Fruit of the Golden Vine Read online

  Silvana stopped Nerine’s hand with a gentle touch. “I won’t bed you against your will.”

  “I hear the defiance in your voice, and it makes me tremble.” Nerine brushed her nose against Silvana’s cheek, and her breath grazed Silvana’s skin. “You pity me, don’t you?”

  Silvana put her hand on Nerine’s thigh. The heat there was almost enough to make her lose her composure, but she kept herself steady. “Not pity. I respect you. That’s why I’m reluctant to take advantage of you.”

  Nerine kissed Silvana’s neck. “You are my respite, sweet angel. Don’t turn me away. I want to know the nectar of your lips. I want to savor the secret between your legs. It’s been too long since my last woman.” She loosed her blouse and lifted it over her head. Her breasts fell, and the burnished skin of her stomach glowed beneath the candlelight. “Take the fire of your indignation and turn it into passion, lover. Let us spend the entire tonight entwined, as only women can…”

  As Silvana looked upon Nerine’s bared torso and felt Nerine’s fingers tracing their way across her skin, an impulsive hunger moved through her. She leaned in to steal a kiss, and as their lips and tongues combined, she pulled Nerine into her lap and caressed her bare breast. Her finger brushed a stiffened nipple. Nerine shivered, laughed and kissed Silvana harder.

  Nerine reached for Silvana’s belt, and Silvana sank back into the cushions and closed her eyes.

  From the depths of her mind rose an image of a child—no, a girl, a young woman, standing before a three-headed giant. One head was her mother, one head her father, and the final head an unforgiving world. And she replies, ‘I’m not afraid of you, because I was born of the sun and stars.’ And the giant fell to its knees.

  A hand worked its way between Silvana’s thighs, its fingers parting and stroking. Silvana arched her back and moaned.

  Now came the memory of a woman, fingers shivering against the golden curve of a goblet, lips turned in the wondering smile of one in rhapsody, eyes trembling with the promise of tears. I want to lose my breath in a thrill of wonder, to open my eyes each day to some new enchantment…but instead I live in unhappiness, and each year brings me closer to something even worse. A hand tracing the silver tree upon her cheek, its fingers shaking.

  Goddess, the longing in that touch…

  “I can’t.” Silvana pushed Nerine away. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Nerine withdrew, her lips set in a pout. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

  “It’s not your fault. You’re beautiful and I want you, but I can’t.” Silvana sighed. “God knows I normally could.”

  “If your heart is stopping you, not your body, then there must be someone else. Am I right?”

  Silvana inspected the back of her own hands. The rest of her body still seemed young enough, but nothing could disguise those creases about her knuckles, each one speaking of some long, unhappy year. “Come lay your head in my lap, Nerine, and we’ll talk. About love. About moonlight. About all the tears we long to shed and never will.”

  Nerine’s expression softened. “As you will, my angel. As you will.”

  Chapter Six

  The ride back was one of the more uncomfortable in Silvana’s memory. Rafael stared out of the window, his brooding slouch suggesting a man whose dice had landed poorly. Sebastian sat on the opposite bench, eyes shining like fresh-minted coins. Nobody spoke, but Sebastian’s cheerful expression said enough. The spider had retreated into its burrow, but only after laying waste to certain hopes and illusions, and it was now clear who held the upper hand.

  Sebastian bid them goodnight in the lobby. Rafael and Silvana climbed the staircase and trudged through the shrouded hallway toward their bedrooms. When they reached the adjoining doors, which were set before a great arched window overlooking the vineyard and the luminous night sky, Rafael caught Silvana’s shoulder.

  “Silvie, I’m sorry,” he said. “That must have been humiliating for you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. What happened at the gambling tables?”

  “Nothing but my dire luck. Sebastian was full of cheer and good humor, a father-in-law apparent. But there’s a threat in his every word and a warning in each gesture. We were wrong to take him so lightly.”

  “Perhaps we should leave while we can.” Silvana gazed upon the ranks of vines, which were twisted silver beneath the moon. “I hate this balmy air, these scented winds. I want to taste frost in my lungs again.”

