CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

Duke Stephano attempted to knock the hand off his shoulder.

Fabian tightened his grip. In no way did he match Duke Stephano. His squinty eyes were the color of unlit coal. Despite his age, his oily hair remained a midnight black, his skin the blaring white created by lead powder, and an unnatural red tinted his lips. His meager height and rotund frame made him unimpressive, yet he wore only the best velvets, silks, and jewels, and all formed a symphony of coordinating colors. Rumor claimed he had risen to wealth from the docks of Venice, which accounted for the extraordinary strength of his hands and arms.

I saw Duke Stephano struggle in his mind; should he wrestle with the smaller man and take the chance of losing? Only a fool would take that gamble. "Fabian, what are you doing here? What do you want?"

"I was invited, and I'm here to get what is mine."

"It is not yours!"

Interesting. Duke Stephano knew of what Fabian spoke, and he sounded both defiant and guilty.

"I promised you a trunk of gold for every year my daughter lived with you, and you killed her at the start of the second year. I want my money returned!" The merchants of Verona claimed Fabian could pinch a coin until the emperor squeaked, and here was the proof.

"How many times do I have to say it? I didn't kill her. She ate those eels and died." Duke Stephano glanced around at the crowd that gathered, wine goblets in hand, ready to be entertained. He abandoned his feeble defense and returned to the real issue. "It was a small trunk, barely large enough to hold a woman's earrings and in any case, there was no provision in our agreement to give the gold back if the girl turned up her toes!"

The sentimentality of these two men brought a tear to the eyes.

No, wait. It didn't.

"The gold was to keep my daughter properly." The pincher of coin leaned forward, coal eyes lit by a red spark.

Gertrude could wait in silence no longer. In her sweet, high, girlish voice, she said, "Duke Stephano, you're not keeping her except in the tomb of your family, and that requires no cash."

Gertrude . . . ah, Gertrude Brambilia. Titania got her looks from her mother, a tall, curvaceous woman with wide blue eyes, long lashes, and blond hair inherited from some Viking visitor of the long past. She had the face of a cherub, the voice of an angel . . . and the temperament of the Great Beast.

Fabian swung his fat hand within inches of her face. "Shut your maw, woman. I'm handling this."

Seemingly without fear, she retorted, "You've said that ever since Titania was envenomed, and yet the cash remains in his pocket, not ours."

Husband and wife despised each other with ever-increasing vigor, if such a thing was possible, and to be close felt like hate slicing with a thousand knicks of a blade.

"For eternity, Titania will lie in the Creppa tomb on a slab of noble marble. Does the girl deserve better than my other wives?" Duke Stephano demanded.

I assure you I had no wish to distract from this entirely enjoyable quarrel between despicable people, but I felt forced to intervene. "Her name was Titania."

Both men glanced at me as if I was speaking the language of the infidels, without comprehension.

"Titania," I repeated. "Not The Girl. Not your Daughter. Her name was Titania."

The men and Gertrude made dismissive noises and turned back at the disagreement with renewed vigor. I thought, I hoped, they would all kill one another.

Instead my father, Lord Romeo, and Prince Escalus, podestà of Verona, swooped down upon the two men and separated them, for only lords of distinction could exert the control to halt the quarrel.

After a few insulting gestures, the men parted.

Before she stalked after her husband, Gertrude grabbed me by the wrist. Her grip was as cruel and strong as her husband's, and the vitriol that spewed from her lips was all the more frightening coming from that sweetly rounded face. "With this betrothal, death has put its seal on your forehead. I told my stupid daughter thus, but she shrieked her defiance, and my greedy husband wished to be allied with a duke, so the deed was done. I hope your death is quicker and less painful than Titania's . . . but I doubt that it will be. He'll make sure you suffer. He will!" Those large eyes glittered with icy blue diamond delight.

She was a savage in silks, and the terribleness of her ill wishes wiped away my pleasure in seeing Duke Stephano so humiliated. Poor Titania, to have been raised with such fiends as these.

A man's deep voice spoke at my shoulder, "Lady Rosaline."

I turned at once, eagerly imagining Lysander had at last arrived at the party.

