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The Jewel of Corlivo

Page 6

by Kathleen Carr Foster

I felt myself deflate at this reminder of my place in the world. By the Goddess, all I was asking for was a story. I knew little about the lives of women outside the mountain city, but surely, somewhere in the wide world, there must be an adventurous woman. I thought of the toga-wearing Comitissa I had met the night before. She seemed like someone who could manage an adventure.

I tried again. “Nevertheless, I’ve been fascinated by tales of adventure all my life.”

He held up a pale hand. On his middle finger he wore a heavy gold ring with a swirling spiral engraved on it. “It’s understandable that a young woman, cloistered within this city, might romanticize travel without understanding the dangers involved.”

I looked down at my bowl. No, I had been right. Hopelessly insipid and arrogant.

He cleared his throat quietly. “Let me see your face.”

I lifted my chin.

“An extraordinary beauty. Who could resist you?” He smiled, flashing his white teeth. “All right. My greatest adventure was finding the lost cave city of Arcadius the Mighty. Explorers have been searching for it ever since he died nearly a millennium ago, but no one had found even a trace of it until I followed a lucky hunch.”

He closed his eyes as though savoring the memory. “The discovery of a lifetime. A triumph for the civilized world. But we nearly didn’t reach the caves. The leader of our expedition doubted they were there, and I had to take a party off on my own to find them.”

This detail surprised me. “But weren’t you the leader of the expedition?”

His eyelids fluttered open. “I assure you; I was in all but name.”

I imagined peering into the entrance to a cave, holding up a torch, seeing the inner walls reveal a long-lost city filled with treasure. My soup cooled, forgotten. “I remember learning about Arcadius and how he conquered the known world a long time ago, but I’ve never heard of his lost cave city. Why isn’t it better known? Arcadium still stands.”

“My dear girl, I’m here to enjoy my dinner, not provide a history lesson.” He picked up his bowl and slurped the remaining drops of soup.

An embarrassed blush crept up my neck, but before I could reply, the chime sounded. I gathered my dress and moved to the next chair.

After Lord Clemens, I met a young Baro from a far western region with pale skin and hair so blond it was nearly white. He spilled a bowl of peaches onto the fine white tablecloth. After him was a dour scholar who explained over slices of wild boar that he should have returned home a week ago to resume his studies but could not seem to tear himself away from the beautiful women who filled every parlor and dining room.

“It can’t be helped,” he said with a touch of anger. “I can’t focus.”

Mercifully, each course was brief, and as long as I remembered to ask questions occasionally, I could eat and think my own thoughts. Imagine what I could do with gold from an ancient, hidden city. I could go wherever I wanted, and I’d convince Kyra to come with me.

I sat down at the next place, adjusted my hem, and looked up to see the Archidux, his blue eye focused on my face, his milky-white eye unfathomable. Up close his tanned skin was faintly lined, suggesting he spent plenty of time outdoors. Once again, his long black hair was pulled back, revealing a shaved area underneath from his ears to his neck. I could see the fine black wisps that were just beginning to grow back in like a faint shadow. He had a small diamond stud in each earlobe, and a golden cuff around his thick bicep.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said in his gravelly voice. “Are you going to entertain us with some parlor tricks?”

I flushed again. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

When I was eleven years old, one of my teachers took me on a trip to the circus on what would otherwise have been a lonely visiting day. I had been thrilled with the performance, but as we left, I saw a bear being led into a cage. The tense, wary expression in the creature’s eyes came to my mind as I looked at the Archidux’s face.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Anna.” Impulsively, I asked, “And what is yours, sir?”

There was a beat of silence. The musicians had taken a brief pause. Torchlights twinkled.

He tilted his head an inch to the left and studied me. “Sebastianus.”

Of course, I already knew that. Where had he tucked the silver knife? My pulse quickened. I forced myself to take a breath. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wonder what our next course will be.”

“It will be pheasant.”

“Have you eaten here before?”

“Many, many times.”

I was so distracted by the image of him forcing Lord Clemens against the wall that once again I was at a loss for words. My temples grew warm. What was the matter with me? I shouldn’t be staring at my plate. I looked back up at him, at his milky eye. Did it see me? Could he tell that I was staring? With a rush of panic, I said, “I—I’m sorry, sir. I seem to have lost my train of thought.”

There was a plunge in the pit of my stomach. When would the chime sound again to move me to the next guest?