Fortune's Folly

by Deva Fagan

  I burst out the door, panting. Three horses were picketed outside. I loosed the two mares and threw myself onto the gelding, praying he would behave. I could hear Ubaldo shouting as I galloped away, but I was more terrified of what I might discover when I reached the city. Leonato, married already to a woman who would murder him or make him her brother’s puppet. Please, I prayed, let me get there in time to stop it.

  CHAPTER

  14

  “LET ME IN!” I demanded of the guard before the doors that led to the great hall. “I have to see the prince. I know he’s in there.” I tried to push past. The guard shoved me back. I wanted to weep from the frustration and fear coursing through me.

  Suddenly the doors opened and Captain Ribisi slipped through. He considered me, frowning. “Prophetess. What are you doing here? Princess Maridonna said you were unwell.”

  “She lied. Please, Captain, you must let me in. Leonato’s life is in danger. She’s not who she said. Maridonna is the Bloody Captain’s sister!”

  Captain Ribisi stared at me a moment. Then he motioned the guard aside and opened the doors into the great hall.

  Leonato and Maridonna were standing at the far end of the room, on the dais before the queen and the empty throne. I raced toward them, all noise dimming but for the clatter of my own running feet. “Stop!” I shouted.

  Leonato and Maridonna turned around. Every eye was upon me. This was it. I was about to destroy everything I had worked so hard for. But I had to save Leonato.

  “She’s not a princess,” I cried. “She’s the Bloody Captain’s sister. It’s all a trick to gain control of Doma. The fortune was a lie.” I raised my eyes to Leonato, hoping he would hear the truth of my words now. “They’re going to use you, or kill you. I know you can’t forgive me, but please, by all the Saints, don’t marry her!”

  The words left me empty, yet at the same time a triumphant vigor buzzed through my limbs. It was done.

  “Yes, Maridonna is my sister,” said Niccolo. “But she is also, quite lawfully, a princess.”

  He sauntered forward until he stood an arm’s length from me. A hum of excitement coursed through the onlookers. They drew back, creating a pool of empty space around us. That shiver of steel behind me must mean Captain Ribisi had drawn his sword. But no one else moved, except Niccolo, who reached up, pulling off his ostentatiously large hat to reveal the gleam of a golden crown.

  “What madness is this?” demanded the queen.

  “I am king of Sirenza, you see. I’ve received the blessing of the priests and had my name recorded in the great book of sovereigns.”

  “You took the crown by force,” Leonato said. A thrill went through me. He was fighting back. Did he believe me? Another, more desperate thought chased the first. Did he forgive me?

  “Ah, yes, but according to the quite sensible laws of Sirenza, that is what gives me the right of kingship. Anyone who defeats the current monarch and forces him to yield the crown is entitled to rule. So, I am king, and Maridonna, as my sister, is princess.”

  “But then I didn’t rescue her,” said Leonato. “Sh-sh-she was never in any peril.”

  “The archers at the tower were trying to kill me,” said Maridonna at once. “And the thugs on the riverbank. Those weren’t my brother’s soldiers.”

  “No,” said Niccolo. “There was another force seeking my sister’s death.” He shot a look at Princess Donata, who was lurking to one side of the dais. “Someone who didn’t want to see this prophecy come to pass.”

  “You saved me from them, my prince.” Maridonna leaned toward Leonato.

  “So there you have it,” said Niccolo. “All your Edicts are met. Doma gains a king and my sister becomes queen. And of course our two lands will share in peace and prosperity.”

  “Leonato?” asked the queen. The prince stood stiffly. He glanced once toward his aunt, then at Maridonna, then at his own fists, as if he might squeeze the answer to his dilemma out of thin air. I understood. Two bad choices felt like no choice at all. And it was my own fortune that bound him now.

  The queen spoke again. “Princess Maridonna does fulfill the prophecy, Leonato. You rescued her. She wears your grandmother’s slippers. The Edicts are satisfied. You can be king, as you are meant to be.”