  Rafael held her around the waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “What are you talking about? You enjoyed the change, you told me.”

  “I’m tired of the travel, Rafael. I want to lie among the old barks, my arms around a woman who shares my love. I want the moon to peer through the branches and kiss our faces. I want to feel the pulse of the earth against my back…”

  His sigh moved through her chest. “What’s happened to you? You were enjoying yourself. All the taverns, the wine and revelry, the maidens you’ve left lovesick from here to the coast. You cursed me for wanting to return so soon.”

  “Perhaps I feel the need to punish myself for our deception. The blood will call, remember? And it calls me to that cold darkness I understand.” Silvana drew her hands into fists. “What are we becoming? That woman, Irena, expects so much from you…what right do we have to use her so?”

  “Not so loud.” Rafael stepped back from the embrace. “We can’t talk about this, not here.”

  Silvana turned from the window. “You’re still determined to go on with this charade then?”

  “It’s only a half charade, Silvie.” Rafael shrugged. “Everything will end as it should. Just don’t start getting religious on me. We’ve tried to leave all that behind.”

  “Yes, but it’s odd. On a night like this, it almost feels possible to believe.” Silvana turned the handle of her door. “Goodnight, Rafael.”

  “Goodnight, sister.”

  Silvana walked into her bedroom and quietly shut the door. She wasted no time undressing and burying herself beneath the silken sheets. A sliver of moonlight fell on her bed, and she rolled into it, wanting to sleep beneath that silver caress. Her thoughts dissolved into dreams.

  The tree, that endless tree…

  The earth breathed. The soil was slick, and her feet slipped. Suspended in the sky above her, Rafael burned, as was his nature.

  “Old roots wend deep.” The old woman stroked her cheek. Why wouldn’t she leave them be? They were only children. “The blood will call.”

  “Silvana, run with me.” Rafael extended his hand, but he blazed too brightly for her to touch.

  She had no patience for the sun. She craved the sweet mystery of the moon.

  Her brother’s light faded, but the skeletons of the forest remained, their cryptic branches pointing toward the stars. She was born not of her mother, but of the heavens. No—that wasn’t her. That was someone else. She was born of the earth, of the deep, winding hollows. Only there could she escape this terrible presence that swept through the night. This guilt. This yearning. Adelina.

  Silvana buried herself in the loam. Her body rotted, and what little remained crept into the depths, until she was inhaled by the trees and reborn.

  Goddess, take me…

  A quick knock woke her, and she sat upright. Morning light suffused the room. “Come in,” she said.

  Adelina entered behind a platter of food. “Good morning! I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

  “Oh.” Silvana had to end this budding courtship now, for Adelina’s sake, yet how could she do so without seeming cruel? “Am I allowed to eat in the bed?”

  “You’re a guest, so you can get away with it. I wish I could.” Adelina sat on the bed with the platter balanced on her knees. Her gaze—tender with unconcealed longing—lowered to Silvana’s bared shoulders. Silvana tugged her sheets higher, and Adelina blushed and looked away.

  “I’ve brought you some warm scones and jam,” Adelina said. “Some water in the jug there, and a li
ttle flask of milk. And there’s an apple.”

  “So there is.”

  “About last night…”

  “I don’t remember it very well. I drank a little too much wine.”

  “Oh.” Adelina twisted a curl of hair around her finger. “Um. Do you recall—”

  “Ada, it might be best if you don’t ask.” Silvana took a scone and slathered jam on it. “Your father wants me to keep my distance from you. He believes I’m a bad influence. You’d do best to forget I’m even here.”

  Adelina stared at the floor. Her shoulders moved with quick breaths, as if she were on the verge of panicking or, perhaps, succumbing to tears. “Um. Father has agreed to let Rafael take Irena into town today, under the condition I go as her chaperone. As if Irena needs a chaperone. And I was hoping you’d like to join us.”

  The food churned in Silvana’s stomach. “I told you, I can’t.”

  “But he even said you could accompany us. He doesn’t mind.”

