by Paul, Fiona
Signora Alioni nodded in return. “She’s a fine worker, though I fear she may distract some of the boys.” She smiled and arched an eyebrow.
Marco barreled on. “Yes, Signore, but even if Luca confesses, there is no guarantee that he’ll ever go free.”
Madalena cleared her throat loudly and shot a meaningful glance at her new husband. “I received a message from Prudentia today,” she said.
“Who?” Cass asked.
“I don’t believe you’ve met her. She’s married to Marco’s cousin.”
“Right,” Marco said. He finally seemed to have understood that Cass could not bear to sit through any more discussion of Luca’s fate. “Teodor’s wife. They were planning to spend some of the summer in France, were they not?”
France. Luca had studied in France. Cass had to stop thinking of Luca or she would go mad. She forced herself to concentrate on Madalena’s face. “Is that right?” she mustered. “I’ve heard France is lovely.”
“Yes. She and her husband have been exploring Paris.” Mada smiled. “Her letter goes on and on about the Notre Dame cathedral. Apparently it has the most breathtaking stained-glass windows.”
“Notre Dame,” Marco mused. “Have you seen it, Signore?” He turned to Madalena’s father.
“I have, indeed,” Signor Rambaldo said. “A stunning piece of architecture. Though to be fair, Venice has her share of beautiful structures as well.”
“Is it true,” Marco went on, “that there are catacombs beneath Notre Dame’s courtyard? Ruins of the original settlement built by the Celts?”
“I have heard that. Crumbling walls, broken swords, perhaps some ghosts trolling the place looking for their bones.” Signor Rambaldo rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
Madalena flung down her fork. “Both of you ought to be ashamed,” she cried out. “I’ve been trying to distract Cass from morbid thoughts, and you two turn a lovely conversation about Paris into a ghost story.”
“It’s all right, Mada,” Cass said. Her heart was going fast in her chest. The story had reminded her of something Belladonna had said at tea, the day she and Cass first met. Bella had spoken of Venice being rife with eerie specters that snuck in with the tides and stayed to haunt the city’s dank lower levels.
At the time, Cass had been surprised at how superstitious Belladonna had seemed. Now, however, she knew it was all an act, and a different aspect of the story struck her: the part about sneaking in.
Perhaps there was a way to save Luca. Could Cass sneak into the Doge’s dungeons like the ghosts and the tides? It was highly unlikely. Even if she could gain entry, she didn’t know if she’d be able to find Luca. And if she found him, she didn’t know if she’d be able to free him.
All she knew was that if she did nothing, he’d be executed in just over a week.
As a child, Cass had taken Liviana to play near the canals, and the contessa had accidentally fallen into the fetid water. Even though it was years later that Livi became ill, Cass had always partially blamed herself for Liviana’s death.
And when Cass’s parents had gone off on a research trip, Cass had written them letter after letter, begging them to return home early so that she might spend Christmas with them. They had attempted to make the journey back during a rough, stormy December, and had died somewhere along the way. Cass didn’t know if it had been her fault, if they might have survived had they stayed away until spring, but she blamed herself anyway.
Luca had returned to Venice to protect Cass from his half brother Cristian. If he died, it would be partially because of her. Cass’s conscience was heavy with the blood of others. She would not add to that burden. She would save Luca, or die trying.
“Blood left to cool will separate into layers of black, red, yellow, and clear. We believe each of the humors can be extracted from these layers.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty-five
Cass left for Venice the following morning. Madalena, Marco, and Signor Rambaldo were staying in Florence, as was Feliciana, at least for the time being.
“I need to make a stop before we head to the coast,” Cass said. She and Siena were sharing a carriage back to Mestre, where they would then board a ship to take them home. As much as Cass had no desire to ever see Piero or Belladonna’s villa again, she couldn’t leave Florence without saying good-bye to Falco. She hadn’t seen him since their fight and didn’t want him to think he was the reason she’d left Villa Briani and returned to Venice.
