The Storyspinner

by Becky Wallace

  “Oh.” Dom followed his brother’s gaze. “So the rumors are true.”

  Rafi stiffened. Had his brother somehow discovered his mother’s suspicions about Johanna’s identity? If he knew, who else did?

  Dom dismounted and freed the pannier from behind Breaker’s saddle and tied it to his own. “If you don’t want people to know, you should really make your interest less obvious.”

  Rafi leaned across his saddle and snatched Dom’s reins, holding both horses steady. “What are you talking about? What rumors?”

  “Brother, relax.” Dom gave Rafi’s knee a playful shove. “Gossip follows every lord around. Especially when he and an attractive Performer girl disappear at the same time.” He shook his head, as if slightly confused, but a smile still creased his face. “I can’t say I understand her taste in men. Surely she knows that in a few years I’ll be the brother everyone will want.”

  The knots in Rafi’s neck loosened a bit, and he allowed himself one more fleeting glance in Johanna’s direction.

  “If you want to keep your romantic rendezvous private you have to be sneak—”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Rafi insisted, his voice low. He felt honor bound, among other things, to protect Johanna’s reputation. She’d suffered enough at his hands and was a prickly person to apologize to. “I wanted to . . . to make sure she got home safely.”

  Rafi doubted every action he’d taken regarding Johanna. Perhaps it would have been better to send her away—to where, he wasn’t sure—but it would have been too easy for someone to attack her en route.

  No. It was better that she was where he could keep on an eye on her personally, and where guardsmen he trusted could provide her protection when he was unavailable. And if she was supposed to be his future wife . . .

  “You’re doing a horrible job not looking at her.”

  Rafi realized that he’d been staring, feeling a twinge of jealousy as she chatted with a few of the visiting underlords. Then one man touched her elbow, and Rafi’s jealousy shifted to concern.

  Any one of them could be an assassin. It would be so easy to slip a knife between her ribs, or poison her food, or snatch her into the underbrush. In that moment he made a decision.

  “Dom, I need your help.”

  Rafi didn’t tell his brother everything—there were some secrets better left unspoken—but he needed another person he could trust to keep an eye on Johanna. He laid out a plan that he hoped would protect her while still allowing him to treat with Inimigo.

  “She’s not going to like it.” Dom scuffed the ground with his boot. “She may not play along.”

  “She’ll do it. If she’s in danger, her family may also be at risk. A man intent on killing every girl who matches her description wouldn’t let a couple of little boys stand in his way.”

  * * *

  Rafi hesitated outside the small dining room’s door, trying to make out the voices on the other side.

  “You said the men of Santiago were honorable, or at least a little more circumspect about their dalliances.”

  “He’s a man, or will be soon, Belle. You can’t expect more from him than that.”

  “But she’s a Performer!” The girl’s voice rose in pitch. “Some gutter-whelped entertainer who isn’t even talented enough to be sanctioned by the Performers’ Council. If she were another high-bred lady with taste and class, perhaps I’d be willing to share him—”

  Her voice cut off with a thump and a gasp.

  “Enough,” Inimigo said, sounding dangerous. “I don’t care if he brings a trollop, or a man, or a horse to his bed, as long as he brings you to it as well. I’ve fought too long to lose it all because my daughter doesn’t want her husband to act like a man.”

  There was another pained intake of breath before Inimigo continued. “You will obey me. You will flatter and sway him. You will convince him that you are the only choice for a betrothal, or I will ask Vibora and her friends to help you. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  “N-no, Papa. Please.”

  Vibora? She hadn’t seemed particularly threatening, but she did work for Inimigo. That alone made her a woman with secrets.

  Rafi didn’t want to get caught listening at closed doors. “Good morning, Duke and Lady,” he said as he entered the room. “Forgive me for delaying your meal. I’m glad your steward caught me. I couldn’t imagine breakfasting with a more . . . lovely companion.”

  He took a moment to study the girl’s form—as he supposed Inimigo expected him to do. Maribelle’s dark hair had been swept off her neck, which was bare, as were her shoulders and a generous portion of her chest. Two large cutouts exposed the girl’s abdomen from her rib cage to her hip bones. Smooth, tawny skin stretched over sinuous curves. Rafi knew dress styles in Maringa were more revealing, but this gown had to border on scandalous even there.

  She offered her hand and Rafi pressed his lips to it, noticing a series of fingerlike bruises ringing her wrist.

  A coconspirator in this plot, but an unwilling one.

  “She is something to be proud of,” Inimigo said, eyeing his daughter like a prized mare.

  Maribelle returned her father’s smile without a blink or tremble.

  And a good actress.

