Venom

by Fiona Paul

  The cat flexed one paw in response, his tiny needlelike claws catching in the fabric of Cass’s dress. She petted him while she looked up at the library’s elaborately painted ceiling. A local artist had done a mural of a traditional vision of heaven. Flocks of winged angels played in ponds and flower gardens while a bearded God looked directly down on Cass.

  “Signorina Cass.” Narissa poked her head into the library. “You have a gentleman caller. I told him you were reading, but he was quite adamant.”

  Cass’s throat went dry. Falco. She shook her head. Her hands unconsciously tightened around Slipper, and the cat wriggled in her grasp. “Tell him I’m ill,” she croaked out.

  Narissa left the library, and a few minutes later Cass heard muffled voices coming from the front of the villa.

  She couldn’t make out what Narissa was saying, but she did hear that the voices were getting louder, as if Falco were arguing with her.

  Cass leapt to her feet. Slipper squirmed out of her arms and landed hard on the floor. Terror and rage pulled at Cass, freezing her to her spot. She couldn’t decide whether to hide away or launch herself at Falco and drag him forcefully from the villa. Clearly he was depraved, but was he violent? Were she and Narissa in danger?

  Cass’s anger won out, and she stalked from the library down the hallway to the portego. She couldn’t believe Falco’s nerve. He had no right to raise his voice to Narissa. He had no right to be there, to be anywhere, to show his face in public ever again. Not after what Cass had seen. How had he even contrived admittance to the villa? Probably he was dressed up in some stupid costume again. Cass remembered his poorly fitting aristocrat’s clothing from the night of the masked ball. He had never told Cass where he got the outfit, but now she knew. The same way he got Liviana’s necklace, by stripping it from a rotting corpse. Her stomach churned. Once again she saw Falco cradling that dead body against his chest.

  She turned the corner, ready to yank Falco outside and tell him to leave and never come back. But when she hit the threshold to the portego, she froze. The man arguing with Narissa wasn’t Falco.

  “Hello, Cassandra,” the man said. His brown eyes lit up and he smiled.

  “Luca,” Cass gasped.

  “A leech left to batten too

  long on the flesh of a diseased

  person may gorge itself so fully

  on unwholesome blood that it

  bursts open, spilling poisons into

  the air and sickening others.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  twenty-five

  I admit I was hoping for a slightly warmer greeting,” Luca said, still smiling. He held something wrapped in paper out toward her. “These are for you.”

  A bouquet of lilies. Cass accepted the pale pink flowers, still unable to make any words come out of her mouth. She blinked rapidly, as if her fiancé were a mirage that might disappear.

  It had been only three years since she had seen him, but her Luca had grown at least six inches in that time. His shoulders had broadened to the point where his ivory brocade doublet fit tightly across his chest. His legs were long and muscular beneath his trunk hose and breeches. Even his hands looked huge compared with the wiry bookish boy she remembered. Just a hint of sandy-colored hair peeked out from beneath his black velvet hat.

  Narissa stepped between Cass and Luca. “Like I told you, Signore, Signorina Cassandra isn’t feeling well and really shouldn’t be disturbed.”

  Luca didn’t respond immediately. He just kept looking at Cass. She felt herself blushing and had no idea why. So he had outgrown his awkward stage. He was still the same old Luca. Wasn’t he?

  “It’s all right, Narissa.” Cass placed a hand on Narissa’s shoulder. “This is Signor da Peraga, my fiancé.” She managed to say the word without grimacing.

  “Your—” Narissa backed away immediately. She dipped into a shallow curtsy. “Oh! I beg your pardon, Signore. I didn’t recognize—” She grabbed the cloak out of Luca’s outstretched hands.

  “It’s fine, Narissa,” Cass said. “Signor da Peraga will watch over me for a bit if you’d like to take a break. If my aunt is awake, I’m sure she would like to be informed of his arrival.” She touched the older woman’s shoulder as Narissa turned to leave. “Would you mind putting these in some water?”

  “I’ll take care of them, Signorina.” Narissa disappeared with Luca’s cloak and the lilies. Cass led him back to the library. Slipper was stretched out across the chair by the fire.

  “Thank you for the flowers.” Cass picked up the cat and reclaimed her spot. There was no way she was going to sit with Luca at her study table. She imagined their legs bumping beneath the carved tabletop, their hands just inches apart.

  Luca raised an eyebrow at Slipper. “You’re welcome.” He stood awkwardly beside Cass for a moment before pulling one of the chairs over next to her. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his dark blond hair. “The maid said you were ill. You do look a bit feverish.” He pressed one of his hands against her cheek. His skin smelled faintly of pine and citrus. “Perhaps we should call a physician.”

  Cass fought the urge to shy away from his touch. It was surprisingly gentle. His hair looked so thick and soft. It had always been uncontrollably curly when he was younger, but now he wore it short and straight. She fiddled with one of Slipper’s velvety ears. “Really, I’m fine,” she said. “I just haven’t been sleeping so well.”

  “I should think not, with your friend’s death and now a murderer on the loose. I’m sorry for your loss.” Luca rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Thank you,” Cass said. Luca had known Liviana only in passing. One of his friends in Venice must have mentioned the contessa’s death. “Why didn’t you say that you were coming?” She was trying not to stare at him, but she couldn’t help it. The angle of his cheekbones reminded her of one of the Greek statues from Dubois’s salon. His skin was sculpture-worthy as well, creamy and alabaster pale, just the hint of a blond beard showing on his cheeks and chin. Almost nothing about him reminded her of the petulant boy who had demanded a kiss from her three years ago.

