Read Online Color Song (A Passion Blue Novel) by Victoria Strauss - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Strauss
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confused and weary she hardly knew what she was thinking any longer.
She did not expect to sleep. But almost as soon as she closed her eyes, exhaustion claimed her. She was back in Milan, where she had grown up, in Maestro Bruni’s study in her father’s palace. Maestro sat behind his untidy desk, dressed in his shabby velvet robe and felt cap, his quill scratching across a sheet of paper. He rose when he saw her, smiling his sad smile. “You have a question for me, child?” Giulia realized that she did have a question, and she spoke it, though as the words left her mouth they lost their meaning and she had no idea what she had said. Maestro shook his head, looking grave. “There are no stars. I cannot take a sighting for your horoscope.” He gestured to the windows of his study, through which the sun streamed gold. Giulia was puzzled, for he could have taken a sighting on the sun. But then his face brightened and he reached toward her, plunging his hand into her chest. There was no pain, only a coolness like the kiss of water on a hot summer’s day. He pulled back, smiling. In the cup of his palm were stars—not diamond white, but lapis blue, pulsing with indigo brilliance, shedding sapphire sparks. “I can take a sighting after all,” he said, and tossed the stars up in the air sothat they came down again in a rain of cobalt, singing as they fell, the icy, unearthly song of Passion blue.
And then Giulia was awake, her eyes wide open in the darkness of her cell. Blue shadows swam at the edges of her vision. She could still feel a little of the coolness of Maestro Bruni’s dream-touch.
She thought of the question she had asked in her dream, the question she hadn’t understood as she was speaking it. And all at once it was as if a wind blew through her, sweeping away the clutter of question and doubt, leaving only the hard, flat clarity of truth behind.
Angela was right. If she surrendered Passion blue, Domenica might not banish her. Yet what she’d said to Angela was also true. Too much had passed between them ever to be healed. In Domenica’s workshop, she would labor each day under a woman who despised her. Who looked at her gift, the fire at the core of her being, and saw only something ugly and unnatural. Who would never teach her how to become the painter God had created her to be.
That was not what Humilità had wanted for her. It was not what she wanted for herself.
What, then, will I win by staying at Santa Marta? Only the safety of my body. While outside in the world, the wicked world with all its dangers, I may lose that and more . . . but possibly, just possibly, I may have everything to gain.
The bed seemed to tilt, as if the Earth had shifted underneath it. Terror swept her. For the rest of the night she lay open-eyed, her heart beating and beating, the dark around her like the impossible distance between stars.
—
When Giulia rose on Wednesday morning, she was still terrified. But something inside her had changed. She could feel it. It was as if she’d crossed the border into another country.
She was not supposed to go to Matteo until Friday. And Domenica’s ultimatum ran until Sunday, when she would take her final vows. But she knew she would be foolish to test Madre Magdalena’s patience.
I can’t wait. If I am leaving, I have to leave tonight.
In the afternoon, when Domenica vanished into her study, Giulia went to the shelf where she kept her own drawings. She could not say good-bye to the other artists, but she couldn’t bear to leave without acknowledging their trust, their friendship, their forgiveness. She wanted to do something that, looking back, they would realize had been farewell.
She’d drawn them all many times. She sorted quickly through the sheaf of sketches, picking out the best: Lucida in charcoal with white chalk highlights, her face alight with laughter. Perpetua in black chalk on gray paper, concentration smoothing away her homeliness. Old Benedicta dozing
She did not expect to sleep. But almost as soon as she closed her eyes, exhaustion claimed her. She was back in Milan, where she had grown up, in Maestro Bruni’s study in her father’s palace. Maestro sat behind his untidy desk, dressed in his shabby velvet robe and felt cap, his quill scratching across a sheet of paper. He rose when he saw her, smiling his sad smile. “You have a question for me, child?” Giulia realized that she did have a question, and she spoke it, though as the words left her mouth they lost their meaning and she had no idea what she had said. Maestro shook his head, looking grave. “There are no stars. I cannot take a sighting for your horoscope.” He gestured to the windows of his study, through which the sun streamed gold. Giulia was puzzled, for he could have taken a sighting on the sun. But then his face brightened and he reached toward her, plunging his hand into her chest. There was no pain, only a coolness like the kiss of water on a hot summer’s day. He pulled back, smiling. In the cup of his palm were stars—not diamond white, but lapis blue, pulsing with indigo brilliance, shedding sapphire sparks. “I can take a sighting after all,” he said, and tossed the stars up in the air sothat they came down again in a rain of cobalt, singing as they fell, the icy, unearthly song of Passion blue.
And then Giulia was awake, her eyes wide open in the darkness of her cell. Blue shadows swam at the edges of her vision. She could still feel a little of the coolness of Maestro Bruni’s dream-touch.
She thought of the question she had asked in her dream, the question she hadn’t understood as she was speaking it. And all at once it was as if a wind blew through her, sweeping away the clutter of question and doubt, leaving only the hard, flat clarity of truth behind.
Angela was right. If she surrendered Passion blue, Domenica might not banish her. Yet what she’d said to Angela was also true. Too much had passed between them ever to be healed. In Domenica’s workshop, she would labor each day under a woman who despised her. Who looked at her gift, the fire at the core of her being, and saw only something ugly and unnatural. Who would never teach her how to become the painter God had created her to be.
That was not what Humilità had wanted for her. It was not what she wanted for herself.
What, then, will I win by staying at Santa Marta? Only the safety of my body. While outside in the world, the wicked world with all its dangers, I may lose that and more . . . but possibly, just possibly, I may have everything to gain.
The bed seemed to tilt, as if the Earth had shifted underneath it. Terror swept her. For the rest of the night she lay open-eyed, her heart beating and beating, the dark around her like the impossible distance between stars.
—
When Giulia rose on Wednesday morning, she was still terrified. But something inside her had changed. She could feel it. It was as if she’d crossed the border into another country.
She was not supposed to go to Matteo until Friday. And Domenica’s ultimatum ran until Sunday, when she would take her final vows. But she knew she would be foolish to test Madre Magdalena’s patience.
I can’t wait. If I am leaving, I have to leave tonight.
In the afternoon, when Domenica vanished into her study, Giulia went to the shelf where she kept her own drawings. She could not say good-bye to the other artists, but she couldn’t bear to leave without acknowledging their trust, their friendship, their forgiveness. She wanted to do something that, looking back, they would realize had been farewell.
She’d drawn them all many times. She sorted quickly through the sheaf of sketches, picking out the best: Lucida in charcoal with white chalk highlights, her face alight with laughter. Perpetua in black chalk on gray paper, concentration smoothing away her homeliness. Old Benedicta dozing
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