The Passion of Dolssa by Julie Berry Read Free Book Online

room. I hoped not, as that would leave me in charge of the ale, and I sorely needed a bath.
    The door opened, and in came Felipa de Prato, a farmwife. Her face was brown as a hazelnut, and her eyes were old and tired, though she couldn’t have been thirty yet. She nodded absently toward Plazensa, then dropped herself into the low cushions before Sazia and held out her palm. In her other hand she carried a small basket of radishes and carrots.
    Sazia pawed through the basket. She had a sweet tooth and preferred a bit of fruit, perhaps a cluster of grapes, but the de Pratos barely scraped by, so she got on with things, and began kneading the outstretched hand between her fingers. Felipa’s eyes rolled shut, and she sank in her seat. I’d seen that look before. When Sazia touched their hands, her clients’ worries floated away. Her hands were magic on their tired bones. I wondered whether Sazia’s palm-reading customers came to her for her prognostication, or for the massage.
    Soothsaying was as natural for Sazia as matchmaking was for me. She listened to what she knew. I paid attention to what I saw and what I felt. Sazia woke up with visions of what would befall villagers; I woke up with wedding plans.
    Sazia and I had inherited these gifts from our mother. I don’t remember her, but I know she had the old magic. She was a devina herself, I believed. A sorceress. Jobau said so. Sazia and I got her powers, and Plazensa got her beauty. The way Plazensa wore that beauty was a magic all its own. We were the Flasucra sisters. Add us together, and we made our mother.
    I filled a bucket with water from our barrel and dunked a rag into it. It felt cold on my skin, but the late afternoon was so hot, I welcomed it. I stood in the corridor behind the bar, where I could listen and watch Sazia without Plazensa’s customer seeing me. I rolled up my skirt, dunked a foot in the bucket, and began to scrub.
    “Don’t worry so much,” Sazia told Felipa de Prato. “The wheat will do well this year. So will the legums , but that husband of yours needs to get off his aze and water them.”
    Felipa’s face relaxed, and she nodded in relief, but when Sazia mentioned her husband, she pursed her lips. Joan de Prato would get an earful tonight, I’d wager.
    I dunked my other foot in the water. The smell of grapes filled my nose once more.
    “Also, you are having a baby,” Sazia went on matter-of-factly. The poor farmwife’s eyes flew open. “It’s early still. You will need to eat melons, peas, leeks, and garlic. Milk and cheese, and fish when you can get it. They will be good for the baby.”
    Felipa’s chest rose and fell rapidly. A single tear streamed down the side of her nose.
    “No fear,” said Sazia. “This baby will be joyful and full of health. Your husband will love the child, and love you for bearing it, and stop sneaking over to— Never mind.”
    “Who?”
    “Never mind who.” She patted Felipa’s hand and rose from her seat. “Remember. Water the legums . Eat melons and leeks. Your husband will come around.”
    Felipa rose to her feet, looking unconvinced. I scrubbed the last bit of wine off my shins and wrung out the cloth. The rest of the lingering purple would probably take days to fade.
    “Don’t worry,” Plazensa called to her as Felipa headed for the door. “Sazia is never wrong.”
    The door shut, Plazensa turned to Sazia. “Who’s Joan de Prato sneaking around with?”
    Sazia waved the question away. “You bore me, sister.”
    Apparently, Plazensa also bored the sailor at the bar, or else he bored her, because he rose at that moment and left. I unpinned my soiled skirt and replaced it with my usual one. Then I sat in the seat vacated by Felipa and began devouring the soft, creamy onions Plazi always made on baked-clam days, scooping them up with a crust of bread. Heaven. There is nothing in this world like a well-cooked onion.
    “You’re mistaken, anyway,” Sazia said. “I have often been wrong.