In the Arms of Immortals by Ginger Garrett

Author:Ginger Garrett
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 0781448883
Publisher: David C. Cook
Published: 2011-07-22T14:00:00+00:00

She needed Armando.

Panthea cursed herself for going too far last night, in every way, letting that foul stranger get so close. She had teased her share of men and servants, but never had one gotten the better of her. She was shamed.

Armando had seen more of the world; he must have known she was insincere in those pursuits. That’s why he humoured her. But he did not humour her last night. She felt dirty.

She spurred Fidato on to move faster. He did not need it. Fidato surely smelled terror clinging to her bones. What she had seen in that room, she would not acknowledge. Not until Armando was there to carry her.

“It is not as it seems,” she whispered to herself.

Ugly thoughts were coming fast. She could not remember how to shut her mind to them.

Armando was the only one who could take her father’s place. If he was gone, anyone could rise and take the castle. If they did not want Panthea, which was unthinkable, where would she go? She could not work, and she was too pretty to beg. Some ogre would force himself in, proclaim himself the owner, and she would die of despair from rubbing stinking fat feet and wishing she had been kinder to Armando.

“I will not lose the castle,” she said, kicking Fidato too hard.

Panthea took no comfort in the morning light. She was cold. Yesterday morning all she wanted was to keep Armando from being named the successor of her father and joined to her in marriage; now she was riding out to bring him back.

“Madness,” she said.

Fidato picked his familiar way through the lanes, where the peasants slept off the festival’s wine, the merchants’ wives emptied chamber pots into the streets and nursed along breakfast porridges hanging inside above their fires. A few wise, eager ones waved to her. A pleasant exchange could convince her father, Dario, to lower interest rates or give larger loans.

Panthea smiled and acknowledged them, surprised that the fake reaction was so quick. She never had a desire to meddle in her father’s complicated dealings; she did not know how books worked and what interest to charge. But the merchants, especially those with good fabrics and perfumes, were worth acknowledging.

Panthea passed the church. The strange woman was huddled in the door of the church, feeding a newborn through a sieve. Panthea slowed Fidato to look closer. Who would give this wretch a child? The woman met Panthea’s stare with tears, as if Panthea were the one who was a wretch.

Panthea wanted to hit her.

“You know nothing,” she said to her.

Armando was not near the church or in the piazza; Fidato would have smelled Armando’s horse, Nero, by now. She turned Fidato toward the sea, keeping him moving.

Damiano had done something awful in her father’s chamber, some cruel magic or blood illusion. The troubadour’s body was gone, as was Damiano’s. These were the first things she needed to tell him. Later she would have time to make other sins right with him.

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