Venom

by Fiona Paul

  “Well, you know how my aunt feels about parties,” Cass said, averting her eyes so that Mada wouldn’t be able to read the lie there.

  “Frivolous!” Mada declared, and Cass couldn’t help bursting into laughter. Even Siena chimed in.

  “I was referring to Father’s friend Cristian,” Mada said when she had recomposed herself. “You met him at my palazzo, remember?” Mada squeezed in next to Cass so that she could see her own reflection. She adjusted the strand of lilac pearls hanging tight around her throat and then pinched one of her dark braids between the thumb and forefinger of her gloved hand. “Do you think I should lighten my hair for the ceremony?”

  Cass shook her head. “I think your hair is perfect just as it is. Besides, all the girls have taken to lightening their hair. You’ll stand out more if you keep it dark.”

  Mada smiled at herself in the mirror, evidently pleased at the idea of standing out. Turning to face Cass, Mada ran her hands over the pinned fabric. She adjusted the draping neckline so that the top half of Cass’s breasts peeked out. “Luca is going to faint when he sees you in this dress. Poor thing will spend the entire ceremony and reception counting the minutes until Siena strips you out of it for him.”

  Cass flinched as the bell above the shop door jangled, announcing the arrival of another patron. Balmy street air rushed into the fitting area as a masculine voice called out, “Bongiorno. Anyone here?” It was Marco, Mada’s fiancé.

  “We’re in here,” Madalena called. “You can come in. She’s decent.”

  Cass touched a hand to her face. Her skin felt warm. Suddenly, the pinned fabric felt heavy and confining. She didn’t want anyone else to see her like this.

  Too late.

  Marco slipped into the fitting room and whistled long and low as he let the door close behind him. “Signorina Cassandra, you look stunning,” he said, shaking his wavy brown hair back from his face. “I swear if I weren’t already betrothed, I might ask for your hand right this second.”

  Madalena gave him a dark look, and he pretended to see her for the first time. “Only joking, my goddess,” he said, moving to stand behind her. He swept her dark braids to one side and pressed his lips to her exposed neck.

  Signor Sesti coughed as he returned from the back room, and Marco pulled his mouth away from Mada’s skin.

  “Mi dispiace, Signore.” Marco straightened the golden medallion that hung around his neck. He gestured to his wife-to-be. “But can you blame me?”

  “Marco.” Madalena swatted at him, pretending to be angry. But it was as though his presence had made a flame come to life inside of her; she was glowing, radiating happiness and desire.

  For the first time, Cass understood what it was like to burn in such a manner. But all of her burning was for Falco, the boy she’d never be allowed to marry, not for Luca, her fiancé. Cass closed her eyes momentarily, remembering the surge of emotion that had coursed through her when Falco had first touched his lips to hers. She remembered the way her body had trembled, the way she felt as if she were emerging from a cold, dark tunnel into the light of day for the first time. Luca would never make her feel that way. Ever.

  Why did life have to be so unfair?

  Madalena and Marco left the shop to meet Cristian, who was joining them for the evening meal. Signor Sesti unpinned and unwound the fabric from Cass’s body, jotting down some rough notes on a piece of parchment as he worked. Siena sat quietly on the bench at the back of the fitting area, watching the tailor as he transformed Cass from a princess back into a normal girl. Cass tried to engage her several times in conversation, but Siena just sat, nodding mutely.

  “Are you all right, Siena?” Cass asked, her own spirits rising as the yards of glamorous fabric disappeared. “You’re even quieter than usual.”

  “I was just wondering if I will be accompanying you to Signor da Peraga’s estate, or if I will remain with your aunt.” Siena began to help Cass get dressed once the tailor had finished removing his pins.

  No wonder the girl looked as though she’d swallowed a frog. She was afraid she’d be left behind to molder at Agnese’s estate.

  “Of course you’ll come with me,” Cass said. “I’m sure Luca would be delighted to have you as part of the staff.” Cass watched in the mirror as her lady’s maid expertly threaded and tightened the laces of her bodice. “And we both know I’d be lost without you.”

