Fires of the Faithful (29 page)

“It’s still too small,” I said. It was velvet, like the other, but midnight blue, with gold brocade along the neckline and sleeves. What would it feel like to wear cloth like that?

“It will
do
, signora,” she urged, biting her lip. Her eyes were wide and alarmed, and that, more than anything else, persuaded me to comply.

“I’m not letting you wash my clothes,” I said. “I’m keeping them here.”

“Of course, signora,” she said, her face flushing with relief. I took the dress and waited for her to leave, but she just stood there. When I looked at her questioningly, she bit her lip again and said, “I’m to help you dress.”

I hadn’t been helped to dress since the last time I’d had a bad fever, almost three years ago, and I felt terribly self-conscious. Arianna averted her eyes as I slipped off my tunic and trousers, folding them neatly and laying them on the bed. They could use a washing, but I didn’t trust her to give them back. “Here,” she said, and I realized that the dress buttoned up the back; I would need her help, after
all. I shrugged on the sleeves and she buttoned it up. It took a long time. “I’ll comb your hair,” she said when it was done.

“I can do it myself,” I protested, but she sat me firmly down in the chair and undid my hair clasp. Arianna combed it out carefully, much more thoroughly than I had the night before, then braided it, winding a ribbon and a strand of blue glass beads through the braid. “This is ridiculous,” I said, squirming as the comb caught in a tangle. “You’re pasting peacock feathers on a sparrow. I don’t wear clothing like this.”

“You look lovely, though,” she said, and led me to the mirror.

If seeing a strange man in the mirror had been a shock, this was even more disturbing. The dress was cut low in the front, showing the tops of my breasts, and the fabric hugged my waist, stretching over my hips to flare in a long, full skirt. I had the body of a woman, which was something of a surprise to me. I ran my hands slowly over the fabric. I was disappointed; it wasn’t nearly as soft inside as out, and the brocade was scratchy. In the mirror, my face was pale and nervous. “I look like a child in borrowed clothes.”

“No,” Arianna said. “You look like a beautiful woman.”

I snickered at that, and my reflection looked slightly less nervous. I drew myself up straight. “Well,” I said.

In the mirror, I saw the door swing open behind me. “Much better,” Teleso murmured, and gestured to Arianna. She bowed and slipped out silently. I continued to stare into the mirror, unwilling to turn to face Teleso.

He beamed at me over my shoulder. “Beautiful,” he said, and I blushed like a twelve-year-old.

“No,” I muttered.

“Yes,” he said, and stepped up behind me, resting his hand lightly on the small of my back.

“What time is it?” I asked, whirling abruptly to walk back to the hearth and pick up my violin.

“Just before noon,” Teleso said.

“I need to practice,” I said.

“You sounded fine to me yesterday.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but if I don’t practice every day, my skills will deteriorate. I don’t just practice to get better at playing, I practice to keep from backsliding, getting worse. Your sister must have told you that.” I knew that I was babbling, but tried to straighten my shoulders and meet Teleso’s eyes, though it was harder to do that in this dress.

Teleso did not follow me, although he watched me, a slight smile on his face. I backed into the wall with a thump. He still hadn’t moved.

“Eliana,” he said. “Relax.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked. My voice sounded high and thin, like a violin string about to break.

“Your company at the midday meal,” he said. “Nothing more. Was there something else you were expecting?” I gulped and I knew that my eyes showed fear. He smiled, and his cold eyes creased. “So if you will return from the corner, and take my arm, I will escort you to my study, where we will have a nice meal, and good wine, and pleasant conversation.”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.” I took his arm, and he tucked my hand snugly against his side. He led me back down the stairs, through a series of corridors and finally into his study.

The meal was silent and uncomfortable. Teleso sat behind a massive carved desk, staring at me for most of the meal. I sat on the other side, my bowl on the very edge of
the desk. I stared at my food to avoid looking at Teleso, eating quickly to get through the meal as soon as I could. The dress made me feel exposed.

There was a sharp rap at the door as I was finishing the last of my bread. It was one of Teleso’s officers, a dark-haired man with a face like a weasel. Teleso stepped over to the door for a hasty quiet conference. “Duty calls,” he said, returning to the desk. “I’ll have the maid show you to your room.” He rang for Arianna.

