Free The Sheen on the Silk by Anne Perry Page A

she could face Zoe on an even footing. She forced herself to remember Justinian somewhere in the sterility of the Judean desert, possibly even wearing sackcloth, and the reason she was here posing as a eunuch. Did he imagine she had forgotten him?
    Zoe was waiting, her expression impatient. “Is your opinion of Euphrosane so bad you cannot answer me honestly? You owe me that, Anastasius.”
    “Gullible,” Anna replied. “A sweet young woman, painfully honest, but easily persuaded. Obedient. Too fearful not to be.”
    Zoe’s golden eyes opened wide. “So you bite,” she said with amusement. “Be careful. You cannot afford to nip the wrong person.”
    The sweat broke out on Anna’s skin, but she did not look away. She knew never to let Zoe sense weakness. “You asked for the truth. Should I tell you less?”
    “Never,” Zoe replied, her eyes bright as faceted gems. “Or if you lie, then do it so well that I never find out.”
    Anna smiled. “I doubt I could do that.”
    “Interesting that you are wise enough to say so,” Zoe replied softly, almost a purr. “There is something I would like you to do for me. If a merchant named Cosmas Kantakouzenos should ask your opinion of Euphrosane’s character, as he might, would you be as candid with him? Tell him she is honest, guileless, and obedient.”
    “Of course,” Anna replied. “I would be grateful if you would tell me more about Bessarion Comnenos.” It was a bold question, and she had not had time to think of any explanation for her interest. But Zoe had not given any reason why she wished Euphrosane recommended to Cosmas.
    Zoe walked over to the window and stared out at the complex pattern of rooftops. “I suppose you mean his death,” she said dryly. “Bessarion’s life was uninteresting. He married my daughter, but he was a bore. Pious and chilly.”
    “And he was killed for that?” Anna said with disbelief.
    Zoe turned around slowly, her eyes sweeping up and down Anna from her woman’s face in the guise of a eunuch, naked of a masculine beard and unsoftened by the lushness of feminine curls and ornaments. Zoe’s eyes traveled down her body, bound at the chest, padded out from shoulder to hip to hide the natural curve.
    Anna knew what she looked like. She had worked hard on her appearance. Yet at times like these, in the presence of a woman who was beautiful, even now, she hated it. Her hair no longer than to her shoulders actually became her face. It was less stiff than the highly dressed styles women wore, but still she missed the combs and ornaments she had once had. More than that she missed the color for her brows, the powder to even out the tones of the skin, the artificial color to make her lips less pale.
    A servant’s footsteps passed audibly across the floor in the next room.
    Deliberately, Anna forced herself to remember Zoe’s terror when she had been burned, the nakedness of the pain in her. It reduced her to a human being in need.
    Zoe saw some change in her but did not comprehend it. She gave the slightest shrug of one shoulder. “It was not an isolated incident,” she remarked. “A year before his death he was attacked in the street. We never learned if it was an attempt at robbery, or one of his own bodyguards, perhaps, seizing a chance to stab him in the scuffle but making a mess of it. He was cut only once, but it was quite deep.”
    “Why would one of his own bodyguards do that?” Anna asked.
    “I have no idea,” Zoe answered, then saw instantly from Anna’s face that that was an error. Zoe would always know, and she would never admit ignorance. Now to cover the disadvantage Zoe would attack. “It was before you came,” she said. “Why does it concern you?”
    “I need to know friends and enemies,” Anna answered her. “Bessarion’s death still seems to be of interest to many people.”
    “Of course,” Zoe said tartly. “He was of one of the old imperial families, and led the cause against union with Rome.