Lair of the Lion

heart.
    Isabella could feel the hostility in the room. The mother's anxiety and anger were rising rapidly in direct proportion to Betto's bizarre behavior. The loud cries and shouting had brought other servants running. They were all murmuring, some supporting the distressed mother and others supporting Betto. Isabella remained still, reaching for something beyond what she was seeing with her eyes. She blocked out the sounds of fury, the loud, incensed words, until they were a mere buzz of angry bees in the background.
    She found it then. Subtle. Insidious. The touch so delicate it was nearly impossible to detect. It wasn't strong as before, as if it had changed tactics, but the taint of evil was there just the same. It flowed through the room, touching everyone in its path. It fed the emotions, lived on the anger and hostility. It was breathing hatred into the palazzo, setting friend against friend. She felt its glee, felt the swell of power as it spread its poison throughout the room.
    Isabella held up a hand for silence. One by one the servants turned to look at her. She was an aristicratica, born to a higher station, and she was betrothed to their don. None dared disobey her. As the faces turned toward her, the rage in the room darkened to a black, ugly malevolence, more potent than anything she had every faced. It was tangible, filling the air to the vaulted ceilings. She could see the animosity on the faces staring at her. Her heart began to pound as the anger was twisted and directed straight toward her.
    "Sarina, you know Betto as he really is, through the eyes of your love," Isabella directed her statements to her one ally in the room but spoke loudly enough for all to hear.
    "Something must be terribly wrong. Perhaps he is ill and needs our help. Go to him, and use your love to guide him back. We will all help." She smiled at the servants and slipped away from Sarina to go to the young mother. She took both cold, nervous hands in her own to connect them together. "Think, Brigita. Betto would not normally say such foul things to you. Has he ever treated you or your son so cruelly? Been so harsh?" To keep the maid's attention focused on her rather than on the weeping child, Isabella spoke softly, persuasively, staring directly into the young woman's eyes.
    Brigita shook her head. "He has always been kind to Dantel and me. This is so unlike him. When my husband died, he provided food for us and gave me a job here." Her voice wavered, and she burst into fresh tears.
    "It is so unlike Betto, isn't it?" Isabella reinforced. "I thought it was something such as that." She patted Brigita's back encouragingly. "Betto is such a good man. Sarina is very much afraid something is wrong with him. Perhaps he is ill. We must all come to his aid now, when he needs us most."
    The young woman nodded fearfully, not wholly convinced as she looked at the old man who was trembling with an unnatural rage.
    Isabella crossed the room to Betto's side with a great deal more confidence than she felt.
    Smiling serenely, she gently removed the older man's hand from the boy's arm and pulled the child to her. Without looking at Betto, she knelt to put herself on eye level with the child. "Dantel, your madre has told me how good Betto has always been to you. Is that the truth? We all know you were not stealing. Betto knows it, too—he hasn't lost his faith in you. This is a misunderstanding, and things have been said in anger." She gently wiped the tears from the boy's face. "We need your help right now, Dantel. I know you are very brave, like the lions here in the valley, brave like your don. Your madre believes you are brave, and Sarina says it is so. You must tell me of Betto's kindness to you. Tell everyone."
    Dantel sniffed several times, his large dark eyes staring into hers as if he dared not look at Betto or he would burst into tears again. His little body straightened, and he puffed out his chest. "I am very brave," he conceded. "If you need my help, signorina, I will do as you wish." His dark gaze flicked to his mother, who was still wringing her hands in indecision.
    "We all need your help. Tell us how Betto has been kind to you."
    The little boy glanced uneasily at Betto. "He carved me a lion and set it on my bed on my birthday. He didn't know I saw him, but I follow him all the time."
    "Why do you follow him?" Isabella asked.
    "I like to be with him," the boy admitted. "I saw him carving the lion, so I knew he had given it to