Immortal by Traci L. Slatton Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Traci L. Slatton
apart.
Don’t scream, Marco,
I prayed,
that will incite him.
Marco had been kind to me. Had I repaid him with a fantasy of escape that had ripened into this violence? Then, sickened by my own selfishness, I could not help trembling with a worse question: had Marco told Silvano about my part in his actions? My chest felt like old, charred leaves crumbling into dust.
“Foolish boy.” Silvano slashed again. Blood sprayed out, drenching his rich vestments. The men holding Marco guffawed. They released him and Marco collapsed onto the ground, still shrieking and weeping. I held my breath as he fell silent, his dazed eyes searching through the crowd until they found mine. I felt sick, and, though I am still ashamed to admit it, I was silently begging him not to inform on me. I knew that in my heart I was betraying Marco, and I thought that perhaps this is the way Massimo had felt when he sold me. Part of me remembered telling Marco that there wasn’t much kindness in people; that included me, I knew now. Perhaps people would be kinder if God were. Then Marco closed his eyes and rolled over onto his face, weeping and moaning into the floor. I felt a relief so potent that it dizzied me. He would not tell on me.
“Bind the wounds.” Silvano jerked his chin at Simonetta, and she leapt forward to do his bidding. Silvano’s eyes swept the crowd of children and women. “Marco can have his wish. He will live outside my beautiful establishment. He can live anywhere, but he will never walk again.” He stepped over Marco’s limp form and approached the stairs. We all moved to the side to let him pass. Silvano paused on the second stair. “There is no escape. Anyone who tries to escape will suffer this, and worse! You, come.” He pointed at me.
The little blue-eyed girl smothered a sob and released my hand. I shook all over, but I moved quickly to obey Silvano. He said nothing as we ascended the stairs. I followed him back into the dining room where I’d been led on my first evening at the palazzo. This time the table was laden even more profusely with roast meats, pungent cheeses, breads, fat green olives, and wine. I wondered if I was going to be beaten again, if, after all, Marco had told Silvano about my part in his escape plan. I looked around for the weighted silk sack.
Silvano sat at the table, wiped the bloody knife on his shirtfront, and speared a lamb rib. He dropped it on his plate, laid the knife down, and picked up the rib with fastidious fingers. He began to eat with great delicacy. I stood frozen, barely breathing, waiting.
“Would you like something to eat, Bastardo?” he asked. “You aren’t really a bastardo, but the name suits you. Some wine? You look pale. Wine will fortify you.”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Are you sure? Are you ill?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Is there another food you prefer?” he queried. I shook my head. He frowned. “More sweets?” I shook my head again. “My patrons are pleased with you, except that you look ill. Are you certain you’re not ill, boy?” he asked as he dropped the denuded rib onto his plate. “I remember how you stood in this room with your fingers dug into a roast capon, a hungry little animal, clean for the first time since your smug, proud mother lost you.” He chuckled almost fondly and the sound sent a shiver up my spine.
“I’m not hungry, sir.”
“We can’t have you getting thin, Luca. Part of your appeal is your sweet round ass. That’s what they tell me.” Silvano chuckled again. I looked away. “You’re no use if you die of starvation. I will lose profit. Do you think going out into the city would stimulate your appetite?”
“Outside?” I breathed the word, caught in torment. Marco and I had planned for me to be released. But now he was crippled, probably dying. Even if I went outside, neither of us would have our freedom. Silvano truly did have more ingegno than anyone. He was all-seeing and all-knowing. There was a
Don’t scream, Marco,
I prayed,
that will incite him.
Marco had been kind to me. Had I repaid him with a fantasy of escape that had ripened into this violence? Then, sickened by my own selfishness, I could not help trembling with a worse question: had Marco told Silvano about my part in his actions? My chest felt like old, charred leaves crumbling into dust.
“Foolish boy.” Silvano slashed again. Blood sprayed out, drenching his rich vestments. The men holding Marco guffawed. They released him and Marco collapsed onto the ground, still shrieking and weeping. I held my breath as he fell silent, his dazed eyes searching through the crowd until they found mine. I felt sick, and, though I am still ashamed to admit it, I was silently begging him not to inform on me. I knew that in my heart I was betraying Marco, and I thought that perhaps this is the way Massimo had felt when he sold me. Part of me remembered telling Marco that there wasn’t much kindness in people; that included me, I knew now. Perhaps people would be kinder if God were. Then Marco closed his eyes and rolled over onto his face, weeping and moaning into the floor. I felt a relief so potent that it dizzied me. He would not tell on me.
“Bind the wounds.” Silvano jerked his chin at Simonetta, and she leapt forward to do his bidding. Silvano’s eyes swept the crowd of children and women. “Marco can have his wish. He will live outside my beautiful establishment. He can live anywhere, but he will never walk again.” He stepped over Marco’s limp form and approached the stairs. We all moved to the side to let him pass. Silvano paused on the second stair. “There is no escape. Anyone who tries to escape will suffer this, and worse! You, come.” He pointed at me.
The little blue-eyed girl smothered a sob and released my hand. I shook all over, but I moved quickly to obey Silvano. He said nothing as we ascended the stairs. I followed him back into the dining room where I’d been led on my first evening at the palazzo. This time the table was laden even more profusely with roast meats, pungent cheeses, breads, fat green olives, and wine. I wondered if I was going to be beaten again, if, after all, Marco had told Silvano about my part in his escape plan. I looked around for the weighted silk sack.
Silvano sat at the table, wiped the bloody knife on his shirtfront, and speared a lamb rib. He dropped it on his plate, laid the knife down, and picked up the rib with fastidious fingers. He began to eat with great delicacy. I stood frozen, barely breathing, waiting.
“Would you like something to eat, Bastardo?” he asked. “You aren’t really a bastardo, but the name suits you. Some wine? You look pale. Wine will fortify you.”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Are you sure? Are you ill?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Is there another food you prefer?” he queried. I shook my head. He frowned. “More sweets?” I shook my head again. “My patrons are pleased with you, except that you look ill. Are you certain you’re not ill, boy?” he asked as he dropped the denuded rib onto his plate. “I remember how you stood in this room with your fingers dug into a roast capon, a hungry little animal, clean for the first time since your smug, proud mother lost you.” He chuckled almost fondly and the sound sent a shiver up my spine.
“I’m not hungry, sir.”
“We can’t have you getting thin, Luca. Part of your appeal is your sweet round ass. That’s what they tell me.” Silvano chuckled again. I looked away. “You’re no use if you die of starvation. I will lose profit. Do you think going out into the city would stimulate your appetite?”
“Outside?” I breathed the word, caught in torment. Marco and I had planned for me to be released. But now he was crippled, probably dying. Even if I went outside, neither of us would have our freedom. Silvano truly did have more ingegno than anyone. He was all-seeing and all-knowing. There was a