The Witch of Lurago

A Name

A Name~

Mouse

La Gracia

Mouse ran her thumbs over fingertips still wrinkled from a long soak in water that never grew cold. She tried to sit still as Sister Fortunata brushed out her hair. No one had brushed her hair for her since Old Mona, since before Master Vyrdun claimed her.

“Who claims you now?” the white wolf wondered. “Did the consort sell you?”

Mouse smoothed her hand over the soft green folds of the gown Sister Fortunata had insisted she put on after the bath. The silvery ones wore silk. Not Ravens. Mouse had tried to explain, but Sister Fortunata didn’t understand. Someone would notice soon. Someone would take the silk away. She hoped it wouldn’t make someone angry. She had tried to explain.

“Bella, M’sita.” Sister Fortunata stood back, c*****g her head from side to side. “Beautiful eyes. Emeralds green.”

Heat flushed Mouse’s face. Beautiful. She knew better. The Dimini was mocking her. Mouse wished she would go away again.

“Ah, my shy bebe. You rest now. I bring dinner later.”

“But what am I to do?” Mouse asked, her uneasiness rising. “What does the master expect of me?”

“Do? You are a blessed one.” Sister Fortunata’s little hand cupped Mouse’s cheek. “The Father says it is so. We serve you, yes?”

Mouse tried not to frown. She must know what service the master expected of her.

“Please, tell me,” she tried again. “What am I to do?”

“Sit on the galeria and let the sun warm your face.” Sister Fortunata opened a window. “Watch people below. Watch birds above.” Then she went to the shelves laden with books. “Read, until eyes…” She mimed a pleasant nodding off, then opened a brass box and pulled out a flute. “Play. Sing.”

Sister Fortunata went to the table where the harper had fed Mouse oranges. She lifted a teapot and poured tea into a cup until the tea overflowed the brim and puddled in the saucer.

“Is your life now, M’sita Raven. Full. Enjoy.”

# # #

No one bothered her for the rest of the day. Sister Fortunata brought dinner but mercifully left her to eat alone.

Mouse lay awake late in the night, staring up at the mattress. The big bed was too open. Too exposed. Crawling underneath the bed felt right, more like the close, dark, safety of her box.

“The consort is gone, I tell you,” Yonah was telling Fia. “The Red Queen sent him away.”

After the pretty lady’s trial in the palace, Mouse had followed the Red Queen and the consort to the room behind the thrones. No one had stopped her because she didn’t matter enough to stop.

“John, you know I believe in you.” The Red Queen held the consort’s hand. “Your faith is strong. Your cause is just. But the burden has been weighing too heavily on your shoulders. You would never have allowed such an injustice if you weren’t strained to exhaustion.”

“All that scheming and torturing can wear a person out,” Fia snorted.

The Red Queen had told the consort to go for a rest, back to Cadron, where people loved him. He’d agreed, but behind his mask, he was furious. Back at the townhouse where the Red Queen couldn’t hear, he’d had plenty to say, and none of it nice.

Mouse had tried to stay invisible, hoping the consort might be finished with her, that he might send her back to the spider and her box.

“But he sent you here instead,” said Yonah.

Mouse sifted through the consort’s words again. She still could make no sense of them.

“Take her to Amadeo. Tell him she is a down payment.”

# # #

The musical voice reached for her again. It beckoned her from the misty world, from her secret resting place beside the lake. The white lion who guarded her while she slept was up and pacing, sniffing the voice’s scent. Mouse stirred, and the lion faded away.

Mouse blinked at the sliver of sunlight playing on the floor beyond the bed. The harper was back. She wiggled toward the edge of the bed until she could see his bottom half. He sat in the same chair as the morning before.

“Good morning, Raven,” he said, as if he were in the habit of waking her every morning. The seductive scent of oranges drew her from underneath the bed. His calm gaze never left the window.

“Come, we shall watch the sunrise together.”

He held a juicy, perfectly peeled orange wedge over his shoulder. Mouse plucked it from his fingers. The taste was as exquisite as she remembered. She sat in the chair beside his.

“Your hands are clean,” he said. “Sister Fortunata convinced you to try the baths. I am pleased.”

“He is pleased.” Fia mimicked. “Spoken like a master.”

Mouse realized she should offer a reply. She should thank the man for the food and the dress. In return for the gifts, he would expect her service. Masters expected service. Vyrdun expected service more often than the Cloistered, but less than the consort. She didn’t want to think what a master would expect for such lavish gifts. She shouldn’t have kept the dress.

Mouse flinched when his hand covered hers. She wasn’t supposed to let him see she didn’t want his touch. That was wrong.

“Careful,” said Yonah. “We don’t know his temper.”

The man’s hand withdrew and rested on the white linen.

“You are safe here,” he said. “In the tallest tower in La Gracia. Guarded night and day. You are safe in the care of God’s Chosen, Raven.”

No, that couldn’t be right. It couldn’t matter to him whether she felt safe. She was a fool to imagine it might. She had the mind of a child. The spider had said so.

Mouse chewed her lip. The sunlight cut a crisp black shadow into the white linen beneath his hand. He waited, and then waited some more. He wasn’t going away. She might as well get it over with.

She forced her eyes from the table and dared look at his face. His curious gaze met hers and held her fixed. She couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. His eyes smiled.

“There, that was not so hard,” he said. “I am Father Amadeo. La Gracia is your home now, my daughter, and your life begins anew. You are reborn, my Anastacia.”

Home. Father. His words enticed her, cajoling her to believe that some small, good thing might be hers to hold on to. And a name. A lovely, musical name. But he had not yet told her the price. The hard world always demanded a price.

“What do you want of me?” she squeaked the question that would bring either an answer or a slap for her impertinence.

“You are wise to ask. I admire caution.”

When he leaned back with his curious gaze, Mouse was sure he could see straight through her, into her most private thoughts, into the secret misty world. She squirmed.

“Your mind, Anastacia. I want you to practice.”

“Practice?”

Mouse realized she wanted to reason it out so as not to disappoint him, and that confused her even more.

“Practice your mindgift,” he explained. “When you want an orange, make your attendant think of bringing you one. Ask for nothing with words.” His fingertip brushed her temple. “Command with your mind.”

“You want me to tell them what to do?”

“It is your birthright, Anastacia. Claim what is yours.

Chapter 4