  Rafi waved to the table laden with an assortment of breads, cheeses, sliced meats, and fresh yogurt, not that he had any inclination to eat while his stomach broiled with disgust. “Tell me the news from Maringa.” Rafi schooled his features into pleasantness and hoped that neither of his guests would realize his smile was fake.

  “Lord Rafael, we both know that Maringa’s economy, its people, its textiles and commodities are far richer than Santiago will ever be.” Inimigo leaned forward, resting a fist on the table beside his plate. “I want to expand trade from my state beyond Belem, but your people and those of Impreza hold me in no great esteem. I’m here to attend your naming ceremony as a gesture of goodwill, and I’m offering you my daughter’s hand to create a greater connection between our states.”

  At least he didn’t spend the entire meal making small talk, Rafi thought as he set down his goblet. “While your daughter is beautiful,” he said, nodding to Maribelle, who blushed prettily, “and a new trade route between our states would be mutually beneficial, I’m not certain the people of Santiago are prepared to forgive you for the deaths you sanctioned during the Ten Years’ War. What reason can you possibly give me—and I them—that would clear those memories from their minds? And why would they believe you when you arrive at my home with thirty slaves in tow?”

  Rafi leaned back in his chair, trying to appear more calm and controlled than he felt. A drop of sweat rolled down his back and puddled at his belt.

  Inimigo considered Rafi with pursed lips. Rafi hoped he saw a confident, educated man and not a boy spouting his mother’s words.

  “Yes, Vibora said there were rumors circulating about my prisoners.” Inimigo drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he spoke. “Rather than incarcerate all petty criminals in Maringa, we give a select few the opportunity to work off their debts as members of our household staff. The collars are to help us delineate between regular staff who have access to every room in my house, and those who have limited access.”

  “You brought these criminals into my home.”

  Maribelle spoke up. “They aren’t criminals in the usual sense. They’re rehabilitated street people, mostly. Isn’t that right, Papa?”

  “They aren’t dangerous.” Inimigo placed a hand on his daughter’s bare shoulder. “I wouldn’t let anyone evil near my child.”

  Except yourself.

  “Perhaps the people of Santiago would be swayed by the opportunities I give the lowliest of mine,” Inimigo continued. “If that’s not enough, there’s always Maribelle’s dowry.”

  “Twenty thousand in gold, shares in two of your mines, a selection of jewelr
y.” Rafi shrugged as if unimpressed. “I’m sure an underlord in Belem or Impreza would be happy with those terms.”

  Maribelle crumpled her napkin between multiringed fingers. “It’s not enough for you?”

  Rafi rested his elbows on the table and narrowed his eyes at the duke. “I was once betrothed to a princess. Her dowry was an entire kingdom. Why would I give up on that when there are rumors that she survived and is on the Wisp Islands, massing troops for her grand return?”

  “People love romantic notions of missing heirs returning to claim their thrones. It’s something straight out of a Performer’s tale.” A vein ticked at Inimigo’s left temple, but his face showed no other sign of emotion. “I know the princess is dead. Unfortunately, a group of overzealous soldiers strung up her body. I executed the lot for their actions.”

  It wasn’t the confession Rafi hoped for, but it also didn’t eliminate Inimigo as a threat to Johanna.

  “A dead girl can do nothing for you, Rafael. I can fill your grain silos. I can feed your people, this year, next year, for ten years to come. But food isn’t what you really need.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Protection.” A small smile crept onto Inimigo’s face. “There’s a storm coming, and the two hundred men in your garrison aren’t going to be enough to stand in its path. You could call in the men from each of your outposts and force your underlords to marshal their troops as well. They won’t be enough.”

  Rafi’s throat grew dry, but his back continued to sweat. “Is that a declaration of war?”

  “From me?” Inimigo placed a hand over his chest, clearly offended. “Of course not. I was offering a piece of advice.”

  “Tell me then, where will this great threat come from? The Wisp Islands? The Pirates from beyond Impreza?” Rafi tried out one of Dom’s smirks. “Or perhaps you expect the Keepers to appear and take back this land.”

  “No need to be flippant, my boy. There are people who see the future of Santarem as one united country, rather than five divided states.”

  Inimigo’s neck had gone red, but Rafi continued to push.

  “I assume you’re one of these people? The one ready to wear the crown of a united Santarem?”

  “Those are your words, not mine.” Inimigo grabbed his daughter’s wrist and pulled her to her feet.

  “I’m not certain this country would ever accept you as a king.”

  “Consider my offer. Consider your position in the new Santarem.”

  And as the duke vacated the room, Rafi wondered what, exactly, Inimigo had been holding back. There had been some undercurrent of tension, something that even the implacable duke had been unwilling to discuss.

  What was it? Rafi wondered. And how much danger were his people about to face?

  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.”