  Silvana closed her eyes. He would say that, of course, to put upon her the onus of disappointing Adelina and to protect him, the good father, from any blame. “Adelina, as I said, your father has asked that I don’t take up too much of your time. I’m hardly going to question the wishes of my host.”

  “You’re not fooling me. You argued with my mother all through dinner. You’re not scared of anyone.” Ada stood and folded her arms. “I don’t care what my father says. If he’s warned you off me, then ignore his warning, damn you.”

  When Silvana had been a child, her father had forced her to drown a litter of kittens. She’d kissed each one before holding it beneath the unsparing water. Her father had watched. She’d wanted to push him under instead, to grip his shoulders until the last bubble spat from his mouth and his body ceased its struggle. But that had only been an angry fantasy. She’d been powerless, forced into cruelty. Just as she was now.

  “I think you’ve misread me.” Silvana tried to keep her breath steady. Goddess within, this was hard. “I have no interest in spending time with you. I’m a woman with things to do, and you’re a foolish girl who wastes my time with fairytales.”

  Without a word, Adelina walked to the window and opened the curtains, letting in a flood of light. It seemed absurd that, in a moment of such cruelty, the sun still shone.

  Adelina turned to face the bed, and Silvana’s stomach clenched as she prepared herself for a vision of grief. But no—Adelina’s face was composed, her eyes clear and her lips steady. “Give me that tray,” she said. “I’ll take it back to the kitchen.”

  “I’d like to finish my breakfast.”

  Adelina grimaced. “I want the tray back! Damn you, I…” She clenched her fist and looked away. “Enjoy your breakfast. I won’t bother you again with my childishness.” She strode to the door and reached for the handle. As she turned it, a sob escaped her body, and her shoulders heaved. Weeping, she ran into the corridor.

  Silvana stared at the empty doorway. She had expected tears and perhaps anger, but not this heartwrenching display of strength. The last kitten, she remembered, had refused to drown. She’d lifted it from the water, and it had somehow heaved the air back into its little lungs.

  Then her father had shaken his head, and she’d plunged it back under. Bravery meant nothing in an unmerciful world.

  With a shaking hand, Silvana took the flask of milk. The cool liquid settled her stomach, and her head cleared. It was over, at least.

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor. She looked up as Rafael put his head through the door. “That girl just ran past me in tears,” he said. “What did you do? Tell her she was ugly?”

  “Don’t talk about it.” Silvana lifted a slice of honeyed bread. “Hungry?”

  “I’ve already eaten. Hell, I’ve already dressed.” He gestured to his outfit, a tightly-buttoned jacket, patterned trousers, polished boots and a feathered hat tilted at an absurd angle. “I suppose I’ll try to cheer up the poor creature while we’re in town. Tell her a few funny stories.”

  “If you like. I don’t care.”

  “Well!” Rafael whistled. “You certainly put the steel back into your spine.”

  “She’s just another woman in my wake, Rafael.” Silvana drained the last of the milk straight from the flask. “Now we won’t have to worry about any trouble with her father.”

  “Not on that front, anyway. Well. Good.” Rafael frowned. “Silvana, this doesn’t sit right with me. You were so dewy-eyed when you spoke of her last night. You’re not acting, are you?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, you’re not ordinarily so hard-hearted. It’s almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself.”

  “I’m only angry at myself for being so witless. Now will you leave me to dress and bathe in peace?”

  Rafael raised his hands. “Fine, fine! I’ll see you this afternoon when we return. There’s to be a musical recital this evening. Don’t look too excited.” He grinned and shut the door.

  Silvana sat for some time, chewing on a scone and considering the morning sky beyond the window. Thoughts and feelings moved treacherously within her, but she ignored them. She’d forget Adelina eventually—forget the way she’d reached for that goblet, forget the rush of emotion that had stopped Silvana as she lay with Nerine. Forget it all. The way she’d forgotten the names of her kittens. Even the one that had fought so hard to live.

  Silvana took the final scone and hesitated. A folded piece of paper lay beneath it. She frowned, set the scone aside, unfolded the paper and held it to the light. It was a note, pleasantly perfumed and written in a careful hand.

