The Storyspinner

by Becky Wallace

  “Promise me I’ll live.”

  “I can’t do that.” Jacaré nodded to Elma. “I need . . .”

  The old woman waved off his words and stepped close to the assassin. She pressed one crooked finger against Benton’s chest. Smoke began rising from his shirt.

  “That’s good, Elma,” Benton said with a laugh. “But not good enough.”

  The smell of burning flesh filled the room. The Council members shifted uncomfortably in their chairs but made no remark.

  “Who are you protecting?” Jacaré asked with a growl.

  Sweat beaded on Benton’s forehead, but he kept his lips sealed.

  “People who hold out under torture only do so for two reasons.” Tex leaned against one of the supporting posts, arms folded against his chest. “Love or fear.”

  “He’s an assassin,” Jacaré said, pacing around the chair. “He’s not motivated by love. So who could he possibly fear more than one of us?”

  The question was the answer.

  “It’s another Keeper.”

  Chapter 68

  Rafi

  The cold snap Santiago had suffered a few weeks earlier seemed a distant memory. The sun beat upon the roofs of the gazebos with heavy fists of heat. The silks provided shade but stopped the breeze from stirring the air inside.

  The ladies from Maringa—including Maribelle in the little material that stretched over her—wilted like delicate morning flowers by noon and retired to one of the gazebos to escape the heat. Rafi had helped Maribelle from her horse when they’d arrived. Her bare skin skimmed across his palms and left a layer of sweat he wished he could wash off.

  Belem and Inimigo lounged on padded sofas in the gazebo most shaded by the balsa trees, sipping on wine the servants chilled in a nearby stream. That is, Inimigo was sipping. Belem had given up the glass and held a bottle against his chest, where its condensation mixed with the sweat stains on his tunic.

  Lady DeSilva was completely unfazed by the heat and led a conversation about water rights. The rest of the southerners, local underlords and a few of the braver souls from Belem, enjoyed the pleasant sunshine, kicking a ball in the meadow, tossing horseshoes, and chatting.

  “Oh for Keeper’s sake!” Belem sat up suddenly, knocking over a bowl of grapes as he went. “Go get that Performer girl so we have something to think about besides how blasted hot it is!”

  “She wasn’t planning to perform till later this afternoon,” Rafi said, straightening from his slouch. He could ignore the heat, but he had been uncomfortable for other reasons. Every time he passed Johanna, she gave him a come-hither smile that he struggled not to return.

  The tilt of her chin, the set of her mouth, the extra sway in her walk were all so blatantly flirtatious that no one could overlook the new attraction between them.

  Rafi found himself wishing it wasn’t a ruse.

  He suspected Johanna, and the gossip circulating about their relationship, was the real reason Maribelle hid in the other gazebo. As a duke’s daughter, Maribelle rarely had to share anyone’s attention.

  “If it’s a matter of money, I’ll pay her myself. ” Belem reached into a pocket and threw a small bag of coins on the table.

  “That’s unnecessary,” Rafi said as he rose from his seat. “We have other forms of entertainment. Perhaps we could play a round of Strategy? I’m sure both of you could teach me—”

  “Get the girl, Rafael.” Inimigo looked at Rafi through heavy-lidded eyes. “I understand her appeal transcends her ability.”

  Rafi’s heart stuttered; he hated to introduce Johanna to Inimigo at all, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. “She is very talented.”

  A lecherous grin quirked Inimigo’s mouth. “As I’m sure you’re well aware.”

  “She does put on quite a show,” Belem said as he rolled back onto his sofa, looking every bit like a cat, fat and lazy after devouring a plump mouse.

  “Send someone to fetch Vibora while you’re out there. I need a few words with her.”

  Rafi was pleased when his mother nodded for him to go. He should have insisted on staying—gleaning every bit of intrigue from their conversation—but his mother was more adept at political maneuvering.

  He took a circuitous route through the picnic area, speaking with his guests and observing Inimigo’s collared servants as they huddled in the shade beneath the trees. They didn’t appear to suffer, all healthy and well fed, but there was something odd about them.

  They weren’t talking, he realized. Rafi tried to think of a time when he’d seen a collection of servants who didn’t use their free time to chat and laugh. This group sat silently, studying the woods around them, a tenseness in their muscles that suggested preparedness to act.

  Either they were very well trained, or . . . Rafi didn’t know what. He was tempted to pull one aside, but the call of two high-pitched voices drew him away.

