"Even you?" Rachel said suddenly.
Sophia was surprised. "We are not talking about me. I am not—a courtesan."
"What are you?" Rachel asked softly, shyly.
What word is there to describe me?
She had thought often about other women and how different their lives were from hers. Sometimes, to survive, she had to give her body to men when she did not want to. She had been in danger of death. She had known love and wealth and power. She had lived this way since her parents and the boy she had loved were killed, and she could not imagine living any other way.
"I am just a person who does whatever she needs to," said Sophia. How could she sit here and talk like this, when Daoud might be dying? A chill went over her, as if she were in the grip of a fever, and she almost cried aloud.
"Something is wrong," Rachel said. "Why are you here so early in the morning?" That look of terror was coming back into her face.
The door opened, and Tilia was there, dressed in a long green silk tunic and a yellow satin surcoat. Light was beginning to show through Rachel's windows. Sophia held Rachel's hand for a moment and then let go of it and stood up to leave.
"Take me with you," Rachel said, seizing Sophia's wrist.
"Not now," said Sophia quickly. "We will all be together when we leave Orvieto."