Twelve
The drapery pins of my curtain jangle, jolting me out of my fitful sleep. My first thought is that it’s Nonna, come to discuss our quarreling, but I get an eyeful of pink frills, gold sequins, and ebony skin.
“You better have areallygood reason for ditching Phoebus and me last night.”
“Go away, Syb,” I mumble as shards of sunlight slash my clamped lids. “Too early.”
“Not happening.”
“Why do you never listen to me?”
“I listened to you last night—about meeting on the gondola—and guess what? You. Weren’t. On it.”
Groaning, I open my eyes. “I’m aware.”
Bright light outlines Syb’s crossed arms, pouty mouth, and puffy dress.
“Did you just get back?”
“No, I spruced up my nightgown collection,” she deadpans. “Why in the three kingdoms didn’t you come?”
My brain, like my lids, prickle. “Because I wasn’t invited, that’s why.”
“What do you mean, you weren’t invited? Of course, you were invited.”
I fluff up my two reedy pillows and prop myself higher, wondering if she swallowed a trumpet before leaving the castle because her voice is especially shrill. “Must you shout?”
“I’m not shouting,” she yells.
I knead my temples. “I must’ve drunk too much ale.”
“You went outdrinking? Where? But wait, we’re veering off-topic.” Staying up all night has always made Sybille extra energetic. Until she lays her head on a pillow. Then she drops into slumber like a stone. “You were definitely invited, Fal. I asked Dante, and he said he had a ribbon sprite-delivered to your house.”
“Well, his sprite must’ve had the wrong address.”
She shoots me a droll look. “Everyoneknows where the Rossi household is, and since disrespecting a royal order cost sprites their wings, that ribbon was delivered.”
“I looked.” My heart is wide awake now. “I looked everywhere, Syb. Don’t you think I wanted to go?”
Sybille is finally quiet, but I can tell her head is full of thoughts, and from the direction of her gaze, all of them are about the women sharing this roof. Or rather,onewoman, since the other has a limited grasp on reality.
“Why would she sabotage your evening?” Syb’s voice thumps no louder than my pulse.
“To protect me.”
“From what?”
From yearning for a man so far above my station.
I substitute the truth for another, one that will paint Nonna as a caring grandmother instead of a meddling one. “You know how she feels about the general of the king’s army.”
“What does your grandfather have to do with you attending a revel?”
I was angry with Nonna last night, but now, I’m hurt. Not so much because she ruined my chances of attending a ball, but because she made me feel like a societal reject. And still, I defend her because even though her method was awry, her intent wasn’t malicious. Besides, thatIhold her in contempt is one thing; that anyone else does . . . that’s not something I tolerate.
I rub the sleep from my eyes, even though it feels like I’m scouring my puffed lids with salt. “Nonna worries he may act or say something cruel to me.”
“Has he ever?”