  “Did you see how far I spit that one, Jo?” Michael grabbed Johanna’s shoulder, shaking her.

  She lay on a scrap of tablecloth in the cool grass, her feet in the stream and her dress pulled up high enough to be improper. Her bare legs were pale and well shaped against the dark gray river rocks.

  “All the way across the stream?” she asked without sitting up.

  “And farther!”

  Joshua shook his head. “It landed in the water.”

  “Did not!”

  As Rafi got closer, he could see that Johanna’s eyes were closed against the dappled sunlight poking through the branches above. Without opening them she said, “There’s a wider bit of stream farther down. The first one of you to spit five grapes clear to the other side wins a prize.”

  The boys exchanged a grin and broke into a run, blowing by Rafi without a hello.

  Two guards lurked by a tree a few paces away. Rafi waved them off, and they clunked up the river a ways.

  Johanna seemed to have dozed off, her lips slightly parted in sleep, one arm thrown across her forehead, half blocking the light. She was vulnerable and completely relaxed, enjoying a lazy afternoon.

  Guilt overwhelmed Rafi, knowing that her untroubled sleep would soon be something of the past.

  His shadow fell across her face and her eyes opened slowly. She studied him sleepily, then burst into motion, jumping to her feet and smoothing down her skirts. “Do you always lurk over girls while they sleep?”

  “I try not to,” Rafi said, hoping wit would disguise his nerves.

  “Are you here to make the rumors your brother has been spreading look real?” She stepped into plain leather slippers, holding her skirts modestly so she could see her feet. “Lovers would never stand so far apart.”

  “And you would know because . . .”

  She didn’t answer, pinning him with a glare sharp enough to flay the scales off a fish. “Why do you believe I’m in danger?”

  Rafi did step closer. He wanted to be able to whisper so there was no chance they could be overheard. But Johanna did the same. They stood, nearly chest to chest, not touching, but near enough that he could smell the sweet scent of acai berries rising off her skin.

  He had plenty of experience flirting, sneaking kisses in shadowed corners, meeting in the gardens or in the barn for a few moments of unchaperoned bliss. Before his father died and so much responsibility had been dropped on his shoulders, Rafi could imagine a moment like this. A reckless moment. Where he’d put his hands around Johanna’s waist and pull her close and kiss her till they were both breathless. Now, things were different. Johanna wasn’t a maid or visiting underlord’s daughter. She was a girl in danger, and maybe the only surviving heir to Santarem’s throne.

  More than that, Rafi was different. He could see this moment replayed in a thousand different lights. What would his mother think? What would his people think? That he was the rapscallion lord who’d suffered Punishment before
his naming day and in whose hands no girl’s virtue was safe?

  “Johanna, how well do you know your parents? I mean . . .” He stumbled, searching for the words that would put into question everything she knew about her life, about her station, about her family. “Would they ever have lied to you? Even if it was to protect you?”

  Her forehead creased; her gray eyes showed confusion. “What reason would my parents have to lie to me? What would they have to protect me from?” She shrugged slightly, and it seemed to move her even closer. “We led a simple life, traveling, performing, resting at Performers’ Camp when we were between jobs or needed time off. ”

  “There was never a time when you doubted you were—” He cut off that line of questioning. Rafi had no intention of hurting Johanna again, and making her question her relationship with her family would do just that.

  If I could talk to her mother first . . .

  “One of the dukes has expressed an inappropriate interest in you.” It wasn’t a lie exactly. Wanting to kill her could certainly be considered inappropriate.

  “And so you’ve appointed yourself the defender of my honor?” She jabbed him in the chest. “I have brothers, you know, and, when all else fails, I’m handy with a knife.”

  Had she forgotten the beating he gave her? Yes, she put up a fight, but it hadn’t been enough to save her then and it wouldn’t be enough to save her from a man bent on murder.

  The voices in the distance seemed to grow louder. If someone discovered them, this secret meeting needed to look authentic.

  Rafi had no choice. He had to touch her. Lightly he set both of his hands at her waist, his thumbs over her hip bones. She was thin, small enough that his fingers spanned the distance all the way to her spine. There was a moment, a craving, to use his grip to pull her closer, to press the entire length of his body against hers. He forced the impulse aside, trying to focus on the words he had to say.

  “Please, Johanna. Let me take care of you.”

  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? He’s a duke and you’re a Performer.

  “Of course, my lord.”

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