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...
"If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"
– The Merchant of Venice (Act III, Scene I).
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I CAN FEEL ALL THEIR eyes upon me. Eyes from all around the Ethbanian dining hall: Florentian, Ethbanian, servants, even the peas upon my plate gawk at the fortune-teller back from the dead.
I know some watch me with concern– Annabella, the Mad Queen, Stefano... Yet, most, most are filled apprehension.
Fear for me? Fear of me? What difference did it make?
I take a breath and force a smile. "Great venison! Was this from this morning's hunt?"
The table breathes a sigh. Did they expect me to curse them like some troll from the Northern mountains? I am much more civilized than that.
"Why no...its takes a while to cure the meat. This is last weeks," Valentina explains, as if hunting and curing meat were the most exciting of topics. "I was the one who killed both in the hunt however."
"Oh?" Giovanni's smile is filled with pride. "That's impressive, Val!"
Val?
I stab the venison and my plate clatters upon the beautiful table. Oh, how I wish to be a troll so I can curse them all.
Giovanni and his googly-eyed princessa deserve each other.
She looks over at the Captain of the Guard, seated at her side, and beneath long eyelashes she murmurs, "I used the technique you taught me long ago ... do you remember? How we used to train in the gardens?"
I try not to roll my eyes – but I am petty. And I was never one to go against my nature for very long.
"Eating what you hunted, the animal in which you stole the life of – some may think it brave, most civilized persons however? Savage," I state with feign morality.
Annabella chokes on her food and lets out a fit of coughs, with Stefano quickly at her side –
"Signora!" She hisses underneath her breath, once she has caught it.
To insult the princessa of Ethban, what were they to do? Execute me? That would be more entertaining than watching Giovanni and Val gush over one another.
Valentina blushes, looks away and pecks at her plate. Perhaps I went too far, but I am even further from caring – that is what happens when one escapes the clutches of death.
They do not care.
I can feel Giovanni's silver eyed scrutiny and its takes all my self control, all my maturity to not fling my peas at his smug face. What was he sitting there smiling about?
