Lair of the Lion

thinking of the despicable man who had condemned her brother to death. She knew he would always be a mortal enemy, one who would relentlessly seek her brother's demise. Lucca would have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering when Rivellio would send out an assassin.
    Mostly she feared that the men traveling with her brother would be instructed to kill him the moment he was on DeMarco land, perhaps with a poisonous herb.
    Isabella had hoped Francesca would visit, but she had waited in vain, finally drifting off to sleep. She had awakened several times, thinking Nicolai had entered the room, but if he had been there, he had only watched her from the shadows.
    "If you are not up to visitors," Sarina said gently, compassion in her eyes, "I will send Signora Drannacia away."
    Isabella hastily shook her head. "No, a visit is just the thing to cheer me up. She sent word earlier that she would escort me through the city and, if we had time, one of the many villaggi. I think the fresh air will do me good. It's stopped snowing, and the sun is out. It will be wonderful to be outdoors."
    Violante stood and spoke as Isabella entered the room. "It's a wonderful day out. I hope I haven't kept you waiting. Sergio needed his lunch, and I prefer to bring it to him myself."
    She blushed a bit and patted her hair, as though it must be disheveled from a recent romp.
    "Not at all, Violante," Isabella said. "I appreciate that you would want to take care of your husband. He's a very nice man, and he's lucky to have such an attentive wife." She blinked back tears that seemed to rise unexpectedly out of nowhere. Why hadn't Nicolai come to her in the night? Held her? She was badly in need of his reassurance.
    "You look sad, Isabella." Violante laid a gloved hand on Isabella's arm. "I know we haven't become friends yet, but you may talk to me of what concerns you."
    Isabella forced a smile. "Grazie. I can use a friend, Violante." She traced a finger along a smooth, polished table. "It's mio fratello, Lucca. He was traveling here, and I thought he'd arrive soon, but it seems he's much more ill than I knew. I can't go to him, and I don't even have a way of sending him a missive." Sorrow clawed at her, loneliness, and it was sharp and deep. Isabella turned away from the other woman to stare sightlessly at a painting on the wall.
    "You know how to read?" Violante's voice held awe, admiration, even envy. "You can write? Mia madre believed a woman had no need to know such things." She sighed. "Sergio often reads, and sometimes he reads aloud to me, but once, when he was very annoyed with me, he said he wished I could read so our children would learn." Her expression mirrored a deep sorrow. "So far, I am a great disappointment. No bambini, and I can't read." She forced a laugh, but it held no humor.
    "You'll have a bambino, Violante," Isabella said in an effort to console the woman.
    "Have you spoken with the healer? I know our healer offered much advice to the women in out villaggio when they wished to have a bambino."
    "Grazie, Isabella. I hope you're right. But I'm afraid I'm too old." She turned her head away, but not before Isabella saw tears glittering in her eyes.
    "Violante!" Isabella was shocked. "You're not that old. You can't be more than a couple of years older than I. You certainly are not too old to have a bambino. Speak to your healer, and if that doesn't help, I'll send word to my healer to see if she has any advice."
    "You would do that for me?" Violante's voice trembled.
    "Well, of course. I would like us to be friends and would hope our bambini would play together. Come, I'll show you how easy it is to make marks upon the page. I'll write your name for you." Isabella opened the great desk and searched until she found the small box containing dye and a quill.
    Violante crowded close to her, and Isabella carefully made swirling marks along a piece of parchment.
    Violante inhaled sharply. "That's me? That's my name?"
    Isabella nodded. "Doesn't it look beautiful? I remember the first time Lucca showed me my name." She wrote her own name on the bottom of the parchment with a flourish. She studied it for a moment with a critical eye.
    "What would you say in a letter to your brother if you were to write to him?" Violante asked, curious. "How would you write it?"
    Isabella smoothed the parchment with one fingertip. "I'd write his name here, just below where yours is." She did so and added a couple of sample