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...
"All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts."
– As You Like It (Act II, Scene VII).
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"TELL ME ABOUT THE SHAZASTAR." Giovanni stares into the fire I had built, while Notte grazes nearby, occasionally neighing to let us know he was near and watching.
"What was it like to grow up in the land of magic?" his voice soft as though he spoke to the flames and not to me. Did he truly want to go down this path with me? This, I show you my scars you show me yours? This, who has the most pitiful childhood? This, whose pain is greater?
For, I would win. And it is not a game I am too fond of winning.
Alas, I am no stranger to agony and know that people express it in different ways. Some, like myself laugh uncontrollably, until those laughs bubble into tears...
But Giovanni? He holds it in, letting it fester like an infection, pus filled hurt and pain, until it consumes him.
"It's hot there."
He doesn't budge, no laugh or scoff or even a hint that he has heard me. He only keeps on staring into the fire, seeing things I am blind to.
"Sand everywhere."
Still, no reaction.
I pull at the grass at my side, ripping it to almost invisible pieces. "It was awful. However, being the positive person that I am, I like to think of it as character building. "
He looks up. Eyes bright, the flames reflected upon them like pools in the forest. I swallow a knot, mentally reprimanding myself for exposing so much so fast.
"Why was it awful?"
I throw the grass into the fire. "Ah, no. My turn to ask a question." He keeps his eyes on me, and although the intensity of his gaze makes me squirm, I am glad he no longer stares at the fire vacantly.
"Who was that woman?"
Through the flames, I could see a crack in his mask, a small smile, almost invisible upon his lips. Almost.
"Jealous?"
He was not going to distract me with his smiles and flirts, even if my heart cannot remain steady. He may be clever, but I have fooled an entire nation of my mystical abilities.
The woman, striking and authoritative, still looked familiar. Her face, sharp, cold. Her eyes, silver. I knew who she was the moment I saw her – the moment she walked up to Giovanni.
"Your mother?"
"Si, Paola Olivarez. Did the resemblance give it a way? Or did you call upon the powers of the Shazastar?"