  “But perhaps Signor da Peraga has a different lady’s maid in mind for you?” Siena’s pale reflection blushed scarlet. She nibbled at the edge of a fingernail.

  Cass wondered what had put such thoughts in the girl’s head. “Nonsense. You’ll be joining me at Luca’s and that’s final.” Even as she said it, she felt a twinge of anxiety. Was she really going to marry Luca? And was she now responsible for Siena’s future as well as her own?

  Later that night, as Cass prepared to meet up with Falco, images assailed her: Falco crashing into her on the day of Liviana’s funeral. How he had helped her steer the gondola the first night they had traversed the lagoon together. Tommaso’s studio, Falco’s eyes drinking in every inch of her body, his hands gentle as he arranged her on the divan. And the kiss. The kiss. Her lips pulsed at the memory.

  Madalena was marrying Marco, the man of her dreams, while Cass was denied love, prohibited from finding and pursuing it. If she didn’t marry Luca, not only would she disappoint her aunt, but she might very well end up homeless and impoverished. What would Matteo think? Cass hated it that her choices had all been stolen away from her by a boy she’d never even met.

  Cass knelt before the gilded crucifix hanging in her prayer alcove. She folded her hands and prayed to St. Anthony of Padua. Her mother used to pray to him when she had lost things. Cass was feeling a little lost herself.

  Slipper appeared from the darkness of the armoire and rubbed up against her. Cass managed to smile. She held the cat against her chest, feeling the vibration of his purring against her skin.

  Falco’s words whispered in her ear. Stop worrying about the rest of the world. Do what feels right. Let go.

  Cass stood up and blotted her face, which was wet, on her sleeve. She looked at the clock on her bedroom wall. It was time to meet Falco at Il Mar e la Spada. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, wanting to look absolutely radiant for their meeting, wanting to feel Falco’s lips on hers one last time.

  Her future might have already been decided, but she was still in control of her present.

  “To strangle a person by hand

  requires both superior strength and great determination. The thick cartilage

  of the throat must be completely

  constricted until suffocation occurs.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  sixteen

  Cass moved quickly through the night, guided by the wavering light of her lantern and the certainty that she was doing the right thing. She couldn’t believe how at ease she’d become with sneaking around in the dark. She slipped out of the villa, fleeing across the mossy lawn until she reached the path that ran along the shoreline. Sharp stones pressed through the soles of her flat shoes, making her wince. Cass sensed someone following her and whirled around just in time to watch the shadowy form of an emaciated black cat launch itself into a patch of high grass.

  Cass held up her lantern as she approached the village. The tight cluster of buildings looked almost deserted, dark except for a faint glow coming from the taverna. Cass’s heart propelled her forward. She knew that if she could lay eyes on Falco, everything wrong in her heart would fix itself. Falco didn’t believe in fate, but Cass did. She felt as if the forces of the universe were guiding her safely through the night to the man who held all of the answers.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door to the taverna, not knowing what she’d do if Falco wasn’t there.

  The place was warm and dark, reeking of sweat and sour ale. Despite the late hour, the taverna was crowded, and every man seemed to look up as the door swung shut be
hind her. A rumble of startled disbelief went through the crowd—the taverna was not a place for a woman, especially so late at night. Cass hoped the dim lamplight prevented her from being recognized by any of the villagers.

  But then her heart leapt in her chest. He was here, just as he had promised he would be.

  Falco sat with three other boys at a table on the far side of the bar. He hadn’t yet looked up. Cass couldn’t stop herself from breaking into a beaming smile. Just the curl of his dark brown hair against the worn collar of his shirt made her heart thud. Falco’s roommate, Paolo, glanced at her with a knowing smirk. He leaned in to whisper something to Falco.

  Falco looked up. His whole body seemed to relax when he saw Cass. Bounding off his chair, he weaved his way through the crowded taverna to where she stood just inside the door. “My lovely starling,” he said. He cast a glance back at his friends. “Maybe we should talk outside.”

