Belladonna (SECRETS OF THE ETERNAL ROSE)

by Paul, Fiona

  Neat stacks of evenly spaced wooden crates filled most of the low-ceilinged rectangular room. Some of the piles were covered with canvas sheets. All of the stacks were balanced on platforms made from stucco bricks, which kept the lowest boxes from being damaged by occasional flooding and the near-constant dampness.

  “What is all this?” Feliciana asked, peeking beneath one of the sheets. “Your parents’ things?”

  Cass shook her head. “I don’t think so. My parents’ belongings were sold with the estate.” She tried to remove the top of the crate nearest to her, but it was nailed shut.

  “Who knew Signora Querini had so much?” Feliciana asked.

  “Feel free to nose through it,” Cass said, handing Feliciana the candle. “Maybe you’ll find some additional clothing that fits. Siena or I will do our best to sneak you some breakfast in the morning.”

  Feliciana dragged two wooden crates together and laid Cass’s blanket down on top of them. “Pleasant dreams, Signorina Cass,” she said. “Are you sure you won’t need the candle to get back to your room?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Cass had navigated the darkened villa so many times, she could do it blindfolded and in her sleep. “Good night, Feliciana.”

  Back upstairs, Cass crawled beneath her covers. She had feared she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but the events of the day had exhausted her. She dreamed of a tossing black sea and voices calling to her from the dark, and then she didn’t dream at all.

  * * *

  Loud voices from the portego woke Cass the next morning. She slipped on a dressing gown and stepped out into the hallway. Agnese was sitting on the divan, clutching a teacup in one hand and a roll of vellum in the other. Siena hovered close by, a basket of mending perched on one slender hip. Cass couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her aunt up so early.

  “What is it?” Cass asked, praying someone hadn’t already discovered Feliciana. She held a hand in front of her eyes to block out the harsh daylight streaming through the open shutters.

  Agnese shook the roll of parchment. “Heresy,” she said. “Luca’s been imprisoned for speaking out against the Church.”

  “What?” Cass grabbed the letter out of Agnese’s swollen fingers and scanned the swirly handwriting. The message was from Donna Domacetti. Of course. She would be the first to know—and spread the news—about any tawdry gossip. Apparently, the donna had seen soldiers escorting Luca toward the Palazzo Ducale the day before and had asked her husband, a senator, why Luca was being arrested.

  “That’s madness,” Cass said. Luca was a good man. He had never spoken out against the Church, she was certain of it. If anyone deserved to be accused of heresy, it was Falco, who wandered around saying science was his religion and that bodies ought to be torn apart in the name of research. “On what evidence?”

  “We’ll know more soon,” Agnese said. “Donna Domacetti is on her way over. You’d better make yourself presentable.”

  Cass allowed a pale and trembling Siena to tow her in the direction of her bedchamber.

  “Heresy,” Siena croaked out. “It’s such a serious crime, Signorina Cass. What are you going to do? What can you do?”

  “Have you seen your sister today?” Cass asked impatiently. She was quite certain she had not moped around the house like a shivery, wilting flower whenever anything bad had happened to Falco. Siena needed to pull herself together, immediately. “Luca is a man who can take care of himself. Feliciana is depending on us, for the time being. Try to remember that.”

  Siena hung her head. “I was sneaking her a bit of breakfast when I saw the messenger approaching. She’s fine. Bored, but fine.”

  “Good. Now help me get dressed before Donna Domacetti arrives and starts telling lurid tales without me.”

  Siena pulled a cream-colored garment from Cass’s armoire.

  “Not those,” Cass said. “My other stays.” Ever since Cristian’s dagger had narrowly missed her heart by embedding itself in the whalebone ribbing of her ivory stays, she had considered the undergarment lucky. With a runaway servant hidden in the storage room and Luca in prison, Cass would take all the luck she could get.

  She slid her arms into the armholes, and Siena began to thread the laces from behind, her obvious distress causing her to cinch them even tighter than usual.

  “Ouch,” Cass said. “Remember, I have to be able to breathe when you’re finished.”