  “No,” I began. “She—”

  Niccolo seized my shoulder, wrenching me toward him. “Not another word,” he hissed.

  “The slippers don’t fit!” I shouted and brought my heel down on his foot. He stumbled, but didn’t release me. I punched at him wildly; my fist connected with smooth metal, edged with points. The crown. I grasped it as we tumbled to the floor.

  I scrambled to get free. Niccolo sprang upright, lithe as a cat, his rapier drawn. “You scheming little chit,” he spat. I crouched, panting.

  Niccolo jabbed the blade at me. The world seemed to have slowed. I saw the open mouth of the queen as she called something, Captain Ribisi jumping forward, the guards not far behind. Leonato was running toward me, a sword in his hand, his lips parted too. Calling my name, I thought, and that gave me courage. But it was all too slow to save me.

  Then, suddenly, my father was there, pounding on Niccolo with his fists. Niccolo jerked back with a furious oath. He swept a powerful backhand blow at my father, knocking him square in the face. Something flew aside with a tinkle of breaking glass. Father fell back.

  “Papa!” I screamed, but Niccolo stabbed at me again.

  The rapier plunged at my chest. In desperation I held up the only thing in my hands: the crown. Metal shrieked against metal. The blade had caught in the ornate gold-work. I wrenched the crown like a wheel, torquing the weapon so that it flew from Niccolo’s grasp. He staggered forward, losing his balance this time.

  I stooped to recover the rapier and turned to face him, holding the blade outstretched. He stared at me in amazement, as if he did not understand what had just happened.

  “Yield,” I said, jabbing the weapon in the air to emphasize my point. Niccolo shook his head in disbelief, then dropped his head into his hands. His shoulders quivered. He was laughing, but it was a hollow, bitter laugh. I wondered if he had gone mad. He said, past the chuckles, “I yield. The crown is yours.”

  Three guards darted forward. Niccolo made no protest as they pulled him away to join his sister. I saw that the queen now held one of the golden slippers, along with a wad of cloth apparently extracted from the toe.

  “Papa?” I asked, helping my father back to his feet. He blinked and squinted. His spectacles were gone. A scattering of glass and twisted wire upon the floor was all that remained of them.

  “Well enough, Nata, well enough.”

  “Oh, Papa, I’m so glad you’re all right. I’ve missed you so.” I hugged him fiercely. His rough, strong fingers stroked my hair.

  He pulled back to look me over again, smiling. “You’ve grown, I think. Even more like your mother, now. You’ve done well, my dear girl, very well.”

  “Oh, Papa, no, I’ve made a terrible mess of everything—”

  My words were cut off as Leonato caught me in his arms, crushing me to him. “S-s-saints be praised! Are you s-safe?”

  I gripped him tight, as if he were pulling me from the depths of some dark chasm. I drew a deep breath, then the words rushed out. “I’m sorry, truly. I didn’t know about Ubaldo’s plan. Please, by all the Saints, by my mother’s spirit, I swear it. I just wanted to save my father. And for you to be king. That’s the truth. Please forgive me.”

  “I believe you,” he said gently. “I forgive you.” He brushed back the locks of hair that had pulled loose from my braids. “I love you.” For a breathless moment, I thought he would kiss me.

  I wanted nothing more than to return that embrace, to say what was in my own heart. But I knew it was not over. I gently pulled away from Leonato. I tried to disengage his hand from my own, but he did not release me. Well, perhaps it would give me courage. I turned to the queen.

  “Your Highness, my fortune has not come to pas
s.”

  “Fortunata, what are you doing?” said Leonato, his grip tightening. I did not look at him, but took a deep breath and plunged onward. “Please, I beg you for mercy. My father is innocent. If you must punish someone, take me. I’m the one who told the false fortune. If anyone must die for that, let it be me.”

  “No!” Leonato’s cry shivered through the great hall, which had grown suddenly silent.

  “I made it all up. It was a lie,” I said. I couldn’t look at my father, but I heard him protesting, trying to reach me.

