Two.
And then the door settles with a muted clack into its frame.
“Where were you?” Nonna pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill that curls off the canal at night.
“I was with Antoni.”
“Where?”
“I’m not thirteen anymore, Nonna.”
“Where?”
“The tavern.”
Her eyes drop to my skirt. “I wasn’t aware the tavern was so muddy.”
My lungs tighten as I attempt to come up with a lie she’ll believe. “Antoni took me on his boat, and fishing boats aren’t particularly clean.”
“I didn’t know he fished for mud.”
I bristle. My grandmother has always been protective of me, but this is taking it too far. “I wasn’t in Isolacuori, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“They don’t have mud in Isolacuori, so no, that wasn’t what I was worried about. The only place there’s mud around these parts is in Rax.” The silence that echoes between us is so loud it presses against my eardrums. “Tell me you didn’t go there.”
I could keep lying, since no amount of salt on my wicked tongue would betray my deceit, but I choose not to. “I did. I wentthere. And it was eye-opening. You know what else I did tonight? I kissed Antoni. And since you want to know all about my business, after we returned from the mortal lands, I went to the tavern for a drink with Giana and Antoni’s crew before he walked me home and kissed me again.”
Nonna’s mouth twists as I spill my evening beat by beat.
“There. You’re up to date on all things Fallon-related. Now, can I go to bed or do you require more details?” My heart is battering my ribs, and although part of me is aware I’m being disrespectful, another part reminds me I’m allowed some privacy.
“Have you slept with him?” Although my grandmother has very few wrinkles, her forehead is so puckered she suddenly looks all three hundred and forty-seven years of her age.
“Not that that’s any of your business, Nonna, but no.”
“That man has a reputation.”
Up till that moment, I only teetered on the edge of insolence. Now, I dive right in. “And so do Rossi women. I guess Antoni and I are perfect for one another. Especially since he’s no prince. At least, now, I’m not overreaching, right?”
I watch each word settle upon my grandmother’s face before stomping up the stairs and slamming my door shut, not caring if my outburst has hurt her or woken my mother.
If only I had the means to move out so I could live my life the way I please and not the way that pleases everyone else.
I think of Antoni and his suggestion to marry and then of Bronwen and her prophecy. Although both options would allow me to escape my grandmother’s yoke, both would also keep me chained.
I hate how limited our choices are as women. Maybe I should brave the southern seas and escape to the Queendom of Shabbe.
I envision myself carving through the wards and docking on the island of pink sand.
Until I recall the reason for the color . . .
According to the sailors who frequentBottom of the Jug, it’s a ruinous land where the white beaches have turned pink from centuries of spilled faerie and human blood, where people live in dirt huts, and men are castrated for the measliest of offenses.
The image turns my stomach and nulls my desire to escape. Luce may be far from perfect, but it’s my home.
Filled withmypeople. My friends. My serpent.
And maybe . . . just maybe, my throne.
