“How can I forget?” Jorge asked. “She’s pretty, but obviously not a Lady. Her hair is long and braided. Her dress is simple in design and cloth, and she smells of pork.”
“That’s so unfair!” I said. “I have been slaving in that kitchen and dining room being groped by fat men, who also spill their drinks on me. Of course I smell of pork and chicken, wine, and herbs. I’m so sorry I can’t afford a more expensive and cleaner dress, but you, Captain.” I couldn’t help but point my finger at Jorge. “You’re an asshat for calling attention to that!”
Prince Pedro started coughing or laughing, again—I couldn’t quite figure out which—and he bent forward and clutched his ribs. “I have been telling you for years, Jorge, that you are a donkey’s ass. I never heard the term ‘asshat,’ but it seems very appropriate. Nadja is definitely opinionated and not scared to speak her mind. Which makes me think she is credible and honest.”
“Of course, she is a gypsy,” Jorge said. “Unless she is a ‘Lady’ who is visiting us from another country, or another time, and has no idea how to dress.”
I swallowed, hard.
Jorge stared at me and I couldn’t help but glare back at him. What an incredibly strange remark to fall from his lips. Could… he be a Messenger as well? Or was he a Hunter, determined to kill me My thoughts were interrupted by—
“Do not many gypsy women have the gift of fortune telling? They are able to predict the future?” Samuel gazed at me with his gorgeous, hazel eyes and then turned back to Jorge and Fernando, and finally strode a few feet toward Prince Pedro, his glance direct, seeking his attention. “Perhaps you should ask Nadja for a fortune telling reading, your Highness. Maybe that would help you decide your course of action when it comes to revenge.”
Sister Cecilia shook her head. “No-no. That is a terrible crime against the Holy Catholic Church. Besides, Nadja has not been baptized. Should she conjure spirits from other worlds, her soul will be in danger, and she could be lost to the darkness.”
“I really do believe that I have been baptized,” I said. “I remember the photos in my mama’s handbook.”
Sister Cecilia raised an eyebrow. “Do you see what I mean?” she asked. “Foe-Toes? What are Foe-Toes? I fear she already has been dabbling with the darkness.”
“Can you predict the future, Nadja?” Prince Pedro asked. “Can you commune with spirits and give advice to those who still remain on this earthly plain?”
“Yes.” I met his look. Oh crap, I meant ‘No!’ I knew the Sa-Ta-Na-Ma chant, I followed my horoscope, and kept track of when Mercury turned Retrograde. But Ryan had never covered fortune telling in his time travel tutorials.
“Fetch a priest,” Prince Pedro said. “I need this girl baptized, immediately. I want her to read my future. I need to know my best course of action.”
Sister Cecilia sniffed. “You have endured great duress, Your Highness. With all due respect, your best course of actions should be determined through consultation with your advisors. Not the pagan readings of a gypsy girl.”
Sister Ana bowed her head. “Your Highness. A gentle reminder that today is the feast of Our Lady of Oliveira. The streets are filled with—”
“Partiers,” I said.
“Worshippers,” Sister Ana said.
“Devout Christians,” Sister Cecilia said. “If you insist Nadja give you a reading, you need to take her to a proper church, find an ordained priest, and have her baptized.”
Prince Pedro stood in front of Sister Cecilia and glared at her. “I am the Crowned Prince of Portugal. Dispense with the baptism. She gives me my reading, now.”
Sister Cecilia stared him square in his bloodshot eyes. “I am a bride of Christ. There will be no reading until the girl is baptized.”
Prince Pedro glared at her, then turned his determined gaze onto Jorge and Fernando, and snapped his fingers. “She will be baptized in the palace chapel. Find a priest. Make it happen.”
“It will be done, Your Highness.” Fernando pushed his way past the guard at the door and left the room.
I glanced down at my hideous dress and wrinkled my nose. “Aren’t you supposed to dress up for a baptism? Perhaps you could arrange to draw me a bath and lend me a clean gown.”
Jorge eyed me. “Guard!”
“Yes, Captain?” a guard asked and stepped forward.
