The Spirit Ring by Lois McMaster Bujold Read Free Book Online Page B

maturity. He'd set off the tunic with a gold chain of his own workmanship, displaying his art.
           He turned at Fiametta's step. "Ah, there you are." He looked her up and down, eyes going strangely distant, muttered "Huh," and shook his head as if to clear his vision.
           "Do I look well, Papa?" asked Fiametta, alarmed.
           "You look well. Here." He thrust out his hand to her.
           Draped over his palm was a silver belt of cunning workmanship. Fiametta took it up, surprised. It was in the form of a silver snake, round and flexible as a rope. The gleaming scales were as fine as a real snake's, their overlapping plates concealing whatever linked its skeleton. Its head was solid silver, modeled as in life, with green chips—emerald? glass?—glittering for eyes.
           "Put it on," said Master Beneforte.
           "How? I see no clasp."
           "Just loop it. It will stay."
           "It's enchanted, isn't it?"
           "Just a little spell for your protection."
           "Thank you, Papa." She fitted it around her waist, curling the tail around behind the head, and indeed it held fast. Only then did she think to ask, "Does it come off?"
           "Whenever you wish."
           She tried it, then looped it back on. "Did you just make this?" She thought he'd been working night and day to finish the saltcellar.
           "No, I've had it for some time. I just cleaned it and renewed the spell."
           "Was it Mama's?"
           "Yes."
           Fiametta stroked it, her fingers sliding over the scales. They emitted a faint musical vibration, almost too thin to hear.
           The Duke's saltcellar sat waiting on a bench against the wall. Its new box was satin-lined, ebony to match the base, with gold clasps and gold handles on the ends. Fiametta had helped assemble and polish it. She would not have guessed her father to be nervous, but he opened the box and checked its contents one last time, rechecking the seating and security of the clasps, then wandered into the workroom and peered out the window.
           "Ah. At last." His voice drifted back to her, and he returned to the hall to unbar the door for the Swiss captain and two guards. The guards' breastplates gleamed like mirrors. Captain Ochs was dressed in his best and cleanest livery, including a new doublet with gold buttons issued in honor of the betrothal.
           "All ready, Master Prospero?" The captain smiled. He nodded to the ebony casket. "Shall I have my men carry it?"
           "I'll carry it myself, I think," said Master Beneforte, lifting the box. "Have them walk one ahead and one behind."
           "Very well." And they started off so ordered, the captain and Fiametta flanking the goldsmith.
           'Keep the door barred till my return, Teseo," Master Beneforte called back, and the apprentice bowed awkwardly and closed it behind them. Master Beneforte paused till he heard the bar slide into place, nodded, and marched down the cobbled street.
           It was a bright day two weeks after the holy feast of Easter, just barely cool enough for velvets to be comfortable. Trees had budded into new leaf in the weeks since Fiametta had cast her ring. She clutched the lion mask on her left thumb, and let the—sigh—garnet catch and wink back the midday sun. That light glowed, too, off the yellow brick and stones and red tile roofs. Sad dun in winter, Montefoglia almost looked like a city of gold on long summer afternoons. They passed from the street of big houses flanking her father's home and workshop down into older, more crowded construction.
           Crossing a side alley leading down to the water, Fiametta glimpsed boats and the docks. A few lazy lake gulls swooped and squawked. Perhaps when Papa took her fishing again this summer, he'd finally teach her the secret spell he used for baiting his hook. The narrow lake extended eleven