Reign of Madness Read Online Free PDF Page B

realize that others aspire to the comfort that you take for granted. Most of us must work hard and seize every good chance to make our way up in the world. Most of us are buffeted by disappointments and disillusions.”
    “You assume that I have not been in that situation.”
    He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Do you mock me with my words?”
    “Not at all. Your words applied, and so I used them.”
    “I see. So a princess feels disappointments.”
    “At times—of course I do. If you scratch me, I do bleed.”
    A corner of his mouth turned up. “Then I shall be careful never to do so.”
    “I would appreciate that.”
    “Highness!” pleaded Beatriz. “I am certain we will be missed.”
    “Your lady calls you,” he said.
    I turned to leave, then turned back. “You should not make judgments about persons. Only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches.”
    “I did not think royal shoes could pinch.”
    “Ours might pinch most grievously of all.”
    “That is doubtful.”
    Beatriz took my arm. I resisted. “I wish you could walk in my shoes someday, don Diego. Then you would know what I speak of.”
    “Indeed,” he said, “I should like to.”
    Beatriz drew me away by force. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I do not wish to lose my position.”
    I looked over my shoulder as we entered the arcade on the other side of the courtyard. Oblivious of the stares of the workmen, Diego and Juanito stood side by side, an unlikely pair. When he saw me looking, Diego gazed up at the arcade, as if something interesting had landed on the pillar above him.
    I turned around, smiling to myself.
    Oh, most definitely, his eyes were grayest green.

    That afternoon, I was called to Mother’s chamber. She and Papa sat side by side at a table, reading documents that Cardinal Mendoza was passing to Mother. A secretary waited to the right of the Cardinal with a stack of items to be read, while another secretary was poised to my parents’ left with a shaker of sand, ready to sprinkle their wet ink.
    I stood quietly. In the past weeks, I had not tried again to give Papa his ruby. Indeed, I had hidden it in a coffer in my room, and then forgotten about it as well as I could. There was something disturbing about it, something I did not wish to ponder.
    Cardinal Mendoza’s red skullcap flashed in the light pouring through the arched window as he tipped his head toward Papa. “Remind your wife again how much her soldiers worship her. Should she desire, I believe she could lead them to Jerusalem and back.”
    “I lost a child,” Mother said flatly, “riding to war. A son.”
    Papa kissed her hand. “My darling princess. If someone says black, must you always say white?”
    “When we were preparing to lay siege to Loja, I felt the first pangs of childbirth at the council table. The babies came early—I lost María’s twin. But I did lead those soldiers, oh, did I lead them. Just as I was told.”
    “Isabel,” Papa said in a scolding tone.
    She would not look at him. “I have done my part, Your Holiness,” she said to the Cardinal. “And I refuse now to be cajoled into continuing the Crusade into Africa or across the Mediterranean. Isn’t it enough that we took Granada and the Spains are now united?”
    “We would win,” said Papa.
    “He’s right, you know,” said the Cardinal.
    Mother held the old man’s gaze. “Not only horses can be ridden to the ground.”
    The Cardinal looked away, then, seeing me watching, showed his tiny reptilian teeth.
    Papa followed his gaze. “Juana.” He smiled. “How is my shirt coming along?”
    Our old jest. I had been working on a shirt for Papa since I was Catalina’s age, but it had never passed Mother’s approval. Only her shirts were good enough for him. The queen of more lands than any potentate in the world, and she insisted on sewing for her husband.
    “I should have it to you on Tuesday,” I said—my usual response.
    “Then on Tuesday, I should look like a