“Call the chambermaids and have them draw a bath. And find a gown. I’m sure a lady of not-such-pure-repute may have left behind one or two somewhere in this humble abode.”
“Yes, Captain!” He turned on his heel and strode out the door.
“What are you doing?” Samuel hissed.
“You told me to give him a reading,” I whispered.
“I told you to give him a reading so we could be done with this nonsense, I could get you out of here, and take you someplace safe.”
A young servant woman approached the bed. “Miss, come with me please.” She bowed her head.
“Thank you.” I pulled the covers back, hopped out of the bed, and followed her. “I’m dying for a real bath. I’ve never been this dirty in my entire life.”
Samuel grabbed my arm and swung me around. “Do you know this servant?”
We were face to face. I looked up into his frowning face and his complex green eyes. Took in his black hair that curled in onto his white shirt. Breathed in his delicious scent. Reminded myself that I was in a precarious situation, which was totally not the right time to be getting flustered about some guy, even if it was Samuel.
Note to self: get a grip, Madeline!
“No, I do not ‘know’ this servant,” I said. “Why? Is there a servants’ networking group? Am I supposed to know every domestic in Coimbra? Leave me alone. I just want to scrub off. Feel normal again.”
“I heard a rumor from a reliable source that the King’s advisors suspect you know the truth about what really happened to Inêz. I heard they are debating whether or not to assassinate you, as well,” he whispered. “Who better to do that than a simple servant girl?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “It’s just a bath.” I shrugged him off.
“Don’t let her trick you and push you under the water,” Samuel said. “Should I accompany you?”
“Like that would go over so very well. Do you really want to feed the gossip mill?” I asked. “‘Look at the gypsy whore who allows a young nobleman to gaze at her naked in the tub,’” I said “Nope. That’s exactly the kind of attention I don’t want. Thanks for the heads up, Samuel. I’ll watch my own back.”
~ seventeen ~
I wore my new gown that was an upgrade from my filthy dress. It was made of red silk, too big for me, a bit frayed and worn in the elbows, and along the skirt’s hem, it had seen better days.
I stared up at the chapel’s vaulted domed ceiling. Arches framed windows that were cut high into the walls circling the room. The ceiling was covered in brilliant frescoes of angels and saints, God and the Virgin Mary, and what the heck did I know about any of these beings? My parents didn’t raise me Catholic, Jewish, or Protestant, and yet every year, they took me to a place of worship on a holiday to expose me to different faiths and traditions.
We sang carols on Christmas Eve at All Saints Episcopalian Church on Michigan Avenue. “Silent Night” will forever be on my holiday playlist. Dad’s friend Marty Rubenstein included us at his Passover Seder. That was one long dinner, but I loved that the ceremony celebrated the Jews’ departure from slavery in Egypt, and I got the chills when they left the chair for the prophet Elijah. One year my folks took me to the Hindu Temple of Greater Chicago during the celebration of Deepavali, the festival of lights that celebrated the victory of good over evil. Dad snapped a picture of me standing next to the Sri Rama Temple and Mama pasted it into my handbook.
Now I stood next to an intricately carved stone baptismal font in front of the palace chapel. Sister Cecilia and Prince Pedro flanked me while a bleary-eyed priest wearing black robes stood in front of me and chanted, �
��Oremus: Preces nostras, quaesumus, Domine, clementer exaudi; et hunc electum tuum… Per Christum Dominum nostrum.” He made the sign of the cross.
Everyone except for me recited, “Amen.”
“Receive the salt of wisdom; let it be a token of mercy to your everlasting life. May it make your way easy to eternal life.” The priest leaned in, breathed on me, put his thumb onto my forehead, and touched my breastbone with scented oil. “Open your mouth.”
I frowned but did as he asked.
He placed a pinch of salt on my tongue and then laid his hand on my head. He guided my head toward the bowl as he scooped water and drizzled it on my hair. “In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, I now pronounce your soul, Nadja, is claimed for the only God—the Christian God.”
I lifted my head, blinked, and wiped back a few drops from my hair and face. “Thank you, Father,” I said as my stomach rumbled loudly.
Sister Cecilia reached out and squeezed my hand. “It is official. Should any harm befall you, Nadja, you will go to Eternal Life.”
