Page 31 of Play of Shadows
Beretto harrumphed at being so casually dismissed, but as he left to take his mark for the first scene, he gave me a lascivious wink.
‘I should get out of your way, too,’ I said, trying to squeeze past her without accidentally brushing up against her bosom and earning myself a slap.
She pushed me back with a brightly painted fingernail that somehow got between the buttons of my shirt to poke at the bare skin underneath. ‘Not quite yet. I’d have words with you, Chademantaigne.’
‘My Lady?’
She smirked at that. ‘No more a lady than you’re a lord, but I like the sound of it.’ She shooed me further away from the curtain, into the shadows of the wings. ‘Now, let us discuss our scene.’
‘Which one? We have three together.’
She looked as if she was deciding whether to laugh or slap me across the face. ‘The kissing scene,obviously.’
My already uneasy stomach roiled violently. I hated that scene: the lecherous Corbier comes upon an unsuspecting Lady Ajelaine playing a love song while pining for her long-absent Prince Pierzi. The lyrics, cleverly composed by Shoville from the letters and diaries attributed to the historical Ajelaine, gave voice to her dread over what devastation the Archduke would wreak upon her beloved homeland should noble Pierzi not return.
Clever, but hardly the stuff of high art.
It didn’t help that the company’s forest set was shabby from overuse, nor did I enjoy having to spend half the song standing behind unconvincing bushes making a show of leering at theunwary Ajelaine. The two of us might as well be performing in a pleasure house’sfornicatiorather than in a historia at the grand Operato Belleza. Frankly, it was a huge relief when, just as Corbier was about to move on to his assault upon Ajelaine, Abastrini in his fine golden armour burst upon the scene to save his lady love, bellowing his outrage and sending me scurrying into the wings like the gap-toothed, wart-nosed villain of a children’s story.
‘Don’t rush it,’ Roslyn said.
‘Rush what?’
‘The kiss– in rehearsal you barely pecked me on the lips before fleeing the room.’ She gestured to the curtain; the audience beyond were beginning to rumble with annoyance at the late start. ‘I want to do something a little different tonight– give the punters a bit of a show. Something to talk about in their parlours in the morning.’
‘A show?’ I asked. ‘What kind of “show”?’
‘Oh, don’t look so innocent.’ Roslyn edged closer to me. ‘I just want to let Ajelaine show a bit of. . . well, unpredictability– as to which man she truly desires, you know?’
‘Unpredictability?Are you mad? Corbier tried to rape her!’
Roslyn’s shoulders rose and fell in a display of profound indifference. ‘Just because that’s what Shoville put in the script, doesn’t mean it’s what really happened. Nor does it mean you and I need to play it that way.’ She bit her lip seductively. ‘You ask me, Ajelaine was a lot more wild and wicked than the historias give her credit for. I’m certain she’d’ve preferred a rebel like Corbier over some self-important, domineering prat like Pierzi. Besides’– she leaned in and whispered in my ear– ‘the better the show we give them, the more likely you and I are to earn a few extra coins after the curtain falls.’
Saint Ebron-who-steals-breath. Did she truly intend to enrage half our paltry audience in hopes the two of us could thenprostitute ourselves to the other half?
The irony was that Ajelaine was the one with royal blood in her veins– no doubt why her suitors were so eager to wed her. Yet while the historias immortalised the men as ‘PrincePierzi’ and ‘ArchdukeCorbier’, Ajelaine was always merely ‘Lady’.
And now Roz intends to combat that particular injustice by playing her as a licentious tart. Outstanding.
Roz gave me an appraising eye. ‘You know, in that get-up you’re quite the handsome devil, Damelas Chademantaigne.’ She reached out a finger and traced the line of my jaw. ‘I think there’s more Corbier in you than you’ve been letting on.’
‘Perhaps it’s best if we stick to the script. . .’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, don’t be a wilting daisy. I’m not going to molest you on stage. We don’t even have to change the words– just lend them a little spice.’ Without warning, she grabbed hold of my purple leather shirt and pulled me closer. ‘Come not to me seeking love, Corbier,’ Roslyn reached a hand to grab the back of my head, fingers interlacing my hair, ‘for it is not love that awaits you here.’
She drew me into a kiss so hard I felt the press of her teeth against my lips. I tried pulling away, as much from surprise as indignation, but she held me firm. Only after Roslyn had thoroughly explored the inside of my mouth did she finally release me. In a husky, lurid variation on Ajelaine’s traditionally dulcet voice, she whispered, ‘There. That’s not so bad, is it?’
That’s definitelynotin Shoville’s script, I thought, feeling oddly out of my body.
For her part, Roslyn looked pleased with herself. ‘Yes,’ she said, straightening my shirt, ‘that will do nicely. We’ll have the audience talking about that kiss all through the third act.’
‘But we. . . what about the duke—?’
Roslyn wiped a thumb across my lips, taking with it a rather bright streak of red lipstick. ‘Don’t fret, Damelas. Give yourselfto the moment and let Corbier be Corbier.’
She pushed me away just as the musicians at the back began the opening song and the curtain started to rise. As she left to take her mark, she gave me a final wink and said, ‘Besides, Duke Monsegino demanded this new play. He must be expectingsomethingto be different.
Chapter 15