  Cass and Falco stepped out into the cool night. As the taverna door creaked shut, Falco immediately pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. Cass rested her chin on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of paint and soap.

  There were so many things she wanted to ask him: had he missed her, as she had missed him? Had he been thinking about her? Had he been thinking of their kiss? Her lips were just inches from the skin of his neck.

  Instead, she moved back, just slightly, so she could look Falco in the eye, and said, “Did you discover anything today?”

  “Nothing about de Gradi,” Falco said. “I did find an artisan who believes he made the falcon mask, but he said the purchaser didn’t leave a name or address. The man insisted on picking up the item himself since he lived just across the canal.”

  “Where is the shop?” she asked.

  “South of San Giovanni,” Falco said. “There is a string of palazzos just across the water. Perhaps we can go there?”

  They weren’t likely to stumble across the masked man just out wandering the streets of the city, and Cass wasn’t even sure she would recognize him; she had seen nothing but the hardness of his eyes. All she’d had was a feeling about him—that something was off, dangerous. She remembered how he’d spoken of the beauty of war.

  But it meant a long gondola ride with Falco, and with the threat of her wedding looming closer and closer, she was willing to go just about anywhere with him.

  Before she could agree, the door to the taverna creaked and Falco moved away from her. She whirled around.

  Paolo’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement. “Signorina. It appears we have a mutual friend,” he said. “You should join us.”

  “This isn’t really the place for a lady,” Falco said. His voice was light, but contained a bit of an edge.

  “Something tells me you can protect her, Falco.” Paolo held open the door of the taverna. “I insist. What harm can one drink do?”

  Falco arched an eyebrow at his roommate. “Fine. One drink. Then Signorina Cassandra and I have some plans of our own.”

  “I can only imagine.” The tall boy’s eyes glittered like black glass. “I take it I shouldn’t expect you home tonight then.”

  Heat surged through Cass’s cheeks. She prayed that no one could see her blushing in the dim light. She followed Falco and Paolo back into the dim taverna, and over to a table where two other boys sat swilling some sort of alcohol out of tarnished pewter mugs. Paolo pulled a chair over and situated it next to Falco, who glanced over at her with an apologetic expression as she settled awkwardly into her seat.

  “So this is what’s been taking up so much of your time.” Paolo held up his lantern so he could see Cass better. “A bit skinny, but otherwise not bad. How do you afford her?”

  The other boys laughed. Cass stared down at the tabletop, her cheeks burning again. She concentrated on the seams in the knotty wood.

  Falco folded his hand around hers, lacing their fingers together. “This is Signorina Cassandra. Cass, you’ve met Paolo. And this is Nicolas and Etienne.” He gestured to the other men, and then turned back to his roommate. “Cass is a friend of mine, so it might be best to keep your attempts at humor to yourself.”

  “A friend, huh?” Paolo’s eyes narrowed. “Well, there’s no accounting for her taste. How did you two meet?”

  Cass half listened as Falco spun a tale about doing her portrait as a present for her aunt. All she could focus on was the feel of his hand on hers. His fingertips, pressing tiny indents in her flesh. Cass heard a roaring in her head, felt a rushing, as if all of her body’s blood was making its way into that hand.

  The conversation flowed quickly between the boys—they obviously knew one another well, and chattered easily back and forth. Falco had finished his story and they were now discussing an essay, something Paolo had read and then passed on to the rest of the group.

  “Paolo is the learned one of us,” Falco explained. “His master is a scholar as well as a painter, so he is always getting his hands on literature from abroad.” He winked at Cass. “He is not nearly so dumb as his jokes—and his looks—would suggest.”

  “True,” Paolo said good-naturedly. “And I find I gravitate to the French.” He drained his mug and signaled the barkeep for a refill. “Last week I was reading an essay by Michel de Montaigne.”

  “Not more of this.” Nicolas, a stocky blond with the beginnings of a beard, rolled his eyes. “Why do you two always feel the need to impress the ladies with your knowledge of all things dull?” He turned to Etienne and began to discuss his favorite card games and the best places to go gambling.

