Page 18 of What Dreams May Come
He continued, “I’ve heard the rumors that fly about the city. You’rehis. Prince Escalus. Heownsyou. If he wishes to wed you, he’ll pay dearly for you. Whatever I demand, he’ll give me for your person in the hopes he’ll have you yet unsulliedand virginal.”
Zoinks! Way to answer that question. No wonder Madame Culatello had disappeared after helping me in the window. No wonder she had conveniently collapsed after the tussle withCount Prospero.
She had sold me out.
Also. When you’re the daughter of Romeo and Juliet and your father is wicked fast with a blade, and he teaches you on the sly (because your mother doesn’t quite approve) to defend yourself because he wants his daughters never to be afraid or vulnerable...
This guy was a lot taller than me. He was strong, and he had me dangling by my arm. My shoulder joint screamed with pain. I was, according to his benighted belief, helpless.
My father spoke in my head.Pull the dagger from your sleeve and stab Count Prosperoin the heart.
Well, sure, but with his long arms, he held me out like disreputable vermin. Additionally, the whole day and evening and night had been one damned thing after another and this betrayal by Madame Culatello, who I trusted, infuriated me beyond good sense.
And...I sigh as I explain what I would rather not. But I have thrust a blade into one beating heart, and reluctantly I discovered what warriors know. To stand face-to-face with someone and stab them required nerve and skill and a willingness to recall, over and over, how death clouds the victim’s eyes and vanquishes the eternal spirit. With that recollection, my own life fades into a nightmare where my guiltless spirit is stained forever, and I seek absolution from my confessor, and while it’s given, I still can never forget.
So yes, if there’s another way, I’ll try it, and now rather than reaching for my blade, I used one long leg and a well-aimed foot to kick Count Prospero’s thigh close tohis man parts.
No doubt you’re saying,Rosie, you missed yourmain objective.
True, but it really didn’t matter. Men are men (embroiderthaton a pillow) and instinctively, he collapsed to protect his hairy hangers. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I slammed my knee up—which is a lot easier in tights than a skirt—and snapped his broad, manly chin backward. His mask tilted sideways, robbing him of his demonic appearance and making him look more like a jester. His breath whooshed out of his lungs, and the sound of his teeth clanking together gave me such intense satisfaction I dared one final clout to his ear and a grab at the ring.
To no avail. He stumbled sideways, and only by extreme self-discipline did I recover my good sense and do as my sister and Princess Isabella had done—I counted my legs, and when I gotto two, I ran.
Opening the door, I dashed down the corridor.
Behind me, I heard Count Prospero’s roar of fury.
I glanced back and to my horror saw the treacherous villain standing beside the door, his glittering scarlet mask in place, watching as I fled. Our eyes met. Terror and certainty leaped inside me.
He knew something I did not.
He did not fear thatI would escape.
Turning, he walked back into the office and with an ominous thump,shut the door.
In a panic, I sprinted into the increasingly turbulent remains of the masquerade. An abundance of screams meant all Madame Culatello’s girls had released their rodents into the crowd. The stampede toward the door threatened to crush me and only a firm hand on my arm and a yank behind the curtain saved me from landing on my face. I turned to my rescuer, hoping to see Venera or Gordiana or Berengaria or Quartiglia or Fennina—and instead I saw the tall man in black velvet wearing a leeringred satyr mask.
CHAPTER TWELVE
What the...?
How had Count Prospero recovered from my kick to hiscojones,gone back into his office, then returned to catch and save me...with, I knew, the intention to hurt me, to ruin me, to destroy my family,for revenge...
Obviously, there was only one thing to do. I screamed, “Fire!”
On the other side of the curtain, voices picked up the message. “Fire!” “Run for your life!” “Fire!” And from one of Madame Culatello’s ladies, “Prospero uses his hellfire against us. We’re allgoing to burn!”
Beneath the satyr mask, I thought Count Prospero rolled his eyes. Later, I also thought—Of course, because his eyes are dark.But at that moment, the detail escaped me.
He peeked out from the curtain, noddedand let me go.
I didn’t wait to wonder at his leniency. I darted out into the ballroom. The screaming crowd had much diminished, and what was left ran, stumbled, jolted toward the doors and spilled out into the street. I had planned to escape across the square to nearby La Gnocca but remembered I would find no refuge with Madame Culatello, who had betrayed me.
Turning, I fled toward Casa Montague. Toward home. When I was well away from Verona’s center, I slowed to a walk. I had, after all, been ill and the well-being that had buoyed me through this night drained away, for I realized that the worst had happened. Count Prospero did not have the ransom—but he still held Princess Isabella’s ring.
I had failed. Failed my family, failed the princess, failed so fatally I might as well amble my way to a nunnery. First I had to let Katherina and Princess Isabella know, and I had to face my parents with my shame written plain on my face.
As I trudged along, I began to imagine I heard sounds behind me. Sounds like men’s boots thumping in pursuit.
