The Red Lily Crown Read Online Free

be impressed, Serenissimo,” the foreigner said. He dismounted from his horse as well and bowed, rather stiffly, as if he didn’t like bowing. “Girl, show the prince your silver descensory.”
    When he said the words
silver descensory
the prince’s expression changed. Disdain became interest—more than interest, avidity. Lust, almost. So people were right about his obsession with alchemy.
    Chiara held up her head and put out her kitchen-knife chin. Her hands were shaking and she could feel the eyes of the prince and all his courtiers on her. Aristocrats. She hated aristocrats, even more than she hated horses.
Bloodsuckers
, Babbo’s voice whispered.
Tyrants
.
Don’t give it to him. Starve instead, until you’re dead, like I am
.
    With every ounce of strength she had, she took the silver funnel out of her pouch and held it up.
    â€œI will take it.” The prince held out his hand.
    â€œI’ll give it to you,” Chiara said, “when you give me a gold scudo.”
    She had no idea how much a scudo was actually worth, because her father had never had more than one or two at a time pass through his hands. But from the reactions of Magister Ruanno-whatever-kind- of-name-that-was and of the prince himself, clearly the silver funnel was valuable.
    â€œAre you mad?” The prince was not angry, though. She watched his eyes. He was amused and if anything, more lustful than ever. He wore his darkness like a cloak of fur, the pelts of some sensuous, dangerous animal. “Have you ever even seen a gold scudo?”
    Chiara didn’t flinch. “I have.”
    â€œSerenissimo,” the foreigner said. “This girl claims to be an alchemist’s daughter, and to have books as well. She quoted from
De Magia Veterum
and her Latin was without a flaw. Consider her—she is barely more than a child, and could well be untouched.”
    The prince and the foreigner looked at each other as if Chiara wasn’t there. Something passed between them, some question, some answer, some understanding. It felt cold, like iron fetters.
    The prince said, “What is your name, girl?”
    â€œChiara.”
    â€œAnd your father’s name?”
    The foreigner had stepped closer, behind her. The prince’s courtiers and friends had spread out on either side, cutting off any way to escape. Had the prince made a gesture to order this? Or did they just know?
    â€œIf I tell you my father’s name,” Chiara said, trying to keep her voice even, “you’ll go to his shop and take everything for yourself, and pay me nothing. I’m hungry, and my Nonna and my little sisters are hungry.”
    â€œChiara,” the foreigner said. He pronounced it oddly—a liquid
keer-ah
instead of
kee-ah-rah
, the way it should be pronounced. “Do not be afraid. Answer the prince’s questions, do as he tells you, and neither you nor your family will ever be hungry again.”
    He talked to her as if she were a child, and a witless one at that. Chiara scowled at him and said, “I’m a Florentine citizen born, and I believe no foreigners’ promises.”
    The prince laughed. “Well spoken,” he said. “Believe my promises, then—I am as Florentine as you are, back to Lorenzo il Magnifico and beyond. Come, let us go to the Palazzo Vecchio where we can speak of this matter in peace and privacy.”
    Privacy? Did he want her as his mistress after all, bony chest notwithstanding?
    â€œPrivacy will cost more,” she said. “Five scudi.”
    All the men laughed. Her face burned like fire.
    â€œMesser Alessandro,” the prince said to one of his gentlemen. “Wait upon Madonna Bianca, if you please, and explain to her that I have been interrupted with a matter of importance. I will see her tonight if I can, although if my father dies today everything will change.”
    The man bowed, with a great deal more grace and panache