She tilted up her chin and his thumb drew unconscious circles on her hip. From that point her skin seemed to ignite, like he’d laid a path of Skylighter’s powder all over her body. She pressed tingling fingers against his chest, feeling the heat of the solid flesh underneath.

“Rafi . . .”

He licked his lips; his dark gaze flickered to her mouth. There was an instant when everything went still, where nothing stirred except the breaths they shared.

He took a step back, releasing his grip on her waist.

“Duke Inimigo and Duke Belem are miserable in the heat and would like you to divert their minds with a story or a song.” He offered his arm with complete formality. Only the lingering warmth at her waist gave any indication that something had nearly happened.

“Let me gather my brothers, and I’ll come straightaway,” Johanna said, turning to hide her disappointment.

Michael and Joshua stood knee-deep in the stream, arms in the water, trying to catch trout the way their father had done dozens of times.

Joshua’s blond hair was wet, standing up around his head like a porcupine in a pique. “You have to be quieter,” he whispered to Michael. “You scare them away with all your noise.”

“You’re quiet enough for both of us.” Michael spun a circle in the water, stirring up dirt and pebbles.

Johanna smiled at the twist in Michael’s words. Their father always said that Michael was loud enough for all the boys in their family.

“Hop out.” Johanna found one shoe and followed it to a sock, and then another shoe. Both of Joshua’s shoes—a new pair she didn’t recognize—sat on a rock side by side with the socks tucked neatly inside. “We need to get back to the gazebos. I’ve got some singing to do.”

“But why?” Michael said as he waded to the side. “Everyone’s up the stream a ways.”

“Surely not everyone.” Rafi shaded his eyes, looking for people ahead.

Michael nodded vigorously. “I’m pretty sure it’s everyone important. Dom, Brynn, bunches of girls in dresses, the fat duke, the mean—”

“Michael!” Johanna snapped. “You can’t talk about the dukes like that. It’s not . . .”

“Inaccurate,” Rafi mumbled, struggling to keep his lips from curling.

“Polite,” Johanna finished, shooting a glare in his direction.

“Well . . . it’s what Josh said when he came down out of the tree.” Michael thumbed at his brother who hunched his shoulders at the accusation. Then, as if sensing a chance to shift the blame, Michael said, “He climbed that big one all the way to the top, where the branches are thin and wiggly. I thought he was going to fall.”

“Oh, I’m certain you were terrified with worry.” Johanna held out her brother’s shoes.

“Perhaps Joshua would be willing to climb the tree again, and see if all my guests are still upstream,” Rafi suggested. “Not all the way to the top, but enough to get a good view.”

Josh was half up the trunk before Rafi had finished his sentence. He edged onto a stout limb, holding on to the one above to secure his position. “They’re still there. At the pool.”

“Come down and we’ll go meet them.” Johanna watched as he dropped from branch to branch, never checking his balance or grip. Her brothers’ talents were innate, their ease of movement, their fearlessness with heights. Those were all things Johanna had had to learn, after much practice and focus. It wasn’t fair that the boys got all the natural talent.

Michael and Joshua skipped ahead, the two guards followed behind, and Rafi and Johanna walked side by side. Silence draped between them like a sheer curtain, transparent but impossible to ignore.

The young lords had stripped off their outer layers and splashed around the pool in their linen shirts and breeches. The ladies demurely dabbled their toes in the water.

“Oh, Lord Rafi! I’m glad you’re back.” Lady Maribelle reclined on a blanket, her skirts spread like frosting on an ornate pastry. Other young ladies and at least one lady’s maid speckled the ground around her like cupcakes fallen from a tray. Their dresses were bright in late-summer colors, but all paled in comparison to Maribelle’s silk-and-lace embroidered confection. Her maid’s finger frantically plaited the lady’s black locks into a crown around her head.

Maribelle shook the maid away and ran her fingers through her hair, letting it cascade down her back.

She was beautiful. And exotic. And noble.

Maribelle offered a hand to Rafi. “Help me up, won’t you?” She held tight to him, pressing against his side as she stood. “I had the most splendid idea. Your brother said there are wild raspberries blooming all over the forest. Let’s hunt some up. They’d be a perfect addition to dinner. I absolutely love raspberries, and I’m sure you know exactly where all the good ones are.”

“I suppose,” Rafi said hesitantly.

Johanna skirted the group and headed to the gazebos with her brothers lagging behind.

“We’ll make a game of it,” Maribelle continued. “The teams who come back with the most berries will get a prize. My papa will be sure to give something good.”

That had both Joshua’s and Michael’s attention.

“Can we go, Jo?” Joshua asked, hope brightening his eyes.

Johanna hesitated. Would the boys be in danger? Could someone possibly hurt them in this crowd? With the bright sun and laughing nobles, it was a scene too perfect for anything amiss.

“You may go, but the prize isn’t meant for one of us. It’s a game for the nobles.”

“But Jo—”

“Michael, do you want raspberries or not?”

