From her great-aunt’s fate, and the way Yzabel’s own life was unfurling, she could expect the same destiny to befall her in less than four months. If she were to die at eighteen, she first had to find a way to make an impact that would improve the lives of the Portuguese—before hers was extinguished.
Chapter Two
A Thorny Meal
By the time they arrived at the castle, Yzabel’s legs groaned as if they were hinges in need of oil. She met Denis at the kennels, where he was inspecting a new litter of mastiffs born three weeks ago. Despite the heaviness that weighed upon her, she couldn’t help but squeal at the puppies’ antics. Vasco took Lucas to be fed with the other hounds, and Brites left to prepare Yzabel’s room for the night. Leaving her alone with her betrothed for a meal that was, by far, the most grueling part of her routine.
They walked in slow, measured steps that took all her concentration to keep up with—she had to lean more and more on Denis as they walked to his chambers. The painful grind of her bones dwindled, the ache waning and waning until it was eclipsed by hunger crawling in her belly, and the throbbing of the cilice’s teeth on her thigh.
What she wouldn’t give to take that horrible thing from her leg, to walk without its bite on her flesh. But it wasn’t as if she could confess to the evil in her veins. Pain was the only way she could pay for the depravity she committed every day.
Only through sacrifices can we achieve His forgiveness, Dom Domingos’s words tolled in her mind. She held onto them as they walked, wondering what she was doing wrong, wondering why God did not listen, or if He did, why He didn’t help her.
The void roared in her stomach, and she couldn’t hide the limp in her next step.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Denis asked.
Years would’ve been the honest answer, the truth she kept from all but Brites and Vasco. She hadn’t had a proper meal since her first blood, when the curse had manifested.
“I’ve been fasting all day,” she said between heavy breaths. The stairs loomed ahead, shadows dancing along the lines of the granite steps. A long sigh fanned in her ear, and the world swayed again as Denis lifted her. The mantle slipped from her shoulders, while her body, heavy and rusted as iron when she tried to move, was carried without effort.
“I can make it,” she protested, but his pace didn’t slow. From the corner of her eye, she caught the shadow of a frown darkening his eyes, pressing down on his lips. “Denis, please. Put me down.”
“Only to watch you faint? Isn’t it enough that I’m forced to watch you starve yourself?”
His irritation shivered on her skin, and Yzabel curled into herself, crown toppling against her knees as she clutched at the acid burning a hole in her stomach. The curse was killing her, and she hated that she had to lie to him, hated that the devotion everyone praised her for was nothing but selfishness.
“You saw fit to give those children food even though I told you not to,” Denis continued grumbling, beard pricking the shell of her ear. It baffled her why he insisted on growing the thing. Patchy as it was, he was better off shaving it clean.
“So it was you following us.”
“Did you think I’d let my future wife walk outside the castle walls with just her lady’s maid, an old guard, and a dog for protection?” he asked back. “And my man wasn’t the one you saw. Matias knows better than that.”
Yzabel chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking. “Then who was it?”
“One of Captain Mendes’s men. The local guarda was concerned with your safety among the commoners.” The crease between his brows deepened as he frowned at her. “And stop trying to change the subject. Tell me why you gave them food when I expressly forbade it.”
“I had to,” she moaned. “You won’t let me do more.”
Denis’s retort seethed beneath his rib cage, yet he held it as he nodded to the guard stationed next to his chambers. The soldier opened the door, and when he closed it behind them, Denis let her down on a chair by the table before taking the seat across from hers. Shoulders low and lip curled, the united front they presented before the nobles gave way to sharp tension.
The man who’d been supportive before a crowd was not the same sitting before her now, talking to her in a patronizing tone. “Handouts might make things better for a while. And those children might not starve today, or tomorrow, but what of the day after? Do they ask you for more? Do you keep giving until there’s no food in the country and we’re all starving? What happens, then, when they come clamoring at the gates and we have nothing to give? A revolution?”
Yzabel dropped her hands on her lap. “You have your suspicions about what’s happening in this town—suspicions Senhor Davide corroborated today. The poor are starving, and to keep food from children when I have it would’ve been cruel.”
“It doesn’t matter. I told you not to do something and you did it anyway. Is this how our marriage is to be?”
She forced herself to meet her betrothed’s stare. “If we’re to fight every time I try to help those who need it, then yes. It’s how it’s going to be.”
“I’m not saying you can’t help them.” Inhaling deeply, Denis massaged the bridge of his long nose. “I don’t have the energy for this today. Just please tell me what that man told you about the harvests.”
Glad for the change of subject, Yzabel did just that while Denis uncovered the candlelit feast, revealing roasted pheasant and turnips glazed gold with olive oil and speckled green with herbs, a bowl of migas, fresh bread, cheese, figs, and marmalade.
So much more than the two of them could possibly eat, a sight so lavish and beautiful it lifted the hair on her arms and raised an intense itch, tickling its way down her fingers like an ant colony moving in tandem beneath her skin. The rich scents held hands as they wafted up her nose, watered her mouth, set off a rumble in her belly that drowned the gurgling wine Denis was pouring into their crystal glasses.
Her curse piled up in her fists, begging to be used. An attempt to smother it only served to magnify its uncanny will, leaving her trembling, helpless to watch as Denis filled his plate with a bit of everything, then did the same to hers.
“That’s too much—”
“These things take time, Yzabel, and you can’t feed everyone who comes asking until we root out the true cause of their problem.” The plate clicked against the wooden table as he placed it in front of her. “And if you bear such concern for the commoners and their health, you must do the same for yourself.”
But how could she when magic simmered in her fingertips, ready to pounce on the nearest edible thing? She swallowed under Denis’s scrutiny, glad that he couldn’t see the light in her hand, afraid of what he’d be able to see if she slipped in the slightest.