Petra, the Great - (Book One)

"The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief".

Chapter Thirty-Three

"The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief".

– Othello (Act I, Scene III).

STEFANO TAPS HIS PEN AS he watches me fidget in my seat. We sit in a cramped room with a small hole in the wall, too pathetic to be called a window. I want to ask if he could move this interrogation outside.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And if he would stop tapping his blasted pen.

"Petra, bella. I know you're frustrated and we have gone over this many times, but you do understand that this story is filled with holes, si?"

"Is it my fault I do not remember? I told you the truth. We were camping in the forest. When suddenly some highwayman attacked us. Signore fought him off as well as he could. I do not remember much else! I – I must have fainted."

Stefano runs a hand through his disheveled blond hair and sighs. "And the gypsy rug? And Giovanni's wounds, and how you made it all the way to the palace?"

The air around me grows heavy and the room grows more cramped with my lies. "I don't know what to tell you."

He stands up and sits back down, frustration etched in every part of him. "Giovanni is my capitano and more importantly my friend – our friend. He comes back like that!" He points in the general direction of where de Luca's quarters are. "And you come back looking as if you had survived the plague! He tells me stories of gypsies and monsters and you cannot remember a thing of importance!"

At that moment, the door to the tiny room slams open and in waltzes the Mad Queen. Her red tower of curls threatening to topple. Behind her strolls Paola Olivarez, in a black gown that covers everything but the skin of her neck - skin as alabaster as ... death. Her eyes land upon me, and I feel stricken, as if she had slapped me instead. Her gaze cold and disgusted.

"Do your job, Stefano and arrest this witch!"

I blink. Well, events have definitely taken a turn for the worse.

"And if you even dare arrest my fortune-teller, I will strip you as commanding capitano and ... and execute you!" Meridian matches Paola's glare and ire.

"She did this," Paola spits out. "Why are you protecting her, Meridian? I do not need to be part of the Florentian Guard to see the obvious truth!"

"Petra would never – never, harm Giovanni! She loves him."

And silence.

A silence so loud, it is worse then their previous ruckus – and much more awkward. It takes all my inner strength not to run, or worse yet, faint.

"My son does have a soft spot for undesirables. Always has."

Paola's words are like blades – efficient at cutting confidence and self worth.