“Now that the Foe Toes can no longer claim her soul,” Prince Pedro said. “I want my reading.”
My hands started to tremble—from hypoglycemia, or nerves, or both. Yeah—this was going so well. “I’m so very sorry. But I don’t give good readings when I’m hungry. Can I get a little bite to eat first?”
“Bring Nadja whatever she wants.” Prince Pedro gestured at Jorge.
“Are you talking to me?” Jorge asked.
“Yes, I am talking to you. The Sisters and the good Father here just handled her baptism. You have to do something to earn your keep.”
“Kidnapping was not enough?”
“No!” Prince Pedro shook his head as Fernando covered a smile.
“No pork, please,” I said. “And something non-alcoholic to drink.”
“She loved that delicious herbal tea,” Sister Cecilia called after him and her stomach growled. “I, too, seem to be hungry.”
“Could you bring some food for everyone?” I asked. “Not a good thing-I-mean-omen to give or receive a reading on empty stomachs. You know that old saying, ‘An apple a day keeps the… bad spirits away.’”
Fernando nodded. “Yes, yes, everyone’s heard of that.”
~ ~ ~
We were back in Prince Pedro’s quarters and noshed on roasted rabbits, sausages, and vegetables. The guys drank wine and ale. The nuns and I drank tea.
Samuel sat next to me. “We need to leave. King Afonso’s assassins could be searching for you right now. I do not even know how we will navigate the crowds in these streets.”
“We will blend in, Samuel. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again,” I said.
He leaned in close to me and whispered, “Do you know what happens to gypsies that give psychic readings that do not favor the nobles?”
“I’m assuming they get sent back to kitchen duty,” I said.
“They get condemned and punished for witchcraft.”
“But I’ve been baptized,” I said. “They can’t do that to me.”
“Perhaps your pretty wet hair will be the last part of you that burns,” Samuel said.
“You did not just say that!”
“You need to be careful,” he said. “Can you really tell fortunes?” He gazed at me with hope in his hazel eyes.
I swallowed, vowing yet again not to get lost in those eyes. “A girl can do a lot of things when she’s motivated.”
He looked away and sighed. “Make this reading convincing. Tell Prince Pedro what he wants to hear. Remember, he wants revenge. Advise him on how best to do that.”
I choked a little on my roasted rabbit, felt my throat getting tight, and I slugged back my cup of bitter tea. When I remembered Ryan’s advice.
When in doubt? Fake it ’til you make it.
“Your Royal Highness, the reading,” I cried out, put one hand to my forehead, and pretended to swoon, “it comes to me—now!” I fell to my knees onto the stone floors and dropped the cup of tea. It shattered and the amber colored liquid and sooty black leaves spilled out in front of me, their bitter scent filling my nostrils.
Sister Cecilia inhaled sharply and clutched her chest.
Sister Ana didn’t break a sweat. “I really must be getting back to John.” She stood. “Your Highness, will one of your pious men be so gallant as to chaperone me during my return to the monastery?”
“Of course, Sister.” Prince Pedro motioned to one of his guards who nodded at Ana. “I need to see my son.”
She shook her head. “With all due respect, Your Highness, please visit John in a week or so when he is healthier.” She walked to the door. “You must miss him terribly, but I would hate for you to visit too soon, get him anxious or excited, and interrupt his progress.”
“Ah, yes,” Prince Pedro said as his face fell.
“Your Highness,” Sister Cecilia said. “John is finally speaking, only a few words, but we pray he climbs out of the abyss of his confusion. We welcome you to visit the monastery very soon.”
Sister Ana eyed me and then turned her attention back to Prince Pedro. “May you find guidance from your… reading.” She left the room and all eyes turned to me.
~ ~ ~
I pushed each shard of pottery away from the herbs, one by one, as Prince Pedro, Jorge, and Fernando approached me carefully, like I was a magical shiny bubble that might pop and vanish at any moment.
Prince Pedro knelt on one knee and peered at the mess on the floor. “What do you see?”
