Chapter Twenty-Five
"I like not fair terms and a villain's mind".
- The Merchant of Venice (Act I, Scene III).
GRAM HAS ALWAYS TOLD ME not to trust a man with a beautiful face, for more often than not, their beauty covers something sinister.
"A smile and a sweet word. A touch or a caress. Do not get fooled, Pet. Do not get fooled."
At first I had believed she spoke of Sven.
Innocent and loving Sven – he should have been wary of me, he should have feared me, and done as his people did and avoided me.
I float away from the past, high above Ethban, to a place of clouds and stars – away from the insignificance of land. What are we when compared to the stars? Bounded and chained; freedom is in the sky, away from pain and confusion, from longing and lies.
But it is also cold.
Perhaps what my Gram should have warned me from is a man who radiated the heat of the sun—
A shiver runs through me, his touch, his voice – the longing I thought I had escaped reaches for me from far below, from somewhere in the Ethbanian palacio. Slowly, I float back down from the clouds, like the first timid leaf in autumn, cautious and dead.
A phantom, I float around the ceiling of my room in the Ethbanian palacio, watching all below, but invisible to them. A pale, pathetic girl lies bundled on the bed. Her face scrunched in pain and drowning in her inky hair. She shivers and sweats and mumbles words too incoherent and soft for me to hear.
I watch Annabella hold the girl's clammy hand. "Per favore, Petra. Please... Please wake up..."
Petra?
Was that pathetic pale thing me?
"Sad, no?"
I whirl around to the voice.
Saboykan floats beside me. Silver hair flowing, pipe in her mouth.
"Did you do this to me?" I ask the old Zingari, but she just laughs.
"I had to summon all my energy just to communicate with you like this! I do not have the power for something this grand."
"It was the man," I whisper. "He touched me and then everything became cold and I do not remember the rest –"
Saboykan slowly removes the pipe and narrows her eyes. "What man?"
"I don't know what he looks like – only that he is beautiful and glorious –"
The old Zingari's strange eyes widen. "Your return to your body is even more pertinent. You must! I cannot tell you much, but I can tell you this, Petra, that this magic is all your doing. For if you were anyone else...anyone with lesser magic you would have died. Yet, here you are..."
"Why? Who is he? Do you know him?" But Saboykan does not answer me; instead she stares at her pipe and chews her lip with worry.
No matter. Whoever he is he cannot get me here. Here I am safe. Here I will remain. I continue to study my body, high above from the ceiling. "Whatever happened to me at that dinner...I think I am dead. Why else am I floating around like a ghost?"
"Self preservation." Saboykan sighs and takes a puff of her pipe. "You must return to your body. The longer you remain outside of it, the harder it will be for you to return, until you find that you can't."
I lay on my back and float as if I am swimming, free in the summertime.
"Is that truly a bad thing, Saboykan? This world would be a safer place without me."
The old Zingari puffs a cloud of smoke in my direction. "This life is a balance. Good and evil. You have your part to play and cannot just leave prematurely, Petra of the Shazastar. You will spend eternity in this limbo, not part of the afterlife, not part of life as consequence."
"Still. Anything beats what I have going on down there," I point to the scene playing below me with my big toe.
After some silence, Saboykan whispers, "You are needed. In ways you cannot begin to comprehend Petra, witch of the Shazastar."
I flip over on my stomach and watch Annabella hold my limp hand. The Mad Queen sits on a seat across from my bed, not moving, eyes wide, pale face stricken, curls sad and dull. A medic stands with Giovanni and his guards. Valentina stands close by. Her parents hover by the door, uncomfortable and just as confused as everyone else.
How long have I been out like this?
Days? Months? Hours? Time is meaningless here amongst the stars.
"There isn't much I can do, senor," the medic whispers to Giovanni. "If the fever does not break then I am afraid, senor ... tengo meido ... I am afraid she will die."
Giovanni runs a hand through his unruly hair and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost, tired –
Valentina holds his hand and whispers, "You must rest. We all must rest. Things will be better in the morning."
Slowly, the packed room begins to disassemble: first the Ethbanian royals, then the medic, followed by Giovanni's guards.