He wanted to see her too. An urgent message had arrived late the previous night. The folded parchment was tucked inside of Cass’s trunk, but she recalled the words exactly: I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me. I must see you so that I can explain. I will come to Palazzo Alioni tomorrow evening. If you do not receive me, I will accept the fact that you never wish to see me again. Typical Falco—get angry first and then think later.
Still, Cass understood why he’d said what he did. She knew what it was like to speak out of turn when emotions ran high. And it had been unfair to ask for his help in freeing Luca. She knew that now, and she didn’t want Falco to think she hated him. But Cass would have to hurry back to Venice to make it before Luca’s execution. She couldn’t wait for Falco to come to Palazzo Alioni that night.
“Of course,” Siena said. She was busy twisting and untwisting the belt of her dress, no doubt worrying about Luca’s execution.
Cass’s own fingers were busy rolling and unrolling a piece of parchment. She had scrawled Falco a quick response note. Nothing romantic. Just good-bye and good luck and a reassurance that she didn’t hate him. If he were absent or unavailable—and part of her hoped that he would be—she would just leave the message with the butler and hope that he delivered it.
She shivered a little. Signor Mafei had seemed so charming when she and Madalena had first met Belladonna for tea. But he had been there at the church, dressed in black, pouring blood just like Piero. Anyone who belonged to the Order of the Eternal Rose was sick and depraved. Evil.
Cass’s heart splintered in her chest as she realized the gravity of her words. There could be no more excuses. Her parents had been evil too.
The carriage turned onto the dirt road leading to Belladonna’s villa. Siena yelped as one of the wheels hit a rock. Cass glanced up and realized they were at the edge of town.
“Where are we going?” Siena frowned slightly, as if she knew the answer but couldn’t quite believe it.
“Villa Briani.” Cass lifted her chin toward Siena’s disapproving gaze. “Just for a moment.”
Siena shook her head but didn’t say anything. She turned her attention back to her lap and sat silently until the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Belladonna’s villa. Cass wondered what Siena was really thinking. Cass had pulled her handmaid to the side late the previous night after everyone had fallen asleep. She had told her there might be a way to help Luca escape from prison. At first, Siena had looked at Cass as if the wound on her arm had traveled all the way to her brain.
But slowly, Cass had explained the possibilities. They could contrive their way into one of Palazzo Ducale’s many servants’ entrances and hide away until nightfall. Then they could find their way into the Doge’s prison. True, once they were there, they would have to overpower the guard to steal his keys. Cass was still working on that part of the plan.
“I’ll go with you,” Siena had said without hesitation, her blue eyes as serious as Cass had ever seen them.
Cass didn’t know if Siena believed they could really free Luca from the Doge’s prison or if her handmaid loved him enough to volunteer for a mission that might get her killed, but the offer of help had made the idea seem real. It was foolish and crazy, but if there was the slimmest of chances that Cass could actually save Luca, she had to try.
But first, she had to deal with Falco.
One last good-bye.
Cass took the driver’s hand and stepped down from the carriage compartment.
She felt a tremor of nervousness move through her as she made her way along the path that led to the arched front door. She could barely bring herself to knock. What if Piero answered? What if Belladonna answered, naked and covered in blood?
Idiota. Signor Mafei would answer, of course. It was only proper. And when she wasn’t posing for nude paintings or bathing in blood, Belladonna did seem fond of being proper. Cass reached out and rapped bravely on the wooden door.
Sure enough, moments later Signor Mafei’s green eyes studied her curiously. “Are you here to see Dottor Basso?” he asked. He looked down at Cass’s bandaged arm, just the end of which peeped out from her cloak.
“Actually, I—I have a message for Signor da Padova,” Cass said, hating herself for feeling self-conscious. She knew how it sounded, as if she and Falco had been lovers. But really, how was it that she felt compelled to stammer and blush about a few stolen kisses, whereas Signor Mafei could stand over her so smugly, having drugged and seduced women to steal their blood?
