Page 55 of The Truth About Myths
He conjured alternate designs like people shuffled through book pages until he found a masterpiece. It would allow her to soar and experience the lack of gravity in the pit of her stomach. It would also be safe and sturdy to carry her weight. With pontoons and pulleys suspended from the ceiling, it would give her the freedom to stretch her wings. The sketch faded, replaced by a vision of Isabel floating above the audience, that heart-stopping smile lighting up her eyes.
With all hispundonor, Alfonso took her on garden strolls, but could he make her fly?
Chapter 18
"The strong did what they could, and the weak suffered what they must." Thucydides
Thehuntingpartyspreadout across the marsh. A gust of hot wind swept through the foliage, lifting the women's riding habits and sending the gentlemen's caps flying. The scent of clay and decay caused Isabel to scrunch her nose, and she looked up as clouds raced across the sky. She held onto her bonnet and rubbed her arms, dreading the unease brought by the wind. If it rained, at least the waterfowl shooting would be canceled. Hunting, a habit mankind veneered as one of their last links to uncivilized roots, felt ungentlemanly to her.
"How many birds do they usually bag?" Alfonso glanced at the assembled aristocrats and then straightened his hunter's coat.
Of course, he was uneasy. Today, his hunting skills would be scrutinized. A virile young king should be the one to bring the better game.
Smiling, she patted his hand. "Most guests are here to court a prince, not kill fowl. Look, Canastra pays more attention to his hounds than his gun, so I guess he is not taken with shooting."
The duke petted his prized Galgo and glanced at them as if sensing their regard. At times, Canastra's awe of Alfonso slipped to show a patronizing attitude.
"How long have you been under Canastra's tutelage?"
"Long enough," Alfonso said enigmatically, color rising on his fair skin, and pointed to the other side of the meadow. "And your escort?"
Isabel glanced at Henrique, and a sigh escaped her lips. Instead of a shapeless hunter's garb, he wore a superb riding ensemble, the gray tone complimenting his sinfully tanned skin. Attention caught by some plant or bug, he bent, collected the lucky creature, and stored it in his coat pocket.
He loved nature, or at least was extremely curious about it, and even though he was a shameless pleasure-seeker, she doubted he would kill one of its denizens for fun. An idyllic image swept through her mind of a country gentleman strolling through the Portuguese countryside. He wasn't alone. His wife walked by his side. More than a wife, a partner. She would hang on his arm as he stooped down to inspect a new creature. Then he would explain to her it was an arachnid, not an insect. A child would bounce on its little legs, craving a look. The child would smile, a confident smile. The smile of a child who merited a place on her parent's schedule. Isabel bit the inside of her cheek to dispel the fierce longing burning in her chest. Henrique wasn't the faithful gentleman, just as she wasn't the bourgeois wife.
Forcing her eyes back to Alfonso, she lifted her shoulder. "I would worry only about the duchess. Of all present, she seems the more excited by the prospect of shedding blood."
For all her femininity, Rafaela had a manly liking for the sport and was once rumored to have killed a stag, and then watched in fascination as her dogs ripped it to shreds.
The gamekeeper sounded the horn, and groups were formed. Before the first shot could streak the sky, a guttural "took-took" rose above the hound's barks and excited chatter. It grew in timbre and volume until it obliterated everything else. The hunting group fell silent, and unease descended over the meadow.
Isabel inspected the willows and acacias, her breathing shallow. All was stillness, the lake, the leaves, the hunters, the insects, and then a black cloud flew over their heads. Ducks. Dozens, hundreds of them. They hovered, flapping their wings, black missiles with beady eyes and cackling beaks. The wind lashed out as they landed in the hunting party's midst.
By God, they were besieged by harpies. Isabel screeched, her hand covering her mouth.
All around them, the creatures stormed the hunters, their quacks obliterating the human shrieks.
Her limbs became useless clubs. This couldn't be true. They were ducks. Ducks! Her mind kept repeating the pathetic litany. A hound-sized drake charged Alfonso's saber. Yelping, the prince wrestled with the feathered beast.
Mouth gaping, she gave one step back and then another. A few gentlemen dropped their weapons and took flight, some waving their canes at the winged menaces, others flapping their hats.
Something grabbed her wrist, and Isabel jumped.
It was Henrique.
"They are attacking us. Why are they attacking us?"
"Remind me to take a survey later." Henrique pulled her away from the ruckus. "The ducks are harmless, but Rafaela and Dio are armed. I trust neither with weapons. The scene will fast turn deadly."
Chaos ensued, with men charging their guns, dogs barking, and women wailing.
A duck flew from an elm and bit Lady Dolores' nose.
Isabel planted her heels on the grass. "Dolly!"
Henrique circled his arm around her shoulder and turned her away. "Charles will help her."
The sky opened. Fat drops splattered over the marsh. Isabel shivered as her riding dress soaked and the dapper feather of her bonnet fell limply over her cheek.
