Lair of the Lion

and went out, leaving the two women alone.
    "I'm grateful you didn't send Alberita," Isabella said. "Sarina, I'd like to go to the kitchen and speak with Cook. Would you show me the way?"
    Sarina looked puzzled. "Everything wasn't to your satisfaction?"
    "On the contrary, it was perfect. I wish to thank the cook personally."
    "But…" Sarina floundered, uncertain what to do. "You didn't really eat anything, either of you." When Isabella looked stubborn, Sarina sighed, not understanding. "I'll convey your appreciation to Cook."
    "I don't want the cook's feelings hurt. It was a wonderful meal," Isabella insisted. "No matter what you tell her, if she sees we didn't eat, she will feel slighted. I want to thank her in person for going to such trouble."
    "Isabella, it's her job to cook," Sarina said, following Isabella out of the room.
    Aristocratici were not supposed to go rushing down to the kitchens to soothe a cook's hurt feelings. It wasn't done.
    "I thought Betto looked quite well," Isabella said cheerfully, changing the subject.
    Sarina nodded, still frowning. "He said he didn't know what happened to him. It's odd, but a couple of others have acted strangely, too. Cook is one of them. She threw a knife at the kitchen boy because he didn't build the fire fast enough. She's never acted that way before, no matter how difficult her life has been."
    "And that was recently?"
    "Just after you came. I didn't tell anyone, not even Betto, because I knew she was so upset over… things." She trailed off reluctantly.
    "What things?" Isabella prodded.
    Sarina looked around her as they stepped off the stairs and began to walk down the long hall toward the kitchen. "Her husband was caught with one of the maids. They were in the storehouse together. Janetta is wed to one of the grooms, and they've always been so happy together. I've never seen her look at other men. She's never been coquettish, not even as a young girl, and Eduardo, Cook's husband, is older and staid, not someone I would expect to dally about."
    "How awful." Isabella sighed. "Did Eduardo deny what happened?" She kept her voice low to match Sarina's, not wanting anyone to hear.
    The kitchen was a huge, open room with large pots and pans, long tables and cupboards everywhere, and a walk-in fireplace. The area was busy yet not chaotic, as if everyone had a job to do and was bustling about getting it done. Isabella lifted her skirts a little as they crossed in front of the wide hearth, not wanting to get ashes on the hem of her gown. She leaned toward Sarina to hear her whisper the rest of the story.
    There was no real warning as a wall of flames flashed out of the fireplace to reach greedily toward them. The sound was like a clap of thunder, a roar of hatred and loathing.
    The heat was intense, engulfing Isabella, scorching her skin. The flash was so intense, fiery white light exploded in front of her eyes, obscuring her vision. Flames licked at the hem of her gown and raced up the material.
    Buckets of water hit her from two sides, dousing the flames quickly enough that the fire had no chance to burn her skin. She stood drenched, shocked, her gown black and ruined, gaping holes in it. The smell of the burned frock was overpowering. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, so astonished that for a moment she scarcely heard the shouts all around her.

    "Were you burned, Isabella?" Sarina caught her shoulders and shook her gently. "Sit down, bambina, before you fall." The housekeeper began examining her right there in the kitchen with the servants gawking.
    Cook cuffed the ears of a gnarled old man, shouting hoarsely at him, fear twisting her face until she appeared demonic. The man was trembling visibly, his knees knocking.
    Isabella forced the terrible buzzing out of her mind to concentrate on what was being said.
    "I did see them, Cook, as they were approaching," the man admitted. "I don't know what happened. I swear, I don't remember using the bellows to feed the air in. My hands were on them, but I didn't do it. I wouldn't endanger Sarina nor the signorina." He sounded close to tears. "I wouldn't do that."
    "You nearly killed them," the cook accused. "I saw you do it, saw you deliberately work the bellows so that the flames roared."
    He shook his head in denial and reached behind him unsteadily for a chair. "For a moment they were hideous to me." He rubbed his face, then buried it in his hands. "What am I saying? I felt such anger and hatred. I couldn't stop my hands. I