Read Online The Red Lily Crown by Elizabeth Loupas - Free Book Online Page A

room, and behind them cabinets of books, more books than she’d ever seen in one place, even in her father’s shop. In between the books there were carvings, glittering crystals, flasks of colored liquids and the hollow-eyed skulls of strange animals. The floor was a pattern in black and white stone chips, a labyrinth like the one engraved around the silver descensory—a circle with paths that twisted and folded to make one way from the outside to the center. The white chips glittered in the light from the fires in two fireplaces, one to the left and one to the right; a third fire licked lazily through a golden grate three steps above the floor, just in front of— She lifted her eyes.
    At the far end of the room, a dais and a throne. That was the only word for it—a chair carved and gilded and decorated with colored paint and gems, like something out of an illuminated manuscript. The prince sat in the chair on a purple velvet cushion, looking at her with brooding, narrowed eyes. Behind him, the shadow of the throne falling over his face like a mask, stood Magister Ruanno. Both of them were wearing black cassocks like Minimite friars, with deep cowls and pointed hoods.
    There were also three tables in the room, a table draped in black to her left, a table draped in scarlet to her right, and a table draped in what looked like liquid silver in front of her, between her and the fire under the golden grate. That was all she had a chance to register before the prince spoke.
    â€œChiara Nerini, daughter of Carlo Nerini, bookseller and alchemist.”
    Saints and angels. How had he found out her full name?
    â€œStrip yourself. You will be naked for your testing.”
    Her first thought was
try to strip me and see how far you get
. She thrust out her chin and actually opened her mouth to say it. Then she saw Magister Ruanno shake his head very slightly and caught her tongue before it ran away with her. Who cared if they saw her naked? She would prove she was a virgin and they wouldn’t dare touch her no matter how she flaunted herself, lest they sully her purity.
    She unfastened her mantle and let it drop. Unlaced her bodice and shrugged out of it. Untied the drawstring of her skirt and let it fall. That left her in nothing but her thin patched camicia, long-sleeved and loose, reaching her ankles, the garment she lived in and slept in and never took off, even to wash. Nonna had taught her the proper way for a woman to wash herself, with a basin and a rag, all the while keeping herself decently covered.
    She untied the drawstring—the one the guardsman had cut with his poniard, had that been only yesterday? It felt like a lifetime had passed—and loosened the neckline. Let the whole thing slide down over her breasts and hips.
    She could feel the heat and light from the candles on her skin. It felt so—so unnatural, to be covered by nothing but her own skin.
    â€œLoose your hair from its braid.” It was the prince. He didn’t sound particularly lustful, but he did sound intent, almost like the priest when he said the Mass. “You shall have nothing about you that is tied or twisted.”
    She pulled the long braid over her shoulder and untied the cord. Slowly—now that the first shock was over she was beginning to enjoy herself, to feel the strange power she had just by being young, naked and female—she unplaited the three thick tresses of her hair. When she shook it out, it fell in spirals, like the painting of Mary Magdalene’s hair in the mural at the church. She ran her fingers through the dark strands, feeling their weight and crinkly softness, and then instead of pulling them over her breasts and belly and thighs to cover herself, she threw them back over her shoulders. She could feel the ends tickling the backs of her legs.
    Let them look at her. She was fifteen and untouched and the only mark on her body was the hidden half-circle over her left ear where the