“I believe he’s working down in the garden,” Signor Mafei said. “If you want to wait here, I can see if he’s available.”
“That’s all right,” Cass said quickly. Suddenly, she was in a hurry to escape Signor Mafei’s mesmerizing stare. “I’ll just go say hello. I remember the way.”
“But Signorina—”
Cass ignored the protest. She swept her way up the stairs and through the portego and dining area, barely glancing at the painted likenesses of Belladonna. What was it Falco had called her? Hard? Unnatural?
Cass had just started to descend the back steps into the lush garden when she saw them. Belladonna lay back on a divan, her milky, perfect skin completely exposed except for a twist of dark curls draped over her breasts and a string of strategically placed roses covering the area between her thighs. Falco sat on a stool, sketching on a large piece of parchment. Cass squinted. Bella’s curvy form was coming alive through Falco’s strong lines.
Belladonna said something and laughed, tossing her curls over one shoulder and exposing her breasts. Setting down his charcoal, Falco stepped over to the divan to adjust her hair. His hand seemed to linger on her bare skin for a moment. Cass told herself she was imagining it, but then Belladonna reached out and twined Falco’s fingers in her own. She looked up at him passionately, and he did not pull away. He bent toward her, free hand delicately adjusting one of the rosebuds perched along the curve of her perfect legs. Cass thought for certain they were going to kiss.
Or worse.
Falco’s hand reached for another bloom.
Cass backed her way up the stairs, tucking the letter she had written deep inside the pocket of her cloak. Belladonna ran a hand through Falco’s hair and Cass stumbled, landing on the top step with a thud. Scrambling to her feet, she clawed at the door handle, desperate to be back inside the villa, away from the garden, away from what she had seen.
Too late. Falco whirled around. “Cass,” he said. Pulling free from Belladonna, he galloped across the grass toward the stairs.
Cass finally got the handle to work. She ran inside, slamming the door behind her. Lifting her skirts with both hands, she raced through the dining area to the portego. A servant girl who was dusting the canvases turned to look at her curiously.
Cass heard the sound of the back door opening and closing again. Ignoring the servant’s perplexed look, she ran back down the main stairs to the foyer.
“Cass!”
She flung open the heavy door, relieved to see the horse and carriage just where it had been.
She vaulted her body back into the compartment without even waiting for the driver to assist her. “That was quick,” Siena said.
“He was busy,” Cass said. She turned to the driver. “Go. Now. Please.”
The driver snapped the reins, and the horse whinnied and surged forward. Within seconds the carriage was headed down the dirt drive. Cass didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She knew what she would find. Falco watching her leave.
The carriage turned onto the main road. “Is everything all right?” Siena asked.
“Yes,” Cass said quickly, willing the carriage to go faster as it headed north toward the Apennines.
“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Siena furrowed her brow.
“Don’t be silly,” Cass said. She could hardly breathe.
Falco and Belladonna. She didn’t want to believe it, but it had been right there in front of her face. The way Falco’s hand had grazed Belladonna’s breast as he adjusted her hair. The way Belladonna had gripped his fingers in her own deformed hand. The look that had passed between them.
That look.
Could Cass have imagined it?
She hadn’t seen Falco’s face, but Belladonna’s had been unmistakable. Triumph. Hunger. A desire to claim what she felt was rightfully her own.
And Falco hadn’t pulled away.
Not until he realized Cass was there. The nerve of him to run after her. Just days earlier he had said her jealousy was unfounded, that Belladonna was “hard” and “unreal” to him. Cass swore under her breath. She had been right all along.
Siena gave her another strange look.
“I’m just worried about Luca.” Cass closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall of the carriage compartment.