  “I’m sorry, my nephew,” said a cold voice. Princess Donata now stood in the center of the dais, one hand resting on the back of the empty throne. “It must be a great shock to learn how you have been deceived. To learn that your victories were hollow, your triumphs undeserved, thanks to this girl and her cohorts. But you must confront the truth. Doma needs a true sovereign, someone with the real strength to lead our people.”

  “No. You will not be queen, Aunt,” Leonato said firmly. “I will fulfill the Edicts. The prophecy is true.” He clenched my fingers.

  “It’s not—” I began.

  “You’re the princess.” Leonato reached for my other hand, which still held the crown. He pulled my wrist up, so that the whole room might see. “You took this from the king of S-s-sirenza. That makes you the ruler of that city. Princess. Well, queen, actually, but that sh-sh-should be good enough.”

  Excitement stirred through the crowd. My father stood taut and alert, peering at me and the prince. Princess Donata remained beside the throne, her long fingernails digging into the wood.

  Leonato marched toward his mother, pulling me along. “Mother, may I have that s-slipper?”

  The queen looked surprised to discover it was still in her hand. Leonato took it from her, then hastened to where the soldiers held Niccolo and Maridonna. Nimbly he caught Maridonna’s foot as she tried to kick him and slipped off the other gold shoe.

  He knelt before the dais and placed the gold slippers on the floor. I stood stupidly, staring at them, at him, at the gold crown I still clutched. Leonato had to kneel at my feet and loosen the ties of my own bumblebee boots to rouse me from this stupor. It was too fabulous to be true. I looked for my father.

  “Believe in it, Nata. Go on.” He was squinting so tightly to see me his eyes were mere slits, but he smiled broadly. My heart seemed to be beating quicker than a bird’s wings.

  Holding my breath, I slid first one, then the other foot into the golden slippers.

  “They fit!” Leonato proclaimed. He spun me around; the world became a dizzying blur and he was the center of it.

  Then a terrible shriek filled my ears. Princess Donata still stood beside the throne, one hand clutching it. Her lips curled back to show a mouthful of sharp white teeth. From a fold in her dark skirts, she pulled a long silver dagger. With a wordless scream, she launched herself at Leonato. She hung in the air, almost as if she were truly flying. I screamed too, seeing what she intended. I threw myself forward.

  I thudded into Donata, cracking my forehead as sharply as if I’d hit a stone wall. The dagger skittered away, but Donata’s viselike fingers clutched my neck. She shook me, choking my breath. My chest tightened, and a buzzing grayness flickered at the edges of my mind. My hair tumbled loose, the braids whipped past my face as she shook me again.

  Then she shrieked, releasing me so abruptly I fell to the floor. “No, it’s not possible. How? How did you know?” She screamed again, casting something away from her as if it were burning.

  It was the sprig of yarrow I had tucked in my hair—had it only been that morning? I recalled Grimelda’s words. Yarrow has a baleful effect on demons.

  Donata staggered back. Her beautiful face was now terrible, pure white with violent red streaks across her cheeks. The lines that had been smooth and lovely were now harsh and stark as a skull. She stood hunched, her fingers crooked like the talons of an eagle. She reached out one hand, trying to rake me with those long nails. Then she collapsed, her breaths coming ragged and guttural.

  The guards who carried her away did so warily, for she writhed and twitched. A moment later, she was gone. I let out my breath, unable to take in all that had happened, unable to concentrate on anything other than Leonato running to my side. “I’m all right,” I said as he seized my hands. All around us chatter rose from the crowd of onlookers.

  Then Leonato pulled me close and kissed me. And suddenly all the clamor was like the distant murmur of the sea. All I knew was the beating of my heart, and of Leonato’s pressed close beside it.

  I don’t know how long it lasted, but when he pulled away, flushed, eyes shining, I murmured, “Don’t stop.”

