Miranda in Milan by Duckett Katharine

Author:Duckett, Katharine [Duckett, Katharine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9781250306319
Google: 4MhnDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07G73QFCP
Goodreads: 39947822
Publisher: Tor.com
Published: 2019-03-26T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

“Bice!”

Beatrice did not slow. She was far across the hills, and Agata struggled to keep up. Bice’s legs had always been longer, her gait more assured. She strode where Agata straggled, and her strong, tanned limbs carried her across the green expanse easily even with Miranda in her arms, tucked against her bosom as she carried the apples they’d already picked in a swinging basket in her other hand.

Beatrice’s skin freckled brown in the sun, and she would do nothing to protect it, which had caused Agata’s aunt no end of consternation in their youth. The portrait of Beatrice recently hung in the castle’s gallery painted her skin as smooth and creamy as milk. Her true skin was dappled with spots though she had barely reached her twentieth birthday, her face already grooved with lines from lounging about outside and from laughing. She laughed often, Beatrice did. Or at least she had, until these last few months.

It was unfair, Agata thought as she caught up to her cousin, that all these flaws only served Beatrice’s beauty. She had always looked a touch wild, like a mare who couldn’t be broken. Now, as a young mother, she looked like a goddess, her dark hair flowing down her shoulders, her teeth gleaming white as she bit into a crisp red apple.

“Mm.” Beatrice chewed, spitting out seeds as she went. “They’re even better this year! It’s the cold, I think. Made them tastier.”

“We can’t eat them all out here. Giuseppe promised to make an apple tart this evening.”

“We won’t! Well, at least I don’t think we will.” Beatrice slipped a small knife out of the pouch tied to her skirt and cut off a piece of the apple to give to Miranda. Miranda chewed thoughtfully as her mother spoke. “In truth, I don’t wish to return. Can’t we stay here, Agata, and start an orchard of our own? We could live in a simple shack and sell fruit on the road to Como. If I ran away, would you join me?”

Agata sighed. “Don’t be foolish, Bice.” She lifted an apple from her own basket. “Have you spoken to him?”

“We’ve spoken.” Beatrice scraped her teeth over the core. “We’ve spoken, and still he persists. I do not think he hears me anymore, Agata. Truly. I think all he hears are the voices in his head. No one can reach him. Not me, not Antonio. Not even Miranda can persuade him to stop his work.”

Agata looked down at the little girl, who had cocked her head at the sound of her name. Everyone else said that Miranda had Bice’s eyes, her ears, but Agata could only see Prospero in her face, in the defiant jut of the lip, her hooded eyes. It wasn’t the girl’s fault, but Agata couldn’t help but resent her for the change she had brought to their lives, and to the castle. All this trouble began with her conception, three years before.

Prospero and Beatrice had been married a year before the pregnancy, and happily.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.