He scuffed at the plants and didn’t respond.

Joshua held out a hand for his brother. “Come on, Michael,” he said, disappointment evident in his tone, “we better hurry before all the berries are picked.”

She watched the group head toward the forest—Joshua tugging Michael, and Maribelle draped on Rafi’s arm.

Rafi looked in Johanna’s direction and she stopped, her heart stuttering with hope for the words he might say.

“Johanna.” He ignored the clawed grasp on his arm and Lady Maribelle’s frown. “If you see Inimigo’s steward, Vibora, tell her that he wished to see her.”

Fool. What did you expect to hear? H
e’
s a duke and yo
u’
re a
Performer.

“Of course, my lord.”

Johanna chided herself as she returned to the gazebos
. What
happens on stage, stays on stage.

She finally understood why her father avoided her mother’s plays. If every scene had looked as real as those moments in the forest had felt, she could certainly imagine how difficult it would be for Arlo to watch.

She spied Vibora standing with one of Rafi’s housemaids, their heads tilted together as they whispered. What sort of secret could two servants from such different stations share?

“Mistress Vibora?”

The woman straightened, a slow uncurving of her spine, and Johanna was struck by how the woman seemed to loom over everyone. Not that the maid noticed; she smiled up at Vibora like her mind had gone simple.

“You may go, Beatriz.” The maid skipped away, grinning as she went.

Everyone seemed to like Vibora, despite the fact that she worked for Inimigo. Brynn had raved about the woman’s beauty and kindness on their ride to the picnic that morning. But as Johanna got closer, a feeling of
wrongness
rubbed against her like a chemise made of nettles.

“Did you need something, Johanna?”

“Lord Inimigo requested you join him in the gaz—”

With one pointed nail Vibora tipped Johanna’s chin to the light. “
Both
of your parents were Performers, correct?”

“Why?” Johanna took a step back, but Vibora followed.

“Answer the question.”

“Let go of me.” Johanna could reach into her sleeve and have her dagger out instantly, but pulling a knife on another duke’s servant would have consequences.

“Something about you is very strange,” the steward said, and pushed Johanna’s face away. “Tell Inimigo I have to see to one of the servants and I’ll be along shortly.”

“I’m the strange one?” Johanna whispered as Vibora left the clearing. A half-moon indented in Jo’s skin. She rubbed at the mark, hoping it would fade by the time she entered the gazebo.

Not that it mattered. The silk draperies made the interior dim, but the structure was hot despite the shade. Wine and citrus fruit almost covered the smell of Duke Belem’s sweat, but not quite. He snored like an unhappy hog and twitched in his sleep. Lady DeSilva and Inimigo spoke quietly, but neither of their faces reflected Belem’s serenity.

“Excuse me, my lord and lady.” Johanna offered a curtsy. “Mistress Vibora will be here shortly. Would you prefer me to entertain later?”

Inimigo raised a hand to stop Johanna from leaving. “Of course not. Lady DeSilva and I would like to relieve our ears of that awful growling.”

Belem snorted and rolled to his side, cushioning his fat cheek with one hand.

“Of course, sir. Is there anything specific you’d like to hear?” Johanna rolled her foot from side to side as a strange sense of nervousness overtook her. She’d performed for hundreds of people from all classes, but singing for two of the highest rulers of the land in such an intimate setting made her stomach do acrobatics.

“Sing me something . . . victorious.” He pressed a finger to the band of gold he wore around his brow, tapping his temple a few times.

Lady DeSilva turned her knees away from Inimigo, tucking her dress tight under her thighs.

He certainly hasn’t made friends here.
Johanna moved near the gazebo’s door and began singing a battle tune so old no one remembered its history.

Here the war begins.

Here is where I stand.

Cross my sword, slam my shield, but never take my land.

Hear the call of men,

Coming to my side.

Their voices raise; their call is clear; my law they will abide.

Inimigo’s fingers ticked on the chair’s arm, beating out the rhythm. As the chorus came, the war cry of an ancient king, Inimigo clapped along, the sound reverberating in the small space.

Lady DeSilva rested her chin on her fist and stared at a point over Johanna’s head. It wasn’t Johanna’s favorite song either, but it was the first to come to mind.

The story ended with the enemy retreating, leaving behind their dead and injured in their haste to escape.

“I forgot how much I enjoyed that song. Thank you for reminding me.” Inimigo tilted his head to the side, regarding Johanna like a vulture choosing the juiciest parts of a carcass. “There’s something about you—”

“She looks very similar to Underlord Ronaldo’s latest wife, don’t you think?” Lady DeSilva offered, leaning forward in her chair.

Inimigo looked at her askance. “Ronaldo from Sulciudad?”

“Think of Lady Ronaldo twenty years ago. The resemblance is there.”

Johanna hoped her face didn’t reveal her thoughts; in her opinion Lady DeSilva couldn’t have been much more insulting. The Von Arlos performed at Sulciudad, Maringa’s most southern holding, prior to their final trip to Belem. The lady of that house was at least sixty years old, had stark white hair on her head, and black ones springing from her chin.