  A life of loveless solitude is destined as my role,

  “From birth to death in servitude” is graven on my soul.

  Yet still I hope with every breath for fate to be unwound,

  My destiny to know redress, that love be in me bound.

  Oh, be the mercy I have sought, and save my dreams from dust!

  Your beauty stills my every thought, your touch inflames my lust.

  I yearn for you, with thoughts impure, I cannot but confess,

  And against all I shall endure, in hope of your caress.

  I love you; be mine. Adelina.

  Nobody had ever written a poem for her before.

  Silvana lowered the page and raised a hand to her cheek. The skin burned beneath her touch. How could that be? She never blushed, not since she’d had her first woman, all those years ago. She traced the lines with a fingertip—her finger trembled, why did it tremble?—and she whispered the words as a mist fell over her eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Adelina huddled in the back of the coach and willed the world to burn. Infuriatingly, it continued to thrive with its usual blissful idiocy. The town passed by the coach windows, a sunlit confusion of stupid people and ugly buildings. But moronic as they all were, nobody topped Adelina herself for sheer slackjawed stupidity. She was the unquestioned queen of the idiots, a stupid child who’d put her heart on a page and left it for a callous bitch to laugh at.

  “Oh, Ada,” said Irena. “Must you look so surly on such a beautiful day?”

  “I think you might be getting the pox. You’ve hideous spots all over your face.”

  Irena shrieked and pawed at her face. Rafael laughed. “Your sister is teasing you, my dear,” he said. “Your face is as pure ivory, with not a blemish in sight.”

  Adelina snorted, slid along her seat and stuck her head out of the window. Townsfolk wandered the streets and plied their trades behind stalls, and the hot summer air carried the aroma of grass and sweat.

  “Stop here!” Rafael rang the bell above their heads, and the coach shuddered to a halt. He drew aside the curtain and helped Irena to the street before extending his hand toward Ada.

  “I don’t need your damn help.” Ada pushed his hand aside and stepped down from the coach.

  They had stopped by the town green, a place lively with colored tents, stalls and banners—the Sunday market. Th
e attendees were dressed in their finest silk and leather, and the scent of perfume and cologne mixed with the heady aromas of the field. The knot of anger in Adelina’s chest eased. It had been so long since she’d had the chance to see the market, after all, and Rafael and Irena were still better company than one of her father’s skulking cronies.

  “Sniff that air!” said Irena. “I can smell cinnamon somewhere. Oh, Ada…” She took Adelina’s arm. “Please let’s be happy.”

  Adelina considered pulling her arm free, but it would have seemed childish. “I’m here to chaperone you, remember. No kissing or holding hands.”

  Rafael chuckled, and Irena’s cheeks turned pink. “I promise to be on my best behavior, my mistress Adelina,” Rafael said. “Come! Let’s chase down that tell-tale cinnamon. I do suspect a baker is the culprit, and we could start our day with some sticky buns.”

  God, he was so fawning. There was no way he truly spoke like that, not inside his head, not as if he were some absurd gentleman sprung from a handbook on civility. Not if he was that woman’s brother, at any rate. A bitch like her would have a bastard for a brother.

  Irena tugged Adelina’s sleeve. “Look! A juggler!”

  Adelina looked, a pang of curiosity stirring. The juggler stood beneath the shade of a great tree. A series of colored balls sparkled and leaped in his hands. He never once tripped in his act, and as the number of balls grew, it took all of Adelina’s sulky conviction to prevent herself from applauding.

  “Can you juggle, Rafael?” said Irena, returning her attention to her deceitful suitor.

  “Oh, not nearly so well.” Rafael tilted his hat lower, shading his eyes. “This heat is remarkable. How do you ladies survive the summer dressed in those thick dresses?”

  “I don’t know,” said Adelina. “Maybe we won’t.”

  Rafael gave her a sympathetic, even endearing grin. Why did he have to be so persistently likeable? No doubt he was going to break Irena’s heart, the way Silvana had broken hers.

  “Come on,” he said. “Before the crowd tramples us!”