Free Immortal by Traci L. Slatton Page A

figs for the little blond girl. If I didn’t grieve for Massimo, I could at least feel pity for the little girl, who did not deserve the fate we shared. The door to her room was closed when I arrived, muffling the noises from within. My arms and the back of my neck were smooth, my stomach calm, so I knew that Silvano wasn’t looking for me. I waited behind some draperies that made me itch until a prosperous wool merchant emerged from the girl’s room. He was yawning and grinning and didn’t bother to shut the door as he left. I slipped inside. The little girl stood beside her bed. Her cheek was freshly bruised and a thin line of blood snaked down out of her nose.
    “I brought you this,” I said, and tossed her the little packet of figs. Her expression remained blank as one hand reached for the figs. The other arm wiped her nose, smearing blood. She popped a fig into her mouth. I said, “My name is Luca. What’s yours?”
    Her little face brightened, like a candle being lit inside her. “I know you, you held my hand when I was scared and helped me. You are very good. I am Ingrid.” She smiled and spoke softly, with an accent I didn’t recognize.
    “Ingrid,” I repeated, smiling back at her. I felt fierce pride that she remembered me, that she thought of me as someone who helped her, as someone who was
good.
She smiled as she took a bite from another fig. I was transfixed by the sweetness with which she admitted to fear. She was like one of the heavenly figures from Giotto’s fresco: holy. I couldn’t stop myself from approaching her and wiping the blood from her face. We are all so hurt here, I thought, aching. I promised myself I would never let anyone else hurt her, then I felt foolish, because, after all, I was a slave here, too. With that came the familiar prickle on my forearms. I slipped out of her room and ran back to my own. I made it inside only a minute before a patron stalked in.
    Later Simonetta came to lead me to the bath. Her pale face seemed more tired than usual.
    “Why so tired, Simonetta?” I asked.
    “Don’t fret about me, Luca,” she responded, stroking my hair. “Look at you, is that lice I see again? How is it you keep getting into trouble?”
    “That girl Ingrid, where is she from?” I asked, after Simonetta had lathered my head.
    “I wouldn’t get too close to her.” Simonetta frowned. Her long braid lay over one shoulder and I reached up to finger it.
    “Why not? What’s wrong with her?”
    “What’s wrong with any of us here?” Simonetta asked, with a rare bitterness. “I overheard Silvano. He’s going to sell her to some rich cardinal for a kill.”
    “A kill?”
    “Some patrons like to take a life. If they pay enough, a fortune, Silvano agrees.”
    I slid down into the warm water, struggling with nausea. It was hard to believe, after all that had been done to me, that something could still shock me. “Why would a cardinal want to kill a little girl?”
    “The cardinal feels God wants him to punish women for Eve’s sin. He is cleansing the world. He makes the girl suffer the agonies that Eve visited upon mankind. He takes his time, makes it slow and thorough, so it will be holy. He uses fire and blades. The girl must be young and innocent in order to be a proper offering for atonement. He has requested a virgin.”
    I was sickened. “Ingrid’s not that.”
    “There are ways.” Simonetta lowered her voice. She pulled me from the tub and dried me with a large rough cloth. “There’s a surgeon who sews a little bit, and an apothecary who provides a wash to tighten the parts…today is Ingrid’s last day working. The surgeon is coming tomorrow, so there is time for her to heal before the cardinal arrives.” Simonetta’s big face sagged. “She’ll be bathed every day in the apothecary’s solution, in preparation.”
    “When?” I whispered.
    “A fortnight, maybe two.” Simonetta shrugged. “The cardinal is coming from Avignon.”
    I couldn’t stop