Fortune's Folly by Deva Fagan

Author:Deva Fagan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780805087420
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

THE NEXT MORNING I dressed myself in the glittering fortune-telling costume. I didn’t think the priest would recognize me, but better to take no chances. My hair was still damp; I rebraided it and tucked the coils under my starry headdress.

Unfortunately, though my nighttime scrubbing had removed all traces of my saintly impersonation, they had also given me an undesired gift. My head ached, and my throat felt like I’d swallowed coarse salt. My nose was stuffed up, giving me a very un-prophetess-like sniffle. I had just brewed a pot of lemon tea in the hopes of clearing my head when we were summoned to the church.

My ruse had worked even better than I had hoped. By the time we reached the shadow of the church spire, the priest had already gathered up most of the villagers to see the holy warrior who had come with the blessing of Saint Federica herself. I heard the story a dozen times before we even reached the building. In some versions, Saint Federica had flown in through the windows and set every candle in the hall alight. In others, she had sprung forth from the sword itself. But in all, she had brought a command that must be obeyed. “And she’ll shower blessings upon us,” said one woman. “Think of that. What sort of blessings, do you suppose?”

Anything good that happened in the next dozen years, I thought, would be cast up as a blessing of Saint Federica. I was pleased. Everything was working out as I planned. Except this silly cold. I sipped at my mug of lemon tea, which I had brought with me. Mother had always warned me about sleeping with a head of wet hair.

The church was crammed with people, and we had to pass up the steps between a press of onlookers. I slipped to the side as we entered the hall, finding a spot beside one of the great stone columns, where I could sip my tea quietly and watch the priest and Leonato perform their parts for the crowds.

Leonato looked just as a prince on a grand quest ought to look. His doublet was of dark golden velvet, slashed at the sleeves to show the undershirt of wheat-colored silk. His hose were dusky amber, a color like fine honey. He carried himself proudly, with no hint of the anxiety I had seen last night. As he strode down the hall, he gave me a brief, glowing smile that warmed me more than the hot tea.

Captain Ribisi was dressed in his finest as well, but the bright scarlet and white made his grizzled hair dull and his scarred face more fierce. Beside him, Leonato appeared even more the image of Saint Marco. The clamoring crowds quieted as Leonato approached the sword. The priest bowed, spreading his hands wide in a welcoming gesture. His white hood hung straight, though I could just make out wine stains down the front of his purple robes.

“Prince of Doma, you are welcome to the sacred church of Saint Federica.

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