  The barkeep grabbed Paolo’s empty glass and slammed down a mug of a sour-smelling liquid with a thin coating of foam on the top. Cass assumed it was ale. He raised his eyebrows at Cass. “Anything for you?” he asked with a grunt.

  Cass started to refuse but Falco cut in. “She’ll have the same as the rest of us.” He produced a coin from his purse and handed it to the barkeep.

  Paolo waited for Cass to get her drink before continuing. “De Montaigne. He described marriage as much like a cage full of birds, where the unmarried struggle to get in and the married struggle to get out. Do you agree, Signorina?”

  Cass struggled to swallow a mouthful of the sour ale, then set her goblet down on the warped tabletop and met Paolo’s challenging gaze. “As you know, there is no conversation more boring than one in which everybody agrees,” she said, firing back some of de Montaigne’s exact words. “Personally I have no desire to force my way into the cage of marriage.” Cass took another long drink of ale. It tasted better the second time.

  Paolo’s dark eyes widened. “The lady also reads de Montaigne. Impressive.”

  Falco squeezed her hand. She cast a glance sideways to see that he was looking at her with a mix of surprise and admiration. She wondered what Agnese would do if she found out Cass was using her tutoring to impress boys at the local taverna. The thought made her laugh out loud. “Well, was it not de Montaigne himself who said, ‘There is no desire more natural than the desire for knowledge’?” Cass drained her goblet and smiled triumphantly.

  Paolo broke into a grin—the first time Cass had seen him smile. “Learned and lovely,” he said. “I see now why you’ve been spending time with her, Falco. Just because she cannot be your bride doesn’t mean she cannot be your muse.”

  Cass’s good mood faded instantly. Even in the dingy taverna, the reality was obvious to everyone. She and Falco could never be together.

  “Let’s get out of here, my lovely muse,” Falco said, as if sensing that Paolo’s words had upset her. He pulled her chair back for her, and she stood and adjusted her skirts. Cass bid the other artists good night and let Falco lead her to the door.

  “Falco.” Paolo’s sharp voice cut through the hazy darkness.

  Falco turned around. “Yes?”

  “I trust she knows little of your line of work?”

  Cass felt Falco’s body tense up momentarily, and then relax. “We’ve spoken briefly about the work I do for Tommaso, if that’s what
you mean.”

  Paolo stared at Falco without speaking. Nicolas and Etienne looked up as well. Cass could have sworn they were having an entire conversation without words.

  “Let’s go.” Falco broke the spell by turning away. He pulled Cass through the door and out into the night.

  “What was that about?” she asked, shivering in the damp air.

  Falco put an arm around her and pulled her close. “Who knows,” he said. “Paolo feels the need to make himself a pain to everybody. I just let him pretend he’s in charge.” Falco led Cass behind the bakery where a small batèla was tied. “Are you ready for our next adventure?” he asked, untying the ropes of the wooden rowboat as though he stole boats every night of his life. “Skulking about the outskirts of a few wealthy palazzos should be child’s play compared with some of the work we’ve done.”

  Cass tried to smile but found she couldn’t. Paolo’s words kept running through her mind…She cannot be your bride…she cannot be your bride…

  She let Falco help her into the small rowboat and went through the motions of adjusting her skirts and settling herself against the side of the batèla as if she were sleepwalking. Falco pushed the boat away from the dock as he hopped over the side. He manned a set of warped wooden oars, their hinges crusted over with dirt and rust.

  She cannot be your bride. The words cut her like a scalpel. She looked up, unable to meet Falco’s eyes. A handful of stars glimmered through the haze. “What are we doing?” Cass asked. Her voice sounded broken, like a stranger was speaking through her.

  The oars made a groaning sound with each stroke, so Falco had to pause to answer her. “We’re going to the Rialto. I thought that’s what we agreed.”

  Cass looked at him. Of course they were going to the Rialto. Was he being evasive on purpose? “Not now. I mean us. What are we doing?”