Free Fruit of the Golden Vine by Sophia French Page B

pursued the sound of distant music—a piper, a fiddle and the incessant strumming of a mandolin. A circle had formed around the troubadours, and Rafael pushed a way through. Irena and Adelina emerged into the front row and stood, both enrapt, as the musicians performed a ballad. The fiddler was the most remarkable of the three, capering, singing and fiddling all at once, his feet a blur of motion.
    “ Oh, let me sing of lovely things!
    Of pretty maids and handsome kings,
    Of sapphire crowns and diamond rings,
    Of everything that creeps and stings…
    No, wait. That’s not right.
    Oh, let me sing of lovely stuff!
    Of a pleasant pinch of snuff,
    Of a pillow filled with fluff,
    Of a spider on my cuff…
    No, that’s not right at all.”
    Irena laughed at the clowning while Rafael tapped his foot to the beat. Adelina, however, soon held back tears. It was so fitting, these buffoons performing the ideal tribute to her perfectly stupid day.
    She twisted away from Irena’s arm and stormed through the marketplace, not bothering to turn at Irena’s cry of alarm. Townsfolk moved to allow her passage. If only they wouldn’t, so that she’d have an excuse to push them over…Damn everything. She’d hang herself. She’d drown herself. She’d put herself in the wine press.
    A hand clutched her dress. She gasped and hurried faster. Two men approached her, their mouths forming words unheard, and she lowered her head and scurried on. Dizziness took her. She turned in a full circle. Her stomach clenched. She was lost, hopelessly lost. Hostile faces surged past. Voices and cries clamored with sinister intent.
    Yet despite her mortal fear, she wouldn’t weep. She wouldn’t give this cursed ground the satisfaction of being watered.
    Adelina ducked into the shade of a large tent. Metal trinkets hung from posts and sat in orderly lines on the merchant’s table. A huge figure stirred in the tent’s recesses.
    “I’m lost,” Adelina said. “How do I get back to the musicians?”
    “Follow the music, girl.” The man lumbered forward. He was immense, a trunk of muscle that ran directly into a shaven head, and his eyes were colder than the tin toys around him. “Are you stupid?”
    “I’m not stupid, I’m lost…”
    “Fled from a brothel, have you?” The man sniggered and stared at Adelina’s bodice. “Pity for them.”
    Adelina whirled and fled, her heart slamming against her chest. What was she to do? She’d never find the others again. She’d still be lost when night came and brought with it the kind of monsters she’d only read about. A rising tremor pressed against her lungs. At any moment she’d start shouting, even weeping aloud, heedless of the stares of the people around her. Shame and fear boiled inside her, competing to see which could melt her down first.
    A hand touched her shoulder, and she screamed.
    “Have no fear,” said Silvana. “It’s me.”
    Adelina stared agape. Silvana had dressed for the town, and had gone a step further than her brother; in addition to a broad-brimmed hat, a gold-stitched tunic and a loose pair of pants, she had donned a loose, dark green cape fastened at the throat with a silver broach. Combined with her stern beauty, the ornate design gleaming on her cheek and the dark passion of her eyes, the outfit elevated Silvana from merely gorgeous to sublime.
    “You.” Adelina’s lips trembled, and her insides tangled together. “What do you want?”
    “I read your poem.”
    A fierce heat swept across Adelina’s skin. “I wouldn’t have written it if I knew…”
    “Nobody has ever courted me that way before.” Silvana stroked Adelina’s cheek. “And I don’t want you to stop.” Her fingers lingered beside Adelina’s lips. “But nobody must know, do you understand? Not your father, not your sister. Court me in darkness, sweet Adelina, with only the moon as our witness.”
    “I will.” Adelina gripped Silvana’s hand and kissed her fingertips. “I’ll prove my