Petra of the Shazastar is a thief on the run from an unforgettable past. But, like all thieves, her luck cannot last forever. When she is caught, she's given a choice: either face execution or become the fortune teller to the Mad Queen.
Not surpri...
"We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep."
-The Tempest, Act 1 Scene 4
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A WEEK PASSES BY AND I fall into a comfortable routine. Every night Annabella brings me my tea. We spend time talking and when sleep is about to take me, I drink the concoction and fall into a dreamless slumber. Although lately, shadows have begun to move into that beautiful blackness. I hope that I have not become accustomed to the herbs.
Besides that, the only side effect of the drink is that I wake late in the afternoon, leaving me no time to go to the piazza and question Fat Pete. As I settle in for the night and await Annabella, I vow that tomorrow I will escape the palazzo and seek the boar down.
I begin to grow anxious when Annabella does not show at her usual time. Panicked, I leave the bed and begin to pace the room. I cannot fall asleep without the tea. All the nightmares I have kept at bay will stampede their way through my mind with the violence of a charging army. Back and forth I pace until I hear the familiar click of the door being opened.
A figure wearing a dark cloak walks in. My breathing stills. My vision darkens. This is it. They have finally arrived. The cursed Azdags.
The cloaked figure ignores me and walks over to Giovanni's desk. There, he takes off his dusty brown cloak and slumps onto the seat.
"Throw me a clean shirt will you?"
No Azdag, but just as miserable. Giovanni removes his dirty one and in front of me pours a bowl of water over his head, running his fingers through his wet hair.
I move in stiff movements and throw him one of his many white shirts. He catches it with ease. I try not to stare, but I do. I stare as if he is the first man I have seen shirtless, yet there is something more intimate about being in the same room as him as he refreshes himself. I cannot help my speechlessness at the sight of him, at his annoyingly confident form. Why couldn't he be shaped like the potatoes I so equate him with? To deflect my discomfort I mumble:
"Have some common decency."
Without bothering to look at me, he shrugs into his clean attire. "These are my rooms I believe."
"You cannot just take off your clothes in front of a lady."
"What lady?" He shakes his head vigorously, drying his hair as a wooly dog would. "If there is any indecency it is you in that night dress."
I am shocked into silence. Quickly, I make my way to the bed and grab at the blanket f to cover myself.
"Well!" I look around the room for something to insult Giovanni with, something to let out my pent-up frustrations. "Well, you smell! Like a rotting donkey's behind. At least take a bath!"
