Free The Silver Devil by Teresa Denys Page B

those other
women; I imagined the scrabblings of those podgy fingers, the kisses of that
slack mouth, and nearly retched. Perhaps, I thought, perhaps he is so old that
he will be impotent, and then I shall be safe.
    A
sharp little push from Maddalena brought me back to the present, and I turned
as she directed. For a moment, I thought I must curtsy to the fine lady who had
entered unseen; then I realized that I was looking at my own reflection in the
great mirror on the wall.
    It
seemed that court tailors knew no colors but silver and black, for I, too, was
dressed in them. Stiff black silk over a cloth of silver petticoat, a
tight-laced stomacher crusted with silver thread, the embroidered skirts spread
over a broad farthingale. The gown was cut low, as low as Maddalena's, and my
skin showed silver white against it.
    I
stared, searching for some remembered feature from my reflection in Antonio's
pewter pans, and recognized only the color of my eyes, that odd untinged gray
like a gull's feathers. For the rest, I might have been gazing at a stranger.
Hair black and shining as the silk of the gown, piled high on my head: oval
face, oval eyes wide, and cheeks colorless with apprehension.
    Well,
I thought, meeting the lurking misery and fright in my own eyes, there will be
no more of that. The duke should have no weeping, cringing victim—if I had to
yield, I would yield with dignity. I took a step away from the mirror. The
weight of the gown was so crushing that I was forced into the slow sursurrating
walk of the other women, trailing its massy skirts to ease the burden; as I
turned, I thought I glimpsed a flicker of compassion in Niccolosa's face, but
in an instant her expression was stony: Maddalena's held nothing but flaming
antagonism. In that moment, my last impulse to beg for their help died.
    The
candles flared wildly as the door burst open, and a gaunt gnome of a man,
painted and trimmed like a whore, hurried over the threshold and bowed, eyeing
me curiously. "Ladies, you are sent for to join the duke."
    Niccolosa
nodded grimly. "We are ready, Messire Vassari. Tell His Grace we are
coming."
    "I
will, lady." He slanted a look at me under his eyelids. "Is this the
latest phoenix?"
    "Yes."
Maddalena spoke sullenly.
    "A
sweet thing! And she does not look unduly proud." There was meaning in his
voice. "I cannot abide a proud harlot."
    Her
eyes blazed. "You would not have dared to speak so ten days since!"
    "No,
but ten days is a long time in the duke's affections. Follow, my lady, or he
will be growing impatient."
    Maddalena
glared, then turned to me. "Come, then. I wish you joy."
    She
swept imperiously ahead, her wooden chopines clattering on the stone flags, and
as I followed her, the two guards stepped from their station outside the door
and fell into step behind me. They thought of everything, I thought; even this
panic that makes me want to run and lose myself in this echoing maze.
    Their
footsteps and Maddalena's made the only sound as we went along; the palazzo
might have been empty. It was only as we reached a long, bare gallery of
vaulted stone that the first sounds came to meet us; at first a whispering
growing through the ringing footsteps, then swelling to the din a thousand
magpies chattering. I glanced at Niccolosa, beside me, but her stern face
showed no surprise.
    At
the end of the gallery were two great double doors, carved and chased,
glittering as though with sweat in the harsh light. I did not know how apt the
thought was until the doors opened and the heat and the noise engulfed me both
together.
    It
was like stepping into hell. Blackness yawned before me, a hall so vast that
walls and roof were lost in shadow; facing me, a table curved in a half-circle
of silver threatened to crush me like a crab's great claw. There were other
tables behind it, rank upon rank, crowding the shadows; only in front of me
there was emptiness, as I stood on the brink of what seemed a black frozen lake
that reflected the blaze