Page 30 of The Cruelty of Thorns

“Please, sit and enjoy your meal,” Rosetta said to me.

“You’re not joining us?” I asked.

She glanced at Tomasso, who was watching the exchange with interest, and shook her head. “I’ve already eaten.” She turned and hurried off into the kitchen.

With no other choice, I pulled out a chair and seated myself at the table. I could feel the boy’s eyes on me as I helped myself to the offerings spread before me, and wondered what I could possibly have to say to him. I recalled Rosetta’s warning about watching my tongue around him, and smoothed my face to hide my distrust. I still hadn’t gotten over the fact that he was responsible for my current situation, and while part of me wanted to reach across the table and close my hands around his neck, I managed to curb that impulse and fall back on my upbringing. It wouldn’t do to strangle a man at the dining table.

He opened his mouth as though to say something, but when I looked at him, he reconsidered and went back to his meal. Just as well. I really had no desire to carry on a conversation with him. As such, we ate in silence until he was finished and stood up.

“I imagine I’ll be seeing you at meals now,” he said.

I looked up at him and nodded. “Seems that way.”

“I’m Tomasso, by the way.”

I really didn’t care. “So I’ve been told.” I didn’t offer him my name, though I’m sure he knew it. He stood for a moment as though waiting for me to say something else, then gave a nod and left the room. After he was gone, I glanced in the kitchen and caught Rosetta’s eye. She smiled then looked around as though she was afraid someone would notice our exchange and went back to her work. So there were politics at play here? I supposed I would have to learn who to trust.

♦ ♦ ♦

I didn’t know how far this new freedom of mine extended. I wanted to ask Rosetta, but she had disappeared from the kitchen and I was afraid to approach any of the other women working there. I wandered out of the dining room and down to the gathering hall, wondering what I was meant to do with myself. I noticed a door surrounded by a bank of windows on the far side of the room that seemed to open out onto the courtyard I had seen from my window. As I approached them, someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned to find the stern housekeeper I had seen the night I arrived.

“Good morning,” I said. She regarded me silently and I pointed to the door between the windows. “Is that the way outside?”

“You can go out there, but not beyond,” she replied.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate some air.”

She started to say something then seemed to think better of it and merely nodded and stalked off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving me once again alone in the room. I crossed to the door and opened it, breathing deeply of the perfumed air that greeted me. The scent of citrus, jasmine, and roses mingled in the morning heat. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I missed being outside. I stepped through the door and looked up, closing my eyes to enjoy the feel of the sun on my face.

I was suddenly struck with a powerful wave of homesickness. What must my parents be thinking right now? Did they believe I had met with foul play? Did they even think I was still alive? I know it had only been a few days, but it felt like I’d been held in this house for ages.

Being outside restored some small sense of normalcy to me. I wandered around the courtyard, stopping to admire the fountain and the potted plants before approaching the iron gates. I could smell the roses beyond and wondered if I was allowed to go in there. I recalled Rosetta’s warning about the rose garden, how the Contessa used it for torture, but here in the brilliance of the sunny morning it was hard to imagine such a thing.

I stepped through the gates and looked around. A long arbor stretched straight back from the gate, covered from top to bottom with an arching thicket of near-black roses, their cloying scent heavy in the warm, still air. There were individual bushes lining the gravel paths that spoked out from the entrance, and off to one side, a wide iron bench surrounded by an intricate metal bower.

I started walking in that direction, thinking to have a seat and enjoy the morning, but as I drew closer I noticed there was something sinister about the scene. The plants climbing up the bower seemed older, the branches thicker and lined with large hooked thorns, and there were several lengths of ropes dangling from the braces. Dark stains colored the ropes and the stone beneath the bench. I swallowed, unable to explain the sense of dread the sight evoked in me.

“I’d stay away from there if I was you.”

I turned to find the old gardener I had seen from the window. He had a pair of clippers in one hand and was carrying a basket of blooms in the other. He regarded me with shrewd eyes.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?”

There was no point in denying it. “Yes.”

He nodded toward the bower. “Pray you don’t ever become acquainted with that.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t want to know. Now run along. If it’s a seat you seek, there are plenty in the courtyard.”

I followed his advice and found a perch in one of the chairs near the fountain, thinking about what the gardener had said. What was the meaning of the ropes on that bower, and why did I get this sense of dread just looking at it, as though the spot itself was somehow cursed?

Rosetta found me still deep in thought about it an hour later. “I looked for you in your room.”

I smiled up at her, unable to deny the rush of warmth her presence caused me. I nodded toward the chair next to me. “Have a seat.”

“Oh no, I shouldn’t.” She glanced around nervously, as though afraid someone would see her there.

---