Free The Forgotten Locket by Lisa Mangum Page A

honor for our holy statues? I should call the guards and have them take you back where you belong. Not dangerous, you say? Bah!”
     
    Orlando didn’t meet the priest’s angry stare. Instead he meekly bowed his head and accepted the berating in silence.
     
    What had happened to the Orlando who had faced Lorenzo with energy and intention, with fire? Why didn’t he simply say it was Lorenzo’s fault?
     
    “What do you have to say for yourself?” Father Marchelloasked.
     
    “What’s done is done,” Orlando said quietly, his face a mask. He looked as pale as the broken statue at our feet. And as sad. “I’m sorry, Father. Truly. I didn’t mean for—”
     
    If Orlando wasn’t going to say anything, I would. It wasn’t fair to let him take responsibility for something he didn’t do. “It’s not his fault. He didn’t break the statue.”
     
    “Then who did?” Father Marchelloasked, folding his arms across his chest. “Certainly not you.”
     
    “It was Lorenzo,” I said. This time his name left a bad taste in my mouth.
     
    Father Marchellofrowned. “I know of no one here by that name.”
     
    “He’s not here now. But he was here. And he’s dangerous—” As soon as I said it I knew it was true. The trembling in my fingers increased. And I had kissed him? I had given him my locket? What was wrong with me?
     
    “Then where is he?” Father Marchellolooked around at the deserted cathedral. “Did he disappear into thin air?”
     
    Orlando shot me a look; I saw some of that old fire in his eyes, and I stayed silent.
     
    Father Marchellopointed to the main doors. “Out. I want both of you out of my church. Now.”
     
    Orlando lifted himself to his full height. A quiet strength and dignity settled over him like a mantle. He held out his hand to me. “Will you come with me, my lady?”
     
    A swirl of memory stirred. Orlando, his hand extended, a question on his lips. I had trusted him enough to take his hand once before. Would I trust him enough to do it again? Lorenzo’s voice came back to me: He is not to be trusted. I pressed my lips together, feeling once more the burning touch of his mouth on mine, the sweep of darkness at the mere thought of him.
     
    It wasn’t like that with Orlando. When I was with him, I didn’t feel the same danger or distrust. And with Lorenzo gone, my mind felt clearer, stronger. I knew what I had to do. What I wanted to do.
     
    I put my hand in Orlando’s and let him lead me out of the cathedral.
     
    Neither one of us looked back.
     
    • • •
     
    Cold winter sunlight had opened up the night, spilling the morning into the plaza outside the cathedral. The day was waking up, and the plaza was already crowded with small knots of people milling about, along with a few merchants who had set up stands to display their wares. But even with Orlando walking next to me, I still felt lost and alone in a strange place. A light breeze brought with it the smell of hot food, but I wasn’t hungry.
     
    At least not for food. I wanted answers. I was starved for stability. I felt like I had been tossed and turned on an ocean of uncertainty and there was no land in sight. I was hurt and frustrated and confused.
     
    I wrapped my cloak tightly around me, as though the rough fabric could hold me together. I knew there was something wrong with me, a heavy block separating me from my past and my memories. No matter how hard I looked at it, examined it, or attacked it, I couldn’t seem to break past it. When I tried to remember something, I ended up with a blistering headache, though, strangely, some memories and images seemed to sneak up on me when I wasn’t trying.
     
    What was hiding behind that darkness? I wondered. A history filled with family and friends?
     
    Or was it hiding horrors? Nightmares that were best kept in the dark? Maybe it was a mercy that I couldn’t remember. Maybe this was my chance to start fresh with a new life in a new place.
     
    No. The farther