Lady Midnight Read Free

horrible images of watery death.
    "Mother," she whispered, even though she knew all too well that there could be no answer. Her mother was gone, along with her kind English protector, Edward, the Duke of Salton. And the handsome, admiring Sir Julian Kirkwood—the man Katerina had thought would one day be her own protector.
    She herself could easily have died with them, and that horrifying thought made her cry out again, a pitiful wail muffled in the linens.
    Katerina turned her head to rest her tearstained cheek on the pillow—and noticed a small wispy movement in the shadows.
    She raised herself up to peer closer.
    It was a woman, or at least the outline of one. Katerina's first thought was that it must be Maria, but Maria was short and stout. This woman was tall and willow slender. Then the figure stepped into a pale beam of moonlight that fell from one of the high windows, and cold shock broke like one of those deadly waves over Katerina's heart.
    "No," she breathed aloud.
    The woman was her mother. Yet that could not be! Katerina had seen her mother swallowed by the sea, right before her very eyes. No one had come ashore besides herself—Maria had said so. But here Lucrezia was, as beautiful as ever, standing beside her daughter's bed clad in a white silken gown, like opals or stars. Her long, straight curtain of black hair, gilded by the moon, fell over her shoulders. There was a strange translucence to her fair skin, a shining quality that came from within.
    This must be another fever dream, Katerina realized with a start. She held out her shaking hand to the figure, and whispered, "Mother? Is it you?"
    Her mother reached out her own hand, and a coolness like a sweet spring breeze wafted over Katerina's fingertips. "It is me, my Katerina, 'the prettiest Kate in Christendom.' I am a dream, but one I hope you will remember when you awake."
    It had to be her mother, even though it was a dream—no one else quoted her name from The Taming of the Shrew, teasing her about being "bonny Kate,"
    "sometimes Kate the curst." Her head spun in confused circles. She longed to leap up, to reach for her mother, but she feared that to do so would make this precious vision vanish like so much smoke. "Why are you here?"
    "Cara mia, you have been given a wonderful chance. A chance many people long for, beg for, but few are given. The chance to become—someone else."
    Kate shook her head. She was Katerina Bruni, daughter of the glorious Lucrezia Bruni, envied by girls all over the city of Venice—no one would ever believe she could be someone else. Not even she ever believed it. "What do you mean? I only want to be me."
    "No. I know the truth of this, you see, because I always wanted this chance for myself."
    This was the first time Katerina had ever heard such a wild thing. Lucrezia Bruni had always been so supremely self-confident, so beautiful and perfect, carrying her fame—fame inherited from her own mother, Giavanna Bruni—lightly on her velvet-clad shoulders. Katerina remembered her mother laughing on that final day, her entire being aglow with gaiety. "But why? You were famous—everyone adored you. You were so happy. We were both happy, in our lovely home."
    Her mother gave her a small, sad smile, so unlike her old merry grins. "My dearest girl. I only pretended to be happy—I was a wonderful actress, learned at my mother's knee. I knew my place in life from the time I was a tiny child. I could never truly be anything different. And I thought you could never be, either. When I saw how beautiful you were growing, I knew only that you would be desired, sought after, that you would be rich. But you can be so much, have so much more! I know you can. Fame and jewels, my bonny Kate, can never feed a lonely heart. You were truly the only good, fine thing I ever had and I failed you."
    Katerina sobbed in bewilderment. "You never failed me, Mother! You loved me, and gave me everything. A fine education, gowns, jewelry. You were