Samuel glared at me. I coughed and pointed to some herbs on the far left side; they resembled a frowny face. “I see deep disappointment and sadness. I see confusion. This represents Your Royal Highness’s current state of mind.”
“Anyone would know that,” Jorge said.
In the middle of the herbs was an arrow-shaped configuration. “Look.” I pointed to it. “This arrow is a weapon which clearly suggests there is conflict. It points up, not down or sideways. This means the conflict is of a higher nature. You do not need to confront those close to you, or the ones who circle you offering friendship or kindness. Not even Jorge, who consistently makes fun of me. You do, however, need to engage in conflict but….” I paused and thought.
What would best serve Pedro and Portugal? How could I best serve as a Messenger?
Prince Pedro pounded his fist on the floor and I jumped. “Tell me, girl! Before God, his saints, his sinners, tell me now!”
~ eighteen ~
I broke out into a sweat and my hands started shaking.
“Calm down, Your Highness,” Sister Cecilia crossed herself. “God is with you. He comforts you in this hour of your distress.”
“You are wrong, Sister.” Prince Pedro glared at her. “I am wrecked. I am broken. This girl—” he pointed to me. “Only she has the wherewithal right now to make me feel somewhat normal, somewhat in control. Only she can give me guidance.”
“She is trying, Your Highness,” Samuel said. “But she is out of her element. Give her a little time.”
I stared at the remains of the beverage on the floor and spotted three distinct leaves positioned in the far right above the rest of the mess. Not that far below them was a clump of greenish gray glop that, if I squinted, appeared to be closing in on them.
What could this mean?
I thought of Angeni. I heard the Sa. Ta. Na. Ma. chant in my head; the words that translated to Infinity, Life, Death, Rebirth, and Reincarnation. Suddenly, I felt a little woozy and the room started to spin around me like I was the center of a compass.
“I see Inêz’s assassins!” I pointed to the leaves on the far right. “They are escaping even as we speak, but look!” I slammed my index finger onto a cluster directly below them. “This grouping tells me someone is right behind them, on their trail. The multiple leaves signify that it’s an alliance of people chasing the assassins, attempting to bring them to justice.”
I noticed a tiny squiggly mark on top. “And clear
ly, this is a crown.” I turned to Prince Pedro. “Your Royal Highness, don’t go to war with your father, King Afonso. Instead, send a search party to hunt down Inêz’s assassins, capture, and return them to you for justice.”
I wasn’t deliberately trying to be deceitful, but I doubted a search party, no matter how clever, would find Inêz’s assassins. And yet I continued…
“Ridiculous rubbish!” Fernando said.
“I disagree,” Jorge said. “I think the girl is onto something.”
“This is how you start your revenge, your retaliation, Prince Pedro. Please do not go to war with your father,” I pleaded. “Your entire country will suffer. I believe Inêz speaks to me in this reading. I think she wants you to find the actual people who inflicted her mortal wounds, the persons that killed her.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree!” Fernando exclaimed. “Now is the time, Pedro, to take down your father, who has totally lost his heart and, in his old age, is losing his mind. He is behind Inêz’s assassination. If you cut off the beast’s hands, but do not slay the beast, his hands will grow back seven-fold.”
I glanced up. Both Sister Cecilia and Samuel shook their heads almost imperceptibly.
“If you slay the beast, Your Highness,” I said, “you will never know for sure who whispered poisonous words into his ears. Killing your father does not bring back Inêz. Yes, you will become King of Portugal, but you will also inherit a court filled with advisors who would happily lie to you and plan your assassination as well as the death of your children behind your back.”
“The girl is right,” Prince Pedro said. “I prefer to find my beloved’s assassins before I undermine my father and lay claim to the throne.” He paced. “But, who will I send? As you already noted, her murderers are already well on their way to freedom.”
I spotted a splatter of tea and one tiny leaf about a foot away from the soggy mess and pointed to it. “Yes and no,” I said. “One travels very quickly as far away as possible. The others are either stupid, or arrogant, and believe their job is done. They are spending their silver in brothels and betting places not as far from here as you fear. Put together a search party. Pick the people you trust, Your Highness. The ones you get a good feeling about.”
The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2) Page 12