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.”
Chapter 71
Johanna
Joshua and Michael had a lifetime’s worth of experience picking berries and finding nuts to supplement their meals while traveling between performances. Johanna followed their tracks to a sunny rise in the opposite direction all the other people had traveled. Within minutes she spotted them; both had full hands and stained lips.
“I thought I told you to stay with the group!” she yelled up the hill.
“They’d be all picked if we followed everyone else,” Joshua explained.
She tried to be angry, but Michael stuffed his cheeks full of berries, and she found herself laughing instead.
“Don’t eat too many! They’ll make you sick.”
Johanna stopped at the tree line to fill a handkerchief with raspberries. She’d save a few for the next morning when the boys were hungry. Again.
Once her square was filled, she knotted the top and followed the noise her brothers made into the trees. It was cooler under the branches, the ground littered with twisting ivy and ferns that crunched under her feet. She checked over her shoulder to see if the two guards had followed her from the gazebos to the woods but found someone wholly unexpected.
Duke Belem.
He smiled when he saw her surprise. “I apologize if I frightened you, Johanna. I’d like a word with you, if I may.”
Rafi’s words echoed in her ears. One of the dukes has expressed an inappropriate interest in you. After her performance, she couldn’t say which of the lords gave her the worst impression. Inimigo stared at her with creepy interest, and Belem . . . Belem was vile.
“Of course, my lord.” Johanna measured the distance between them. She could run, but the ground cover and her skirts would slow her down.
“I have room in my house for a girl such as you.” His gaze traced down her body and back up. “I could use someone of your veritable talents.”
Every time she saw Belem, he had a bottle in his hand and was either drunk or well on his way. There was a drying wine stain on the front of his tunic, but he stood balanced on the balls of his feet, as if expecting to burst into motion. Johanna shifted the raspberries into her left hand, freeing her right so that she could reach for her dagger if she needed it.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but I’ve signed a contract with the DeSilvas, and my family is settled here. I couldn’t take any offer that forced me to leave them behind.”
“Those sweet little boys I saw earlier?”
“I have an older brother, as well. He should be along any moment.” The lie came smoothly, but Belem clicked his tongue in response.
“You mean the one who has an apprenticeship in town? I’d be surprised to see him now, given that he doesn’t generally leave till after sunset.”
Shivers ran along Johanna’s skin like an army of ants. “I’m surprised you know so much about my family.”
“I don’t know everything, Johanna, but I’d like to.” He took a step forward and she matched him with one backward. “My estate is beautiful, and wealthy. We make a healthy profit on the items we buy from Maringa and sell to the rest of Santarem at a premium price. Such fools they all are, holding to their honor and misguided principles.”
He reached toward the belt hidden under his paunch and Johanna drew her dagger. “Put your hands down.”
Belem laughed, his jowls wiggling with amusement. “Relax, girl. I was reaching for my purse.”
“Don’t bother. I’m not interested in your money.”
“Come now, you can’t honestly tell me this is how you saw your life turning out? Performing in a tiny state rather than Santarem’s biggest cities?” He lowered one hand slowly, untied his purse, and tossed it at Johanna’s feet. It split open and gold coins spilled out the top, cascading over her foot and rolling under the vines below.
Then she was flat on her back with a knee pinning her knife hand and strong fingers at her throat.
“Performers are always distracted by money.” Belem exhaled into her face, his breath reeking of wine fumes and rotten cheese. “It appears you are a fool as well.”
He was so heavy, his weight pressing her into the soft dirt. Her skirt was trapped under his legs and she couldn’t get them free.
“Get off of me!” She swung her left arm, dragging her nails across his face. He caught her wrist and slammed it into the ground.
“That will come out of your salary.” Belem spit blood from a split lip. “I came to you with an honest proposal and then—” His words cut off with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes wide with shock. “Wh-what is that? Where did you get that necklace?”
She could feel it then, the green crystal pressed against the hollow of her throat.
Belem broke the chain holding the pendant, cradling it in his meaty fist. Johanna struggled and bucked her hips, but the duke didn’t seem to notice. He swatted her hands aside and stood up, still staring at the necklace.
“Mother Lua, it can’t be.” Without another word, he walked toward the pond, swaying like a drunk as he went.
Johanna sat among the pile of coins, feeling the sting of the broken chain across her neck and grateful she hadn’t suffered worse.
&nb
sp; Chapter 72
Jacaré
Something had changed among Jacaré’s troop members. Strained silence drifted around their camp with the smoke from their small cooking fire.
They were tired and worried—he knew that and felt it too—but there was something more in the dark looks Tex sent both Pira and Leão. Pira kept her distance from the men like they’d been skunked.
Scrapes between soldiers were common, but they were a small, tight-knit group and needed to focus on something other than their disagreement.
He’d chosen to stop in the late afternoon so that everyone could catch a few hours’ sleep without anyone having to stand watch. They’d eat, rest, ride on at dusk, and be at Santiago by the following afternoon.
Leão returned from the stream with a string of cleaned fish in his hand. He stepped wide to avoid brushing against Pira as she pulled the saddle from her horse.
Yes, there was definitely something going on.
“Help me get these wrapped,” Jacaré commanded Leão, pointing to the wide leaves he’d gathered to bake the fish in. “The coals are ready now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hold up a moment,” Tex said. He held the glass on his palms, the wrappings dangling from either side. “The image is frozen again.” He shook it as if that would make the magic start working.
Jacaré snatched it out of the old soldier’s hand and studied the image. It showed a canopy of trees with late afternoon sunlight creating streaks of golden fog across the glass surface. There was something brown—maybe a thatched roof?—at the bottom of the image. “How long has it been like this?”
“I checked it this morning and it showed a wagon like the Performers live in, and then there was a stream of images changing every half hour or so, but it’s been stuck like this for two hours.” Tex leaned over Jacaré’s shoulder. “But I can’t figure out why she’d be lying on her back for so long unless . . .”
He couldn’t finish the sentence and Jacaré didn’t need him to. The last time the image had frozen, the person wearing the necklace was dead.
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