Free The Scarlet Contessa by Jeanne Kalogridis Page A

their hearts.”
    He said more, but I did not hear it, for Bona had just turned over the twelfth card. I found myself staring down at the image of a man suspended upside down from a rope bound to his ankle. His hands were hid, helpless, behind his back, and his unbound leg was bent at the knee and crossed behind the other, to form an upside-down numeral four.
    I was too riveted to stop myself from reaching for the card, from taking it and holding it before my eyes. At the time, I could not see the painting on the card of a man with golden curls; instead I saw Matteo, with his dark auburn hair falling straight beneath his head. On the card, the man’s eyes were dark and open, but I saw only Matteo’s eyes, shut, his features white and deathly still. Matteo, limp and dying . . .
    It was the image I had read in the stars, in the fire. Despite the blazing hearth, I grew cold. Matteo was in danger of dying, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
    “Dea,” Bona said sharply in my ear, and snatched the card from my grasp. I looked up and realized that the others had been speaking for some time; I had been somewhere else entirely. In the interim, the soup had magically arrived; a plate sat steaming in front of me.
    Lorenzo was studying me intently. “Madonna Dea,” he asked softly, “what do you see?”
    “My husband,” I murmured, stricken.
    He reached across the table and set a long, tapered finger down, pointing to the card. “This is called the Hanged Man. Yet you can see, he does not struggle.” Surrender to evil forces, I imagined him saying, though he uttered not another word, with the intent of sacrifice.
    “Does she see things in the cards?” the duke called gaily over Lorenzo. “Can she tell our future, then?” Ignoring Bona’s tense expression, Galeazzo pointed at me. “Gather them up,” he directed. “Mix them, and choose our futures.” He chuckled. “No gambling, so long as the ladies are here.”
    Bona had stiffened in her chair, but she handed me the deck; Caterina’s eyes were gleaming with curiosity and amusement at her and my discomfort. Galeazzo snapped his fingers again, and with a gesture, bade a servant clear away my plate.
    The cards were overlarge, unwieldy, stiff from the gesso plaster. I had expected them to be cool to the touch, yet they were warm in my hands, as if they were living things. I stared down at the table’s ebony surface, polished to a reflective sheen, and felt the present melt away.
    I set them down and fanned them out facedown upon the ebony. They were too stiff to be shuffled, so I moved them about, again and again, until it was impossible to identify the cards that Bona had turned over earlier. When I was satisfied, I gathered them together and fanned them out again, and said to Galeazzo, “Your Grace, choose one card.”
    He shot an excited glance at Lorenzo and grinned, then indicated his choice by pointing. I took the card and pushed it slightly toward him but decided that it was not yet time to reveal it.
    “Now His Magnificence,” the duke said.
    Lorenzo’s smile was encouraging as he met my gaze. It was unsettling to encounter a stranger who was exposing my ability to recognize portents, yet I trusted him. He reached out and tapped the wood near his chosen card.
    I pushed it from the deck toward him. Cicco, as always carefully appraising the others without revealing his own feelings, accepted a card without comment.
    “Would it please Your Grace for the ladies each to have one, as well?” Lorenzo asked with consummate politeness.
    Galeazzo gave a loud sniff of impatience, but nodded to me. I shifted in my chair toward Bona, but the duchess gently shook her head.
    “The cards are exquisite,” she said sweetly, “and I shall treasure them always, just as I shall treasure my friendship with the magnificent Lorenzo. But I am content to wait upon God to reveal the future in His own good time.”
    Galeazzo scowled at her and clicked his tongue. “Come