Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella) by Lisa T. Bergren Read Free Book Online Page A

a mere girl between them.
    “Alessandra is entirely too long a name among friends,” Gabriella said. “May we call you Ali? My friends call me Gabi, and we call my sister Lia.”
    Alessandra stared up at her. “I suppose so,” she said. She’d never been called anything but by her given name. But the nickname felt somehow warm, light to her, like she’d shed a heavy load.
    “Or Sandra,” Evangelia said.
    “I-I think I prefer Ali,” she said carefully, not wishing to offend her hostess.
    “Good,” Gabi said, squeezing her arm. “I like it. So tell us, Ali. How old are you?”
    “Twenty,” she said. It was odd, strolling arm in arm with them, having this girlish chat. Almost dreamlike.
    “Ahh!” Gabi said. “I shall be too, in a year. Lia is almost seventeen.”
    “And your husband?” Alessandra dared.
    “He’s twenty-two. Lord Greco is twenty-three, and Sir Luca is of your own twenty years.”
    Alessandra considered that. Lord Greco was only three years older than she. It seemed impossible that anyone near her own age had been so pivotal in the great battle. But he had. More than a year ago now… She shook off her reverie, aware that she was thinking about him, sparring with Lord Marcello, his power and prowess clear in every move, even if he had lost. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, even if she despised everything he stood for. Now she understood why women used to speak of Lord Rodolfo Greco as the most desirable bachelor in Firenze, and why their voices became shrill when they spoke of him now, as if he had broken all of their hearts.
    His words from last night came back to her. The way his eyes pleaded with her to understand. She felt the pull to empathize with him. But was a man divided any sort of a man at all? Her father had always been so stalwart, so sure in his loyalties. He’d become mean and surly, dull in the eyes, but that was due to their losses, their struggles. Never could she remember him hesitating, or changing his mind. He was single-minded, and had taught her to seek others who were similarly single-minded. Life is far more simple when one knows his mind , he said.
    And wasn’t Rodolfo’s tortured speech testimony to that truth? It was as if he’d been torn in two, within, and continued to roil in the guilt and frustrations of his decision to come to Lord Forelli’s aid.
    Outside the kitchens, when the stench of rotting bone and sinew met their noses, Lady Gabriella pulled them to a stop, visibly paling again.
    “Gabi?” her sister asked, dropping Alessandra’s arm and turning toward her. “Are you all right?”
    Gabriella bolted away from them then and vomited near the wall, one hand braced against it. Evangelia went to her, as did the knight, while Alessandra froze, unsure of what to do.
    “Nay, it’s all right,” Gabriella said, waving the knight away with an embarrassed look. He backed off to a respectful distance.
    “This is the third day in a row you’ve been sick,” Evangelia said lowly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Mayhap you need to rest in your room. Get past this.”
    “Nay, nay,” she said, pushing back her shoulders, and taking a deep breath. “I am fine. ‘Tis only in the mornings.”
    “When is your baby due, m’lady?” Alessandra whispered.
    Both women slowly dragged their eyes up to meet hers.
    Alessandra frowned. Oh no . They’d not yet come to it. She’d seen her own mother pregnant eight times, four of those pregnancies leading to her brothers, the others lost at various stages. She’d learned to recognize the signs. But mayhap these ladies, with all their learned ways, had not. “Forgive me,” she began rapidly. “Mayhap I misunderstood—”
    “M’lady,” said the knight, daring to near them again. “Might I fetch your maid? Your mother? Are you in need?”
    “Nay,” Gabi said, lifting a hand to him, leaving another on her belly. “Please. We are well. I simply ate