  “I wouldn’t,” he said softly, his green eyes catching the light like a forest pool. “But there’s something I wanted to ask. Princess Fortunata, will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” I said, “of course.”

  THANKFULLY, THE QUEEN and court approved our interpretation of the prophecy: Leonato would be the next king of Doma, enabling the queen to retire from her regency. This prospect brought considerable joy to both the queen and Captain Ribisi. Seeing the pair of them standing arm in arm, I blushed to remember my past suspicions of the man. Father gave the engagement his blessing as well, but made us promise to delay our vows until he’d crafted a new pair of shoes for me to wear at the wedding. Thinking of the past monstrosities my father had produced, I made Leonato swear he wouldn’t laugh when we arrived to see the newest creations. It didn’t matter what shoes I wore, I told myself. I had Leonato. Though I did cherish a faint hope that they would at least not be ruffled and pink like the sausage boots I had once sold Niccolo.

  “Nata, Nata!” called my father, bustling out from the workshop Leonato had appointed for his use. His new spectacles made him look even more owlish. He hurried toward us, holding out a pair of shoes.

  They were beautiful. A pale blue, like cornflowers, but deeper and more pure. Silver braiding edged each graceful curve; even the laces ended in delicate silver tassels. They were the most lovely pair of shoes I had ever seen. “Do you like them?”

  “They’re beautiful!” said Leonato. “And just the color of your eyes, Fortunata.”

  I reached out to take one gently. I felt as if it might vanish in a puff, like the head of a dandelion. But I could feel the smooth leather, the cording of the braid, the brush of the tassels.

  “But, how? Papa, how?”

  “The fairies, they came back. See, there!” Father gestured proudly to the glittering silver tools arrayed on the heavy worktable at the center of the room.

  I took up one of the awls, turning it this way and that in the clear sunlight. It was perfectly clean. “You did this,” I said, turning on Leonato as soon as my father had returned to puttering with his shelf of dyes.

  “Not I,” Leonato protested mildly. “It must have been magic, as your father s-s-said. Fairies.”

  “I don’t believe in fairies,” I began. But I stopped then, for I caught sight of something glittering near the foot of the table, where a shaft of sunlight laid a band of gold across the floor. I bent down to look, disbelieving. I swept my finger over the floor, and it came away covered in a fine shimmering powder, opalescent as mother-of-pearl and brighter than diamonds.

  “What’s this?”

  “Fairy dust?” suggested Leonato.

  I shot him a suspicious look. “Did you do this too?”

  He was smiling. “I told you, it must be magic. Even if you don’t believe in it, that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

  “Hmph. Next you’ll be telling me we’re going to live happily ever after.”

  “You’re the fortune-teller, not I,” he said, coming closer to slip his hands around my waist.

  “I suppose the last one did come out well enough, in the end,” I admitted, covering his hands with mine. His curling hair brushed my cheek, soft as a kiss. “All right then, we will live happily ever after.”

  Leonato never did admit to c
leaning Father’s shoemaking tools, nor to spreading the glittering dust. I did not ask again. Perhaps I had started to believe again in magic, or perhaps in love. Or perhaps they were the same thing.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book could not have been written without the support of those who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. Thanks to Robert Fagan, Paul, Cynthia and David Van Der Werf, Maureen Drouin and Mathew Scease, and all my friends and family.

  I’ve been blessed to work with a crew of amazing people on this book.

  My wonderful agent, Shawna McCarthy, who plucked Fortunata out of obscurity and found her a home. Reka Simonsen, my brillant editor, who generously shared her wisdom and insights to make my story the best it could be. Ana Deboo, George Wen, April Ward, and Jason Reigal who expertly turned my words into a real book.

  I also owe a huge debt of thanks to my fellow writers. Thanks to Geoff Bottone, Allison Corbett, and Kim Sward for their feedback on early drafts. Thank you to Roger Alix-Gaudreau, Melissa Caruso, Jen Connolly, John J. Corbett III, Megan Crewe, and Elizabeth Lee for much-needed encouragement over the years.