The Storyspinner

by Becky Wallace

  “It’s still a bit early, but my guests seem a little more boisterous than usual.” Rafi shifted his feet, trying not to notice the angle of her collarbones or the smooth scoops of flesh beneath. Damn Belem. My mind’s a muddle. “I’d like to start your performance before dessert.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” She took a towel off the counter and dusted her hands, and then dabbed at invisible spots on the front of her dress. “Am I presentable?”

  He offered a sharp nod. “I’ll make the announcement now.”

  Chapter 29

  Johanna

  Johanna stood inside the kitchen arch, while Rafi strode to the center of the room, and waited for him to make his speech.

  He flashed a smile to his guests—it made him look more like Dom—and accepted the applause with humility. His voice was clear, his diction excellent, his message simple. He didn’t offer any flowery praise besides referring to Johanna as local talent and welcomed her to take the stage.

  As was tradition, Johanna offered him a swan-neck curtsy. She bent her knees deeply, tilted her chin to her chest, and held up her hand. It was an awkward position, and it seemed like hours passed before Rafi took her hand and tugged her gently upward.

  He bent and brushed the back of her hand with a kiss. “The floor is yours, milady.” He managed one more smile, closer to the cold smirk she was used to seeing on his face.

  “Thank you.” Johanna resisted the urge to wipe the hand he’d kissed on the skirt of her dress. It was the first time they’d touched without one or both of them smothered in blood or bruises, and the contact made her skin grow uncomfortably warm.

  She turned and offered curtsies to each of the tables. Some members of the audience watched; others chatted; most ate.

  Johanna allowed herself a grin, knowing that before the end of her performance they’d focus on her alone.

  With a quick lick of her lips she started the show with a jaunty hunting ballad that was a favorite in all of the dukedoms.

  Heads turned; food stopped halfway to mouths; voices cut off. Their interest spurred her on, and she sang more difficult variations of the same melody, watching the faces, judging reactions, choosing the next song by their interest level and responses.

  Rafi barely looked at her the entire time she performed, seemingly more concerned with his plate or the ceiling.

  Johanna tried not to doubt her performance, chalking up his disinterest to his personal dislike of her and not a lack of skill.

  She finished the songs she’d prepared and took requests for stories or tunes from the head table. The ladies wanted lovers’ ballads, darting looks at the men that held their interest. The young men wanted songs of great battles. The Duke of Belem wanted a tavern song and even sang a few bars when Johanna was unfamiliar with the tune.

  Finally it was Rafi’s turn.

  “My lord, is there anything particular you’d like to hear?”

  “I suppose,” he said, and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “How about ‘The Lovers’ Lament’?”

  His request was met with a few cheers from his female guests, but it took Johanna by surprise. It was a dark, mellow song about a love that reached beyond the grave, and seemed out of character for the lordling.

  “Certainly.” She bobbed a small curtsy.

  Johanna turned her back to her audience for a moment, digging out the right emotions for the tale of unconquerable love.

  She began singing, still facing the hearth at the front of the room and slowly rotated, reeling her audience in by degrees. Women reached for their beaux’s hands. Men draped their arms around their lady loves’ shoulders. Duke Belem leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his paunch, ignoring his dessert for her entertainment.

  But then there was Lord Rafael, watching her with cool disinterest.

  It was infuriating.

  Johanna was determined to impress him.

  You asked for this.

  Chapter 30

  Leão

  Leão leaned against the bar, exactly as he had earlier that night, but the dark-haired girl he’d flirted with was nowhere to be seen. The crowd in the common room had grown a little quieter as the moon set. It was late, but a few rougher-looking men sat in a corner playing a game that involved several small cubes and wooden cups.

  “What’s your pleasure?” The girl who’d welcomed them to the inn—Miriam, Leão thought—rested her elbows on the bar. Her rounded cleavage seemed ready to pop out of her low-cut corset.

  Leão gaped for an instant and then looked away. Keepers didn’t openly display their flesh like the people of Belem, and it made him uncomfortable.

  “I had a few questions, and I hoped that the other girl could answer them for me.”

  “Lessie?” Miriam eyed Leão openly. “She went home hours ago. Her da doesn’t let her work after dark. Says it puts wrong ideas in a gentleman’s head to see an unchaperoned girl on the street by herself. ”

  “A wise man.”

  His comment earned a bright grin. “Then perhaps you’d be willing to walk me home as I’m without a chaperone?” She paused and tilted a shoulder toward him coyly. “Unless, of course, you’re the type of gentleman to get wrong ideas.”

  Leão was naive, but he didn’t miss the nuance in the girl’s body language. He gave her a smile that had received positive responses before. “When can you leave?”

  “I’m off now.” Miriam shouted to someone in the kitchen and received a grunt in return, then slipped under the bar to join Leão.

  He politely offered her his arm, and she took it and giggled.

  “Which way do you live?” he asked as they passed through the inn’s front door.

  “My house is on the block directly behind us.” She waved to the west. “That route is quicker, but the neighborhood is a little dangerous. A girl I know was killed walking home from work late one night.” She shivered and pressed her body against Leão’s. “We’ll take the longer route to be safe.”