Alone in my room again, I alternated between practicing and pacing. Struck by a sudden worry, I checked the bed, but my tunic and trousers were where I’d left them. They really were filthy. There was a basin of water in the room, along with a bar of perfumed soap, so I decided to wash them. The midnight blue velvet was not exactly suited to washerwoman’s work, but wearing it hadn’t been my idea. Still, I rolled up my sleeves and worked carefully so as not to splash water on myself. It was awkward and slow, but I managed to get out the worst of the dirt. I wrung out most of the water, but needed to leave them to dry somewhere that Teleso wouldn’t see them and order them removed. I checked under the bed—no dust. Arianna was a thorough housekeeper. Hiking the velvet over my knees to avoid crushing it, I spread the belt, tunic, and trousers under the bed to dry.

I was arranging the trousers when there was a knock at the door. I jumped, knocking my head on the underside of the bed before managing to crawl out, gritting my teeth and rubbing the back of my head. “Come in,” I said, trying to smooth out the dress with my other hand.

I was expecting Arianna, but it was a soldier, wearing a cloak with the hood pulled up to half cover his face. He closed the door gently behind him and flipped back the hood. It was Mario.

“Hello,” I said, startled.

“I have a message for you,” Mario said in a low voice, and held out a folded slip of paper. I hesitated. “Take it!” he said. “I can’t stay here. It’s from Lucia.”

Still rubbing my head where I’d bumped it, I took the note, staring at him. “Are you all right?” he asked, lingering a moment longer.

I shrugged. “The food is better and the bed is softer. But—” I shook my head.

Mario gave me a crooked smile. “It will all be all right.” He slipped the door open a crack and poked his head out to look for anyone coming. He gave me one more reassuring smile and left, closing the door behind him.

Alone in the room again, I sat down on the bed to read my letter. It was just a tiny piece of parchment, folded neatly. Lucia had drawn an X at the top. The letter was written in a beautiful, graceful script, but with the flourishes cut short.
Eliana
, the letter read.
You must persuade Teleso to allow us to hold a funeral, and to allow you to play. This is our
chance.
This is what Beneto was waiting for. I have faith in you. By the grace of God, Lucia
. In smaller letters at the bottom:
Burn this when read
.

I held the note a moment longer, as if by pressing it I would somehow feel Lucia touching my hand. Then I burned it to ash in one of the candles, and washed my hands in the basin.

The room was big enough for me to pace. What was going on outside these walls? I wished Lucia had sent me a longer letter. Was Rafi doing better? She hadn’t said. I shook my head, wondering how I ever spent all those years at the conservatory. I’d only been shut up in here for a day and I was going mad, not knowing what was happening outside the walls.

I pulled over a chair and climbed up to look out the
window again. At the very edge of the piazza, I saw Lucia. She stood quietly, her hands clasped, looking at the keep. Looking for me—I was sure of that, but there was no way she could see me through my tiny window, not from that distance. I tucked my violin under my chin and played for her, hoping that the notes would carry. Lucia remained where she was, silently keeping her vigil.

Who will lead us now?
Lucia’s question from last night rang in my ears. After staring across the piazza at Lucia for a long time, I climbed down off the chair. Giovanni was next in line to lead, I realized, and shuddered. God help us all. I tried to concentrate on some études, but my mind kept wandering. Lucia would be a far better leader than Giovanni, but I knew that she wouldn’t do it—she believed that her calling was elsewhere. Isabella, perhaps? Rafi? None of them would be able to claim the popular support that Beneto and Jesca had built up, I knew that much. Especially not Giovanni.

Ravenna was in deep shadow when Teleso swung my door open. “Good evening,” he said with a smile. “Would you care to join me downstairs for supper?” He offered me his arm, then led me back down to the dining room.

The meal was more hectic tonight. The weasel-faced officer I’d seen before was in and out throughout the meal. Teleso spoke to him quietly, glancing at me a few times to see if I was listening. I lowered my eyes to my plate and tried to look uninterested, tipping my head slightly to hear as much as I could.

“—could be a good chance. They’re all angry. Men couldn’t object—”

“Yes, signore. As you say—”

“It’s well past time.”

“As you say, signore.”