Instead, Dion of the house of Bellagamba stood there. "Prince Escalus commands that you accompany me."

Although he was a pleasant looking young man, as he offered his arm, I fear my face fell. He was not Lysander. As far as I could tell, Lysander hadn't arrived. Should I worry for Lysander's safety?

I took Dion's arm warily, for while I recognized him as one of Prince Escalus's three long-time companions, younger sons all, I didn't remember ever speaking to him. "What is it?"

"Prince Escalus believes as a lady of the house of Montague you should distance yourself from such a vulgar argument between those two men." As he led me through the guests, his voice was low and absolutely deadpan.

Yet when I glared at him, he was smirking.

"Your beaming smile may have determined Prince Escalus's course of action," he finished.

I was indignant. "The podestà advised me to smile."

Dion looked directly at me, eyebrows raised.

"Although possibly not in those exact circumstances," I admitted, "and not with such joy at two gentlemen making fools of themselves."

Dion chuckled. "Wasn't it a pleasure to see a fight between those most vile and loathsome two, defilers of—"

"Remember who you are, Dion, and who you represent. You speak too freely and too loudly." Marcellus of the house of Parisi and another one of the prince's companions, interrupted us. "I'll take her now."

That wiped the smile from Dion's face most entirely, and he relinquished me with a bow.

As Marcellus led me away, he said in a low tone, "You must forgive my compatriot. He's young and brash, more adept at fighting than at diplomacy."

"Surely both are important to the podestà," I protested, for I liked Dion's humor and honesty.

"Fighting men he can have, as many as he wishes, but in Verona, diplomacy is a rare virtue and most needed as Prince Escalus negotiates the constant danger which surrounds him." Marcellus was a severe man, no older than Dion or the prince, I felt sure, but with a dark and brooding countenance that even good food, dance music, and cheerful company did not lighten.

"Constant danger? Even now?" In the relative stability of recent years, I'd come to believe Prince Escalus controlled Veronese politics with the strong hand in the velvet glove. "He was barely more than a boy when he beat back the rebels and for many years has wielded power."

Marcellus dismissed my question with a curl of the lip. "It's not the place of a woman to concern herself with the politics of a city-state."

Briefly I entertained myself in imagining the woman with whom I would match Marcellus. Gertrude came to mind. Too bad she was already spoken for.

"It is not for me to judge Prince Escalus for his choices as friends and stalwart companions." I could deliver a backhanded slap as good as any man.

Marcellus stopped his parade through the guests and viewed me with stern disfavor. "What reason possesses my prince to—"

Now Prince Escalus's third companion, Holofernes of the house of Negri, arrived to offer his arm. "Come, let us walk."

Marcellus bowed and gladly we parted.

Holofernes I knew; he was, like the others, no older than Prince Escalus, but unlike the others, he was a native of Verona, and bore the marks of a man who'd fought for the house of Leonardi and spent time as a captive, held for a ransom that never came, and tortured by the Acquasasso for his family's lack of funds.

"Why this constant changing of my partner?" I asked him.

Holofernes paced through the crowd, smiling at me like a man willing to be charmed, in other words, like a conventional party guest. "Prince Escalus did command us to make sure you were prey to no more gossip and scenes, and to ensure that we take our turns to walk with you, never slowing enough to allow anyone to engage you in unnecessary warnings or cruel taunts. At the same time, this changing of the guards ensures no one can claim you allowed a man not your betrothed to occupy your thoughts and time."

"How . . . thoughtful of the prince. He kindly makes sure this marriage with Duke Stephano takes place." I wanted to say, so wanted to say, I hope he takes as much interest in the funeral that follows. I refrained; Holofernes answered me squarely and behaved with gentlemanly respect, and he deserved better than my hostility. "When do we stop walking?"

"When your betrothed has returned to your side."

"Then let us walk on!" At first test my bitterness overflowed.

Punishment followed swiftly; Duke Stephano loomed at my side, and Holofernes released me and melted into the crowd.

I was surrounded by guests, and at the same time I was alone with Duke Stephano, and obviously his temperament had taken a turn for the worse.

Yes, I know—how was that even possible?