  Siena loosened the laces slightly and then began searching through Cass’s armoire for skirts and a bodice. She came back with a set of emerald-green skirts and a gray bodice with long silvery sleeves already attached.

  Cass slipped the skirts over her slim hips while Siena went to work on the laces of the bodice. “Once I hear what the donna has to say, I plan to go to the Palazzo Ducale, to speak on Luca’s behalf.”

  It was unlikely that the Senate would let her speak to Luca, but Cass was going to try. She couldn’t help him without more information, and she wasn’t sure she could trust a single word that came from the mouth of that gossiping crone Donna Domacetti. It couldn’t hurt to ask for a meeting. Maybe a little extra gold would open doors, literally.

  Siena grabbed the silver-plated hairbrush from the dressing table and motioned for Cass to sit. Cass waved her away. “I’ll just twist it all under a hat,” she said, grabbing one made of gray velvet from a shelf in her armoire. “I don’t want to miss a moment of the donna’s visit.”

  Donna Domacetti was just settling herself in a velvet chair when Cass returned to the portego. The woman lurched back to her feet, putting a dangerous amount of weight on the wooden frame of Agnese’s chair as she did so.

  “Cassandra, you poor dear.” She leaned in and grasped Cass’s bare hands in her own. “My heart goes out to you.” Dressed all in red with her gray-streaked hair twisted into a high pair of horns, the donna looked more like an obese devil than Venetian nobility.

  “Grazie.” Cass curtsied stiffly. Her eyes dropped to the donna’s fingers. In addition to a fat ruby and a diamond-encrusted circle of gold, the woman still wore the ring with the six-petaled flower design.

  The donna gathered her wide skirts around her as she took her seat on the chair again. Cass noticed the scarlet gown was embossed with shiny metallic threads—gold, undoubtedly. Agnese was still seated stiffly on the divan, a blanket covering her legs and waist. As a kitchen servant appeared with a pot of tea and several cups, Cass realized she was the only one still standing. She pulled a chair over from the far side of the portego, passing by the life-sized depiction of The Last Supper as she did so. Cass shivered. She liked the work of da Vinci, but she always felt like the figures in the giant mosaic were watching her.

  “We’re so grateful you took the time to come,” Agnese said. “A dreadful, dreadful business.”

  “Indeed.” Donna Domacetti drained her tea in a single drink, leaving a smear of blood-red lip stain on the rim. “I was shocked. Luca da Peraga, taken to the Doge’s prison by order of the Senate. My husband and I could hardly believe it.” She lifted her hand and twisted her wrist at one of the serving boys. The boy hurried over and refilled her cup.

  Cass set her cup gingerly on the table and glanced over at her aunt. She had plenty of questions for the donna, but it would have been rude for her to speak before Agnese.

  “It’s absolutely absurd.” Agnese clucked her tongue. “Trumping up some charges against a good Venetian man who’s returned home for a betrothal ceremony? Exactly how do we go about getting him released?”

  Donna Domacetti shook her head sadly, her multiple chins jiggling back and forth. “I wish it were that simple, Agnese. Not only was Signor da Peraga implicated through the bocca di lione—”

  “The bocca di lione?” Cass nearly upset her cup. “They’re holding him based on anonymous accusations tossed into the mouth of a sculpture? I’ve seen children throw parchment in there as a joke.”

  “You didn’t let me finish, dear.” Donna Domacetti took a long drink, swallowing slowly a
nd dabbing at her crimson mouth with one of Agnese’s good napkins before continuing. “It seems there are also eyewitnesses to your fiancé’s heresy. Nobles who came forth to give testimony.” She said this with such undisguised enthusiasm that it took all of Cass’s self-control to keep from flinging her untouched cup of tea at the woman’s smug face.

  “And who exactly are these confused nobles?” Agnese asked, shooting Cass a warning glance. Cass knew she was one comment away from being ordered to her room. She reclined in her chair and gave Donna Domacetti her most daggerlike scowl.

  “I really shouldn’t say anything,” the donna demurred, “but rumor has it Don Zanotta’s own wife is one of the accusers.”