The journey home mirrored the trip to Florence, only the mood was infinitely more somber. Cass was a ghost, a shell, going through the motions. She passed the time staring out the carriage window, praying that the weather would hold, that the roads wouldn’t flood, that the wheels wouldn’t break. Her brain registered the beauty of the forests, the mountains, and the crystal-blue lake, but her heart ached when she thought of Falco, and her mind spun obsessively around the problem of freeing Luca.
After loading all of their supplies onto the ship that would take them back to the Rialto, Cass stood at the edge of the deck with Siena, watching as the boat floated away from the shore. The sky was blue and clear. Grazie a Dio. If the fair weather held, they would arrive home just two days before Luca’s execution. Cass would need every moment of time she had left to come up with a plan. The farther the mainland receded into the distance, the more Florence felt like a dream. Soon they would be back in Venice, back on San Domenico, where things would return to the way they should be.
Only they wouldn’t.
A grizzled older man introduced himself as the ship’s medic and offered to take a look at Cass’s arm. Her wounds had not been cleaned or rewrapped in days, but the pain in her arm had all but faded. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see how things were progressing, just to be safe. The medic ripped off her bandages with his callused fingers. Cass squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, steeling herself for what she might see.
“You’re healing nicely,” he said.
She opened her eyes. The bruises on her forearm had faded to a yellowish brown. The torn flesh over her biceps had grown together, but her whole arm was ghost-pale and smelled sour. Cass wrinkled her nose.
The medic laughed. “Nothing a scrub or some sea air won’t cure.”
Later, after everyone else was asleep, Cass made her way to the top deck of the ship. The wind twisted the tail of her cloak as she stared out across the Adriatic Sea. Cass knew the boat’s captain stood just on the other side of the snapping sails, but for the moment she felt completely alone. In a few hours, the sun would rise and they’d dock in the quay behind the Palazzo Ducale. From there, Cass and Siena would catch a ride out to San Domenico Island.
And then what? Time was slipping through her fingers. Cass felt confident she could gain admittance to the Palazzo Ducale. But what match were two girls for an armed dungeon guard?
The boat pitched, and she grabbed on to one of the ropes to steady herself. The rough fiber bit into her skin. Above her head, a torn sail slashed out at the wind. Cass watched the flapping fabric stab the sky repeatedly.
Two girls would be no match at all for an armed guard.
Unless they
were armed too.
“Our research shows that rapidly spinning a vial of blood will produce purer humors.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty-six
Weapons?” Siena asked incredulously. “You mean to hurt someone?”
They were finally home: in Agnese’s villa, using the storage room that had previously housed Feliciana as a private place to talk. Cass hadn’t been able to sleep or eat since she’d gotten off the ship at daybreak. She couldn’t think about anything except Luca. She would do anything to save him. Surely Siena understood. Cass looked up at her from where she sat crossed-legged on Feliciana’s makeshift bed. “Not if we don’t have to. Just in case.” Luca’s hourglass was running low. Only two days until his scheduled execution, at noon, in the Piazza San Marco.
Siena paced back and forth in front of her. “Could you really do it? Stab a man?” She stared at the paring knife Cass was holding, as though it were a serpent that might lunge from Cass’s fingers and bite her.
No.
“Yes,” Cass said.
Maybe.
She thought of Cristian. “If my life was in danger,” she amended. She tucked a tendril of hair behind her left ear, enjoying the feel of being able to bend her arm without pain. “What if something goes wrong, Siena? Are you ready to spend the rest of your life as a prisoner in the Doge’s dungeons?” Cass knew she would rather die than suffer that horrible fate.
Siena didn’t answer. “You should return that to the kitchen. Cook will flay the whole staff alive if even a single knife goes missing.”
Cass shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking of stealing. A kitchen knife isn’t ideal anyway. We could buy proper daggers at the market, or a blacksmith’s shop.”
Siena rubbed her forehead, as if she still couldn’t believe they were even discussing it. But she asked, “And what else?”