"Come, Bella." Stefano pries Annabella's hand from mine. "You must rest."
She turns away and cries into his doublet as he leads her out of the room.
Then there were two:
Meridian does not budge. Giovanni kneels before her and picks her up – like a sickly child, frail and confused.
"She will wake," Meridian mutters as her nephew carries her out the room. "Promise me you will be here, when she wakes?"
"I will."
Soon, only phantoms float in the room.
"Make your choice, Petra, for we will meet again. Hopefully I will meet you as part of the living world." And with that Saboykan too disappears, leaving me floating alone over an almost dead body of a girl too afraid and broken to return.
Multiple times over the night, I try to return to my body, but the closer I float to it – pain and agonizing fire shoot out in defense and I can do nothing but retreat.
Why return to all of that?
I am fine here.
Limbo is not too bad.
Nice, numb limbo.
A nagging little feeling will not let me just give up however, the hope of atonement, perhaps, or the fear of forever floating in between worlds – and so I try again and again the pain, hurt and sadness the poor girl laying below harbors attack me –
The bedroom door squeaks open and I freeze. It could be anyone – the Marchisios, the mysterious man, an Azdag – truly the possibilities are endless. However, out of them all, I did not think that one of them would be Giovanni de Luca.
He pulls a chair beside my bed and sits.
"I am not sure that you can hear me..." He runs his hands through his hair making it more disheveled and wild. "Everyone is beside themselves. That is the affect you have. Like sunshine when all around us was dark..."
If he only knew how I am more darkness than he can ever imagine. I float down closer to the body. Little tendrils of pain reach out to me, but I ignore them, wanting to hear more. Giovanni continues to stare at the frail body before him. His hand reaches out to mine and softly holds it. A shy warmth makes it way to my phantom self.
Greedily, I reach for it, wanting more of it.
"Petra," he whispers. "Petra of the Shazastar. Thief of the desert. Fortune-teller of Florentia ... Petra. You are needed. You are needed by all. How can you not know that?"
Saboykan's words echo back to me. You have things to get done. You cannot leave prematurely.
What things?
Destroy the world? Kill all whom I love? Because that is all I am capable of.
I am safe here in limbo.
And everyone is safe from me.
Giovanni takes a breath and softly moves damp curls from my face. Again little burst of warmth make their way to my phantom self – little things, barely noticeable amongst all the darkness, all the hurt –
Yet, I float even closer to my body.
"You are as stubborn as a mule. As annoying as a fly and as loud as a stampede."
I pause. Well. Do not use up all your flattery at once, signore.
"But you are brave, Petra. Completely pazza, but brave." His fingers as light as butterfly wings trace my eyebrows, and my face relaxes. "This is not you," he whispers. "So come back."
He waits. After a few heartbeats he sighs. What did he expect, that I would just open my eyes and insult his potato ways? Perhaps flirt with him as I do?
The truth of it all is that I am afraid. I am afraid of returning to all that lies below. He thinks me brave? Ha! He also thinks me nothing more than a thief. Little does he know.
"We have an agreement you and I," he whispers. "That you are not to leave until you help me reveal the spies and the king's murderer, until then you cannot leave..." His hands move back to mine. "Torna da me, Petra."
Come back to me, Petra.
I know that I cannot return just for his sake, that I risk too much to return just for him, but I know that I must try. I must try to make right all the wrong I have done, for as Saboykan said –
Life is a balance of good and evil.
"Come back to me, Petra." Giovanni lays his head beside me and while still clasping my hand, falls asleep. I watch him, as the tension in his face subsides.
It never occurred to me that phantoms can cry, but I can feel tears upon my ghost face.
You are needed, the old Zingari had said.
I cannot leave them to face all the horrors that have followed me alone. I owe them all an explanation and a fighting chance. And then perhaps once I have atoned for all that I have done, I would be deserving of love and friendship and a life –
But I cannot do that if I am in limbo.
I stare at the scrawny body of a girl I know all too well. I inch towards it, just as the first tendrils of pain reach out, but my nerve fails.
I float away.
For I cannot – I know what it is that I will return to -- and it's not that great. I float away, through the hallways of the palacio, weaving in and out. Nothing stirs for it is the middle of the night. Not a servant or a guard.