Teleso’s deputy left, and Teleso gestured to the servant
to refill his wineglass. “Troublemakers,” he said to me. “All of them.”

I took a sip of my wine. “The refugees?” I asked.

“And the soldiers,” Teleso said. He drained his wineglass. “Lucia is demanding to be allowed to hold a funeral, with everyone in Ravenna attending.” He gestured to the servant, then jerked the wine bottle away and filled his own glass, banging the bottle down to the table. “I’ll have to deal with her.”

“A funeral—” I started to say. How was I supposed to persuade him to hold one?

“—Isn’t a bad idea, really,” Teleso said. “Make the refugees happy. What will they have to complain about then? You’ll play the funeral dance for them, of course.” He drained his glass.

“Yes, signore,” I said. That was easier than I’d expected.

Teleso filled his glass again. “The trouble is,” he said, “the bastards won’t shoot unless there’s trouble.”

“Who won’t shoot?” I asked.

“Bastards downstairs who call themselves soldiers. I’ll have you play for them too.”

“All right,” I said. “Now?”

“No, not now!” he snarled. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re supposed to play for
me
now. So stop talking. Did you bring your violin?”

“Not to supper,” I said. “It’s still up in my room.”

“Well, go get it,” he said. “Bring it to my study. I’ll wait for you there.” He rang for Arianna and rose, stumbling slightly. Arianna escorted me upstairs to get my violin, but when I brought it back down to Teleso’s study he was snoring in his chair.

I edged over to his desk, treading softly on the rug. His eyes were shut, and he was drooling slightly in his sleep. I
reached out one hand to shake him, then thought the better of it. As I was pulling my hand away, I noticed the papers on his desk. Teleso had pulled some papers out to work on while waiting for me. I glanced at him again, but he was still drooling, his eyes closed. I hesitated for a moment, afraid he’d wake suddenly. He seemed pretty drunk, though. I picked up the papers.

The top paper was difficult to decipher; it seemed to be a page from a ledger, with calculations scribbled down the side. I realized after studying it for a moment that it was a reckoning of how much grain Ravenna had left, and how much this allowed per person until the next shipment. I could barely make out the numbers, but I could tell there wasn’t much grain to go around. I slipped the paper back onto his desk and went onto the next one.

It was a letter from his superiors in Cuore.
In receipt of your letter … Regret to say that supplements will be impossible at this time
. Supplementary food? No, reading further, they meant supplementary soldiers.
Advise you to make the most of the men currently under your command
. The letter became steadily more patronizing. At the bottom, in the cramped handwriting of the ledger scrawl, was the single word,
bastards
. Teleso’s frustrations, most likely.

The final page was a list:
Beneto. Jesca. Lucia. Isabella. Rafi. Michel. Giovanni. Mario
. There were other names on the list, people I didn’t know.
Tomas. Regillo. Petro
. There was a small check mark next to Beneto and Jesca’s names. Lucia’s name was circled.

Teleso snorted loudly and I shoved the papers back and reached across the desk as he opened his eyes. “Signore?” I said, touching his arm. “Are you sure you want me to play for you? I think you need sleep more than music right now.”

“Surely,” he said. His eyes were bleary as he stood up and rang for the servant. “You’re right. Good night, then.” I gathered up my violin and headed for the door.

“Eliana,” Teleso said, and I froze in my tracks. “Tomorrow night. We’ll hold the funeral. You’ll play.” Arianna appeared in the doorway, and Teleso waved me off. “Sleep well,” he said.

Arianna had to help me undress for bed. She was less shy in the flickering candlelight as she unwound the beads from my hair and unbuttoned the long row of buttons down the back of the dress. “This dress is ridiculous,” I said.

“It’s a lovely dress,” she said.

“It’s a ridiculous dress. I can’t
do
anything in it.” I craned my neck to look over my shoulder at Arianna.

“You managed,” she said, glancing significantly toward my still-damp laundry hidden under the bed.

“This dress is making me miss those stupid robes we had to wear at the conservatory,” I said. “Those sleeves just got in the way. These don’t want to let me move.” I paused, but she didn’t answer. “Are you almost done?”

“Yes, signora.” She helped me step out of the dress, then hung it up neatly as I pulled the linen nightdress over my head.