  “Hortensa Zanotta?” Cass had met her when she visited Palazzo Domacetti for tea. What she remembered most was the deep gouge of smallpox scars on the donna’s cheek. That and how she had spoken so cruelly about the murdered women, as if they had deserved their fates. Scarred or not, a wealthy donna with a powerful husband could have whatever she wanted. Why in the world would she condemn an innocent man to die?

  “Will there be a trial?” Agnese asked. Her swollen hands dropped to her lap. Cass realized her aunt was working the beads of her rosary. She watched Agnese’s fingers push a bead along the golden chain.

  “I’m afraid not,” Donna Domacetti said. “That is why I came immediately, so that you both would know the gravity of the situation. The Senate has ordered Signor da Peraga to be executed, exactly one month from today.”

  For a second, no one spoke. The room started to dissolve before Cass’s eyes, individual tiles of the da Vinci mosaic winking out like candles that had been extinguished. She fanned herself with one hand. Her bones felt weak, slippery. She had the strangest sensation that she might slide right out of the cushioned chair and onto the floor. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice was that of a stranger, tiny and timid. “Executed?” she managed to squeak out. “What—what do you mean?”

  Donna Domacetti cleared her throat to say more, but Agnese cut her off. “That’s preposterous.” She reached out to pat Cass on the arm. “Luca is an innocent man, a devout Catholic. Once the Senate has ample time to contemplate the facts, I’m sure they’ll reconsider.”

  Cass inhaled sharply, and then again. It felt like someone had stabbed her in the chest. “But if there’s to be no trial, when will anyone contemplate anything?” she asked. The room started to come back into focus, but things were still a little off, like she was viewing everything through a smudged wineglass.

  She watched her aunt struggle to her feet and motion to the donna. The two women slowly crossed the portego and hovered at the top of the spiral staircase. Their lips were moving, but Cass couldn’t hear their words. She wanted to get up and move closer, but her bones still felt soft, her muscles useless. She rested her head in her hands and tried to replay the parts of the conversation she remembered. Luca da Peraga . . . Doge’s prison . . . order of the Senate . . . eyewitnesses . . . heresy . . . executed . . .

  Executed.

  Luca had gone to meet with Joseph Dubois and now he was in prison. Executed. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. If he was arrested because of something he’d said to Dubois, it probably had something to do with Cristian. Which meant it had something to do with her. Executed. Cass touched the lily necklace through the fabric of her bodice. Luca had saved her once. Now it was up to her to save him.

  “Applied properly, the rope or the blade will break all men.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  five

  Cass and Siena left for the Rialto just moments after Donna Domacetti waddled down to the dock and disappeared into her own boat.

  Summer was preparing for its arrival in Venice. Despite the breeze off the water, the late-spring air was still muggy and thick, the high sun obscured by a ribbon of clouds. Cass fanned herself with her favorite ostrich-feather fan as she settled in beneath the felze of Agnese’s gondola.

  Siena gathered her muslin skirt around her as she scooted next to Cass. Behind them, Giuseppe—her aunt’s gardener and personal gondolier—hummed an unfamiliar tune as he expertly navigated the coastline of San Domenico north toward the lagoon that separated the Rialto from the outlying southern islands.

  Cass fiddled with the rosary that hung from the waistline of her skirt. Her mind was whirling as she tried to remember all of Agnese’s instructions. Be polite. Stand up straight. Inquire about the possibility of a trial, but don’t be demanding.

  “Are you all right?” Siena asked.

  “Fine,” Cass said tightly. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. If only her aunt had felt well enough to accompany her.

  “I wish I was up for the journey,” Agnese had declared as she told Cass what to say. “It’s a grim business for a girl your age.”

  Murderers. Grave robbers. Cass was more familiar with grim business than her aunt ever would have guessed.

  A fish jumped in the nearby water, sending a spray of droplets cascading through the air. Cass looked up. Stonemasons dangled from the roof of San Giorgio Maggiore, chipping and carving details into the façade of the grand church, while a flurry of men hollered instructions to them from the ground. The gondola bobbed slowly past San Giorgio Island, and she turned her attention to the tiny waves of the lagoon that sloshed back and forth against the boat.

