Lost in the City of Flowers (The Histories of Idan Book 1) by Maria C. Trujillo Read Free Book Online Page B

has been about fifty years or so since we have had an outbreak. The best thing to do is to avoid any sick person and bad airs.” She finished nibbling on a dried fig. It might be difficult because so far everything except for Zia’s home smelled bad.
    “I’m sorry to hear about your family. That must have been very painful. I hope my question did not upset you.”
    “Of course not, but it is sad to think of loved ones lost. Although we must all meet our maker someday.” She cleared the table. “There is a shawl on the chair. Why don’t you wrap it around your pretty face so we may finish our errands for the day?”

    Picking up the creamy shawl, I pulled it over and tucked the corners into the heavy dress. While Zia finished clearing the table, I went upstairs to grab my satchel.
    “Take care to hold that satchel close to you. Do not speak to anyone unless I say otherwise, and do not let go of my arm, Viola,” she told me with a stern voice as she unfastened the lock of the door.
    Zia stepped out and I followed close behind.

CHAPTER FIVE

    Silk

    When I looked out the door for the second time, all of Florence had awakened, and an icy chill blew through the street. The hungry scavengers had not left their posts but were now lost among the many people going about their business. Men dressed in dark monochromatic capes, tights, and fur hats flooded the street. After warning me to watch for the front step, Zia grabbed my hand and guided me to one of the doors across the street.
    “We’d best get this over with,” she said, shaking her head.
    A hefty middle-aged woman opened the door. She had light eyes with pillows of skin cushioning them. “I was just on my way to call on you. I saw the strangest thing … It looked like Giuliano de’ Medici was carrying a young girl in fr—”
    “Yes, that is why I stopped by. This is my niece, Viola. She is … well, what I mean to say is Viola has come from the country to stay with me.”
    “I am Signora Rossi,” she said with a curt nod. “I had no idea you had a niece named Viola.” Her eyebrows arched as she rubbed her thick fingers on the spotted dishcloth slung about her belt. “I would’ve remembered as it is my favorite name,” she said, crossing her arms.
    Zia shifted her weight from side to side, letting her eyes settle on the ground. “It is a nice name,” she said.
    “Well, what happened?”
    “When?”
    “With the young Medici?” insisted Rossi.
    “Oh yes … well, Viola fainted at the execution of that poor girl, and—”
    “Poor girl indeed! She was accused of drowning her babe in the Arno,” interrupted Signora Rossi. They both crossed themselves.
    “Well the young Medici was nearby and he graciously helped carry her to my house.”

    “What a strapping young man,” said Rossi, her small mouth curling into a smile. “A fine match for my Maria.”
    “But she is engaged to that sweet young boy!”
    “Sweet he may be, but rich he is most definitely not.” She rolled her eyes. “I would invite you to sit by the fire but Maria and my husband are not dressed for company.”
    “That is all right. We are on our way to the market.”
    “May I call on you later?”
    “By all means,” answered Zia as she steered me away from the door. As we walked towards the end of the street, the sun came out from the clouds. “I feel quite awful lying, but it’s for the best, I assure you.”
    A group of young men clad in beautiful tunics of lavender, crimson, and emerald walked past us. They were joking and laughing at each other. Each of the four had short swords attached to their embroidered belts.  Women were scarce but the few that glided through the street exposed their marble skin and long hair proudly. Such young women left a trail of whispers behind them. The most stunning ladies wore smooth silks and plush, velvet gowns. Others, myself included, wore warm woolen dresses. The dark blue dress Zia had given me was a little too short, so as I