  “Are murders common here?” he asked, remembering the prisoners in the wagon.

  “There are a few every year.” Miriam led them closer to the stable where the Keepers’ horses were kept. “Duke Belem’s guards do a pretty good job keeping the streets safe, but that night the township was packed with visitors here for the festivities. Those nights are always more dangerous with that Performer riffraff in town.”

  “Performers?”

  “Yes. At first the guards thought maybe one of the Performers snuck away from their camp and killed poor Elise, but they all banded together and said that none of them had left Duke Belem’s estate.”

  “Oh?” It wasn’t that Miriam needed prompting to keep talking, but he felt like he should say something since her feet weren’t really moving anymore. They stood a few steps from the stable’s doors.

  “You know how those Performers can be. They always stick together, keeping each other’s secrets and spying at every town.” She lowered her voice and Leão had to lean closer to listen. “People say they kidnap children and tempt young girls to leave respectable jobs to wear those scandalous costumes.”

  “Was Elise the kind of girl who’d run off to join the Performers?”

  “No. She was real close to the aunt and cousins she lived with.” Miriam frowned and shook her head. “When they found her body, neck slit and marked up, the whole family was devastated.” She tightened her grip on his bicep and tipped her head up to look into his face. “Just talking about this makes me so, so grateful you were willing to walk me home.”

  Leão’s mouth went dry; he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next, but there was a promise in her eyes. Maybe if he could keep her talking, he could learn more from Miriam. About a lot of things.

  “Why don’t we find a place to sit down and talk for a few more minutes? Unless you have to get home right away?”


  Miriam rewarded him with a broad smile. “I know the perfect place.” She wound her fingers through his and dragged him into the stable.

  Chapter 31

  Rafi

  Rafi had chosen “Lamento de Amantes” because it was his mother’s favorite. He had heard her sing a few lines at his father’s funeral and knew it had special meaning to her.

  Johanna sang it beautifully. Her voice arched with the high notes and plummeted with the low ones, weaving passion and heartbreak into every tone. Dom was perfectly still, his mouth slightly open as if in constant awe. His mother leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her palm. A sweet, wistful smile curved her lips.

  Duke Belem’s eyes never left Johanna, locked on to her like she was meat and he was a starving man.

  Johanna raised her arms slightly, appealing to the audience, and took slow, dramatic steps toward the head table. The moonlight poured through the windows, playing across her cheekbones, giving her face a pale, ethereal glow. Two steps, she was in shadow. Two more she returned to the light. Two more and she stood directly in front of Rafi, only the table separating them.

  Her voice was powerful, mesmerizing, as she came to the song’s conclusion. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. She pleaded with her eyes, her palms out begging for his love and protection.

  Yes. Anything for you. The thought sliced through the connection between them like a knife through a taut rope. Rafi sat back in his chair, shaking off the power of her gaze.

  After her last word, there was no sound for a moment. Then Duke Belem stood and began clapping. Everyone soon followed.

  But Rafi felt frozen solid. He didn’t stand; he didn’t applaud. He stared.

  She held his eyes for a few moments, then lifted her chin up and turned away.

  Duke Belem leaned over, patting Rafi on the shoulder. “Send her to my rooms tonight. I should like to get to know her better.”

  Chapter 32

  Johanna

  Johanna tore through the laces on her dress. She wanted it off. She wanted to get out of the estate. To get as far from Rafael DeSilva as soon as possible and never, ever, see him again.

  She wasn’t sure why his approval—or lack thereof—of her performance even mattered. Everyone else had been effusive with their praise as she tried to leave the dining room. The Duke of Belem had kissed her cheeks and slipped a small purse into her palm.

  “What would it take to receive a private performance?” he’d whispered, his lips wet against her ear.

  Johanna had never met the duke before, but she’d heard the nasty rumors that trailed his name. “I’m sorry, but I’m slated to Storyspin for tomorrow’s meal. I need to rest my voice till then.”

  “Perhaps just to talk.” He’d clamped hard fingers around her wrist. “I’m a man of the world. I might be able to interest a girl from Santiago in a few tales of my own.”

  Dom and Lady DeSilva came to her rescue, assuring the duke that Johanna would be back the next evening and he’d have the chance to speak with her then.

  Rafi didn’t seem to notice, deep in conversation with a merchant of some sort. The lordling could manage a laugh and a smile over some wool-related joke, but he couldn’t put his hands together for her performance.

  It was offensive. It was rude. Johanna should have been used to those responses from the gentry, but from Rafi, who still owed her an honor debt it was . . . exasperating.

  He wore the same stoic expression during her performance that he had during his Punishment!

  I’ll find something that will draw some sort of emotion out of him.

  She slipped into her hunting clothes, tore the pins from her hair, and hung the dress over the screen. Lady DeSilva promised to have it freshly pressed for her performance the next day, and that meant Johanna didn’t need to bundle it into a saddlebag and haul it back to the wagon.