Yet, there is a light... down the bend of the hallway and it disappears.
With nothing better to do, but to delay returning to my self for as long as possible, I follow, undetected and invisible.
However, the more twists and turns the owner of the light makes, the more I am convinced that I am following someone suspicious. The rational part of my mind tells me to turn back around and return to my room, but I cannot –
Things are not what they seem.
They never have been.
I continue following, but stop when I hear urgent whispering. The owner of the lantern stands below me hidden by shadow. Even as a phantom, I am cautious and remain a safe distance away.
"Has she awakened?" The man whispers.
"No," comes the reply, female highborn.
"Good. That is good."
"I just don't understand his interest in her," the female continues."He must know she is a fake!" Even hidden in the shadows, I can hear the high-pitched jealousy in her voice.
"Shhh! Keep your voice down, Cecilia! You know he has promised to marry you. Why worry what he intends to do with the puttana."
I thought I was frozen enough before, but hearing her name, Cecilia, I become statuesque.
The only Cecilia in attendance. Cecilia Marchisio.
"It is just that she is such a pest. Everyone fawning over her, like she is some grand queen!"
The man who I have now recognized as Signor Marchisio chuckles. "My dear daughter. It is only a matter of time. And you will be Queen. Let us just follow the Northerner's command. We keep our end of the contract and he keeps his."
"I would be more satisfied if he were through with her already. It makes me uncomfortable, Father. First, she steals Giovanni and now –"
"Giovanni!" Marchisio hisses as if the name itself tastes of filth. "Oh, that bastardo will pay. In the same way his uncle has paid..."
"Must you, Father? Employ him as my slave, when my new husband is too busy to pay me any attention."
But Marchisio ignores his daughter's halfhearted attempt to deter his vengeance.
"I will murder the bastardo of Florentia the same way I murdered his uncle the King."
What! That cannot be, surely!
I freeze, afraid that the Marchisios have heard me, but remember I am a ghost of myself. I continue to float in erratic circles baffled for it is too strange to be the truth. This cannot be. Surely? The Marchisios?
"And to make it more enjoyable, I will make Meridian watch as I rip him apart, limb by limb. And feed his pieces to my dogs."
No!
I inch away from the shadows. When I am a decent length away, I float, full speed, like an eagle coming down from a spiral to catch its prey; I move down the first hall I see, not caring as I pass through walls and rooms, only to get away and back to my room. For I must wake!
I must!
In my quarters, Giovanni lays as I have left him, my body as I have felt it. Warm hope and a vibrant strength, like that of the first sun at the end of a long and miserable winter, shield me. I push through the pain and hurt that hold my body captive and rush in. Knives of agony try to make it through my flimsy armor, but I push through it all. Entering my body is how I imagine a snail would feel when moving inside of a shell – sluggish and sticky.
I know that I am whole, for I can feel a tingling numbness in all my appendages and I can no longer float. Instead I feel leaded by sweat. Warmth from a hand grasping mine and soft breaths encourage me to open my eyes. There beside me lies Giovanni; asleep and oblivious to the turmoil I had just gone through. Oblivious to the threats that lurk all around him.
I hold on tighter to his hand, willing him to wake, but hesitant for he looks calm and at peace.
He sleeps, oblivious to lies and betrayals.
To magic and darkness.
To murder.
And I do not have the heart to wake him.
A/N:
Ahhhhhh! Another update! plz excuse any grammar and spelling lol. OMG. So we see a little more of petra's powers. The mysterious fella is still mysterious.
Giovanni is still ... giovanni lol
But DAMN... WHAT IS THE HELL? MARCHISIO DID WHAT?
WHAT HAVE THE MARCHISIO'S GOTTEN THEMSELVES INTO? Who are they involved with? omg.
They wanna do what to Giovanni? OH HELLLLLL NOOOO.
ERMERGERD.
Thanks and PLEASE PLEASE leave me your thoughts and predications! They motivate me to update!
Question: Do anyone of you awesome peeps make covers or art? I would love a couple new covers *_* If you know someone who makes cool covers i would love to get in contact with them!
-Socks!