  Giuseppe docked the gondola just south of the Palazzo Ducale. The enormous palazzo loomed over the Piazza San Marco, bridging the gap between the basilica and the edge of the lagoon. Bricks in shades of brown and bronze glittered in the daylight. Elaborate friezes and bas-reliefs adorned the larger arched windows. A breezeway ringed the building’s perimeter, supported by Gothic columns, each topped with a clover-shaped cutout.

  Cass had passed the Palazzo Ducale many times in her life and always thought of the building as a magical place where the Doge and Dogaressa lived and threw spectacular parties. She knew the palazzo was also home to Senate meetings and other official government functions, but she had never thought of the gleaming U-shaped building as a prison. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she must have always known about the pozzi, the tiny dank cells on the palazzo’s first floor, and the scorching-hot piombi, additional cells for “special” prisoners beneath the lead-plated roof of the building, but she had never really thought about it.

  Until now.

  She imagined the worst: Luca buried in blackness, locked away among dark and creeping things. Foul canal water rising up, threatening to drown him while he slept. Rats scrabbling through the bars, sinking their teeth into his flesh. She felt a sharp pain in her chest. It was hopeless. She was one girl against Dubois, against the Senate, against all of Venice. Would anyone even agree to see her?

  She took Giuseppe’s hand as she alighted from the gondola. Siena followed her. Striding forward as if she clearly belonged there, Cass considered the Palazzo Ducale’s many doors and made for the porta della carta, the main entrance.

  The wooden door was at least ten feet tall, with flower designs carved into the wood at regular intervals. A sculpture of a previous Doge facing a winged lion decorated the top of the door, an elaborate arched window above that. Towers of additional sculpture work flanked each side of the entrance. Cass recognized the figures of Charity, Fortitude, Temperance, and Prudence, their flowing gowns painted in brilliant blues and yellows. Where had those virtues been when someone was dragging an innocent man to prison?

  Two soldiers dressed in scarlet and gold were standing guard. “What is your business today, Signorina?” the taller soldier asked gruffly.

  “I wish to speak to the Doge,” Cass said, raising her chin. “Or to a member of the Senate.” In her chopines, she stood slightly taller than the soldiers, and for once her height didn’t feel like a liability.

  The other soldier grunted with laughter. “Don’t they all,” he said. “Do you have an appointment?”

  The lie was on the tip of her tongue—of course she had an appointment�
��but she couldn’t manage to spit it out. She swore under her breath. Falco would have coughed up a lie without hesitation. “No, I don’t,” Cass admitted. “But I will wait as long as necessary.”

  The soldiers laughed again, their tan faces turning pink with amusement. “We’ll send someone to fetch a chair,” the shorter one said. “It might be a couple of fortnights.”

  Cass was tired of being laughed at. “Listen,” she started, trying her best to look menacing. “It’s imperative that I speak to someone, so if it cannot be the Doge, then let me speak to one of his associates. I’m here to discuss Signor Luca da Peraga. I believe he has been imprisoned on false charges.”

  “Ah.” The taller soldier ran a finger through his beard. “Signora da Peraga.”

  Behind her, Siena coughed. Cass started to correct the men that she and Luca were not yet married, but thought better of it. “That’s right,” she said smoothly.

  The guards exchanged a look. Now she could tell that they pitied her. “I suppose we can find someone who can better explain to you the charges.” The guard motioned, and the girls followed him inside the Palazzo Ducale. Cass slipped out of her chopines and left them just inside the door. She and Siena were ushered up a staircase covered in gold leaf. Servants passed them on the way down, their chins tucked low, eyes toward the ground. The guard led Cass and Siena across a square vestibule to a large room with four doors.

  The room was supported by black marble columns, with threads of white running through them like veins. The long walls were paneled in dark wood and embossed with gold. Paintings of religious figures adorned the ceiling: images of God and his angels.

  “Wait here,” the guard instructed her, and then retreated back the way he had come.

  Cass wondered where the other three doors led. Was Luca somewhere nearby? Would he hear her if she called out to him? She went to each door in turn, pressing her ear to the wood. She couldn’t hear anything. Did she dare open the door a crack? She tried the first one. Locked. She tried the others. Also locked.