  “Miss?” Brynn’s voice came through the door. “Your brother is here to escort you home.”

  With Thomas’s income and the money delivered prior to her performance, they’d been able to buy a bit of extra food and a horse so he didn’t have to leave before dawn each day to walk into town. They’d be riding double, but it would still be faster than walking along the forest road in the dark.

  “Good. I can’t wait to leave.” Johanna threw open the door before her vest was properly laced over her tunic.

  Brynn’s mouth dropped open, and Thomas’s forehead crinkled.

  “Did the show go badly then?” He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against.

  “Oh no, Master Thomas,” Brynn said. “Miss Johanna was fantastic. The applause went on and on. I don’t know why she looks so . . .”

  “Crazy?” Thomas suggested.

  The maid blushed. “I was going to say frazzled.”

  Johanna marched back into the room and gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror. Her face and neck were flushed. Her hair crimped, corkscrewing in all directions. She’d missed a few notches in her vest and it was laced askew.

  “I do look particularly heinous.” She tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears. “I’ll have to wash and pin it again in the morning.”

  Thomas’s face appeared over her shoulder. He attempted to smooth down her mane, but it simply bounced back. They both laughed at the reflection.

  “How did this happen?” His eyes raked over her, taking in her rather haphazard appearance. “You look like you’ve been—” He cut off as Brynn followed him into the room to gather Johanna’s dress.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” The worry lines in his forehead returned. “We’ll talk about it on our ride home.”

  A groomsman brought around their mild-mannered pinto mare. Michael had named her Splotchy due to the splashes of brown on her otherwise white coat. She looked small and dirty compared to the rich coaches and thoroughbreds waiting for their owners to finish up their revelry.

  The party had spilled onto the balconies, taking advantage of the fresh evening air to continue their business or flirtations. Lord Rafi stood with a group of people, mainly girls, listening to some story the Duke of Belem told.

  Johanna pulled up the hood on her vest, hoping neither duke noticed her departing, and swung up behind Thomas.

  They trotted off the estate and into the forest before either spoke.

  “Jo, what happened tonight?” Thomas looked over his shoulder at her, as if he could make out her face by starlight.

  “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I need you to talk about it. My imagination . . . It’s being very brotherly.”

  “What?”

  He patted Splotchy between the ears, although Johanna suspected her brother needed the calming more than the horse. “The last time you had a run-in with Lord Rafael, you ended up bleeding and broken. Tonight, when you stepped out of that room, with your hair wild, your cheeks pink, your shirt half laced . . . well . . . you looked like you’d been tumbled.”

  “Tumbled?”

  “We got that lecture the same day, so don’t try to play innocent. You know exactly what I’m talking about, and you know the consequences.” His back went tense where her fingers gripped his shirt. “I saw the way you watched him as we left the estate, but none of that duke’s promises mean anything. They all say what you want to hear, take what you have to give, and toss you out when they’re through. Other Performer families may not have a problem with such behavior, but our parents would never sanction such a . . . a . . . tryst.”

  Johanna burst out laughing, startling a potoo from its perch. The nocturnal bird swooped across their path, a murky shadow against the darkness. Splotchy trotted a couple of steps before settling back into a smooth gait.

  “How is any of this funny? Father would have galloped back to the estate and demanded an explanation, and I’m considering doing the s
ame thing.”

  “Only one person in that entire household has helped me out of my clothes, and I assure you that Brynn is not a threat to my virtue.”

  Thomas sighed. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

  “You mean racing forward and making assumptions without letting me get a word in?”

  “Yes. That.”

  She squeezed his tight shoulders. “You can’t help your vivid imagination. You’re the son of two Storyspinners.”

  “I suppose,” he said after a long moment. “Are you going to tell me what really happened tonight if it didn’t involve a tumble?”

  The frustration returned, laced with a tingling sense of inadequacy. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”

  “Probably.”

  Johanna could hear the dry humor in his tone and flicked his ear.

  “Ow.” He put a hand over the offended spot. “How am I supposed to listen to your complaints if you leave me with no hearing?”

  With a pent-up breath, she explained exactly what had happened. Rafi’s request, her excellent performance, the long-lasting applause.

  “But Lord Rafael didn’t even blink. It’s like I bored him to sleep.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “Hmm.”

  “I love how long-winded you are when you’re angry and how you’re so very silent when you don’t really care.”

  “I care, Jo,” he said, looking over his shoulder again. “I’m just surprised that it upsets you.”

  “Why? It’s courteous to clap for a Performer even if you didn’t love their act, and he didn’t.”

  Thomas smiled, his teeth flashing white in the dark. “Perhaps I should ride back to the estate and have a chat with DeSilva.”

  “I doubt he’s going to accept an etiquette lesson from you.”

  “Not that.” He laughed, sounding so much like their father that Johanna pinched her eyes shut for a moment. She tried to block out the rush of memories, but it was like standing in a river during a rainstorm. There was no way she could avoid getting wet. Her last conversation with her father had been punctuated by laughter. And then he’d kissed her good-bye and hurried off to his show.