“She was always small framed and wore her hair short.” Inimigo pursed his lips. “I suppose . . .”

“I know exactly who she looks like.”

Johanna whipped toward Belem, who was no longer snoring or asleep. His eyes were nearly hidden under swollen lids. His tongue appeared between his lips, moving slowly like a bloated slug over rough terrain.

He pushed himself upright, smoothing down his sleep-mangled hair. “It’s not even how she looks. It’s how she
teases
.” He nodded toward Inimigo, seeking a compatriot. “It’s the way she smiles, and the way she leans close to you when she talks.”

“I’ve never—”

“That’s enough, Lord Belem. You are drunk and the alcohol has made you forget your manners.” Lady DeSilva trembled with anger. Her face was pale when she turned to Johanna. “You’re excused for the day, Johanna.”

Without a word Johanna backed out of the gazebo and melted into the woods.

Chapter 70

Rafi

Rafi hated to send Johanna to face Inimigo and Belem alone, but he also couldn’t choose her over Maribelle with everyone watching. A slight like that would not be ignored. His only consolation was that neither of the dukes would make a move against Johanna with so many witnesses.

The nobles broke into groups of four or five and headed off into the woods. As if on cue, all the retainers faded into the trees, leaving Rafi alone with Lady Maribelle. She stood a few feet away, a basket she’d finagled from one of his servants draped over her arm.

Rafi’s hands were full, raspberry juice staining his palms. He ate a few to free up a hand, and paused to wipe his fingers on the grass.

“I wanted a chance to speak to you without interlopers.” Maribelle held out the basket for his other handful.

“Lady Maribelle, we probably shouldn’t be seen without a chaperone—”

“Let them talk. Rumors have a tendency to become truths.” She popped a raspberry in her mouth. “A rumor about us would only hasten our betrothal, and that would suit me perfectly.”

Her candor froze Rafi for a moment. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for untruths whispered about you.”

“Don’t give me any tripe about upholding honor.” She snorted. It was an oddly horselike sound coming from such a fine-featured face. “Your reputation is even darker than mine.”

A fist of guilt clenched in Rafi’s stomach.
And now Johanna’s is sullied too.

“Accosting your peasants, taking a Performer as a lover, killing your own father,” she continued. “All bold moves.”

“I didn’t kill my father.”

She looked at him through her lashes, a knowing smile curving her lips. “Of course not. And I haven’t contemplated dozens of ways to dispatch mine.”

Rafi could deny it again, knowing his words would fall on deaf ears. “What do you want, Maribelle? Or are you a pawn in one of Inimigo’s grand schemes?”

“Not this time.” She hesitated, and Rafi saw something nervous and shifty under her arrogant facade. “Marrying you is the only way to escape from my father, and without my help you won’t live long enough for that to happen. My father is committed to putting himself on the throne at any cost. He’ll lie and betray and kill to get what he wants, but . . .”

“But what?” Rafi prompted when the silence stretched too far.

“He’s not in this alone. He’s made some friends, powerful friends, who want to help him achieve his goal.” She folded her arms across her chest, the basket resting against her hip. “They are very dangerous.”

“Who are they? Pirates? Slavers? What can they offer your father that he doesn’t already have?” Maringa was the richest state in both natural resources and economy. It could survive with very little trade from the other states.

She stepped close and put her mouth next to his ear. “Magic,” she breathed.

Magic?
The girl had to be completely unhinged. The closest thing to magic was Performers’ tricks—all sleight of hand and simple science. Only in the stories of Mother Lua and the Keepers were feats of magic ever possible.

“You don’t believe me.” Maribelle studied his face, as if doubt was written plainly across his forehead. “I don’t blame you. It sounds ridiculous, but if you’d seen them, you’d know they were a threat. Vibora is a mouse by comparison.”

“So you’re saying Vibora can do magic?”

“She can do
things
 . . . She makes things happen.” She rubbed mindlessly at her wrist where a purple bruise blared against her olive skin. “Things that aren’t natural.”

Rafi wondered what other damage Inimigo had done to his daughter, maybe to her mind.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, trying to placate her.

She offered him a haughty smile. “I thought it was best you know. Then you can be prepared for whatever treachery my father has planned.”

That was a truth Rafi couldn’t ignore, despite its messenger. Maribelle may have been mistaken about magic, but Inimigo likely had allies beyond the obvious ones.

“I appreciate the warning and will . . . take it to heart.” Rafi offered her his arm, hoping to lead her away before the rumors spun out of control.

There was a shout in the woods, and both Maribelle and Rafi jumped. Dom and two guards came crashing toward them.

Apprehension washed over Rafi, making his skin prickle from head to toe. “What’s going on?”

“We lost her,” the first guard said without preamble. “We were trying not to be obvious about who we were following, so we mixed with the servants outside the gazebos. She must have snuck off after she performed.”

Rafi snapped into action. “Dom, go get Snout.”