  Luca gave Cass a funny look. He plucked a series of invisible cat hairs from his black velvet breeches. “I’m sure I mentioned it in at least two letters. Did you not receive them?”

  Cass reddened again. Her tongue felt knotted in her mouth. “I must have lost track of time.” Santo cielo. He was going to think she’d become a babbling idiot.

  Luca’s smile wavered for a moment. He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “No matter. I’m here now. Just in time to protect you.”

  Cass gestured toward Slipper, who had gone back to sleep on her lap. “Well, as you can see, I’m in grave danger of being mauled, right here in my aunt’s library.” She regretted the wry tone immediately. It was the kind of thing she would have said to Falco. Luca would probably take offense at her joke.

  But he laughed. “He does look rather fierce,” he said. Luca picked up the leather-bound volume Cass had been reading. “Shakespeare,” he said, twirling the book in his hand. “Quite a tale. Pity how they both die at the end.”

  “Luca!” Cass gasped. Slipper jumped down from her lap and padded over to the fireplace. “I had only just completed the first quarto. I was looking for the second volume when you arrived.”

  Luca looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. A classmate was talking about it at university. You can still read it, Cassandra. It’s a fine story, if you like that sort of thing. As I recall, you used to be more into swordfights and sorcerers.”

  Cass was about to respond when Agnese glided into the library, dressed in a pearl gray dressing gown cinched at the waist with a wide white belt. “Do I hear arguing already? Save it for your marriage, children.” Her eyes brightened and her mouth curled upward as if Luca were a roasted bear on a platter, smelling of cloves and cinnamon. “Narissa told me you’d arrived,” Agnese continued. “I apologize for my state of disarray, dear. I retired earl
y this evening.”

  “Signora Querini. You are every bit as lovely as I remember,” Luca said, his cheeks reddening slightly as he bowed toward Agnese.

  The old woman crowed with delight. “I daresay you are three or four times as lovely as I remember. Whatever herbs and potions you’re taking over there in France, can you spare some for an old lady?”

  Luca laughed. “No potions, Signora,” he said. “Just growing up.”

  “Aunt Agnese,” Cass said quickly, a little embarrassed by her aunt’s comments to her fiancé. “Should we fetch some tea? Maybe have Cook fix a plate of tartine?”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” Luca said. “It’s been a long journey and I just wanted to pay you a visit before I settle in at my parents’ palazzo. I’m in desperate need of a restful night’s sleep.”

  “How is your mother?” Agnese asked.

  Luca swallowed hard. “Not well, I’m afraid. She’s been staying at our estate on the mainland. The doctors say it’s best for her to avoid the stress of the city.”

  “Well, we can’t send you home to an empty house. How dreary! I insist you stay here,” Agnese said. “Besides, it’s been too long since we had a handsome man about the house.”

  Cass almost laughed out loud at her aunt’s flirty tone. What had gotten into the old woman? Then she cringed at the thought of her and Luca under the same roof. She was hoping to avoid him as much as possible until he returned to school in France, where he belonged.

  “Well, if you really don’t mind.” Luca fumbled over his words. “My parents’ place is a bit run-down since I’ve been away for so long.”

  “It’s settled. The servants will get you set up in the spare bedroom between Cassandra and myself.” Agnese tucked an unruly strand of coarse hair back under her nightcap. “Until then, I’ll let you two catch up on your own.”

  Slipper bounded after the old lady, chasing a loose thread that dangled from the bottom of her dressing gown. Cass burst into giggles the moment her aunt left the room. “I daresay,” she began, mimicking Agnese’s voice, “that she was flirting with you.”

  “I’m certain she was just being friendly,” Luca said. But he smiled broadly at Cass.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” Cass asked.

  Luca’s smile vanished. “I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he said. “And your aunt wanted to plan a betrothal ceremony. Didn’t she tell you?”

  Instantly, Cass’s good mood dissipated. A betrothal ceremony? Once she had undergone the official ritual, there would be no going back on her marriage. She would belong to Luca da Peraga. Like his fur-lined cloak or the feather in his hat, Cass would be just one more pretty thing for Luca to call his own. No more studying. No more adventures. She would become, as Falco said, a caged bird, beating its wings against the bars of its prison.

  “No, she didn’t tell me,” Cass said hoarsely, trying to push Falco from her mind. His sparkling eyes. The crooked smile. The tiny jagged scar under his right eye.

  “We can talk about it more tomorrow,” Luca said kindly, perhaps mistaking her dread for nervousness. “I’ll be out running some errands in the morning, but I’ll see you at dinner?”

  Cass nodded. A pair of servants came for Luca with armfuls of bed linens and towels. Cass fled the library in front of them. She didn’t want to watch Luca settle in to the bedroom next to her. She didn’t want to think about what it meant for the two of them, and for her future.

  The next day, Cass sat at her dressing table, staring at herself in the mirror. Wide-set green eyes, slightly puffy. Thick curtain of auburn hair. Full lips, turned down ever so slightly. She couldn’t believe her reflection. She looked almost normal. Where was the evidence that her heart was broken, that things would never be right again?

  She traced her fingers along the carved pattern in the ceramic oil lamp that sat on the corner of the table. Her mother had brought it home from the market one day, certain that Cass would love the etched floral design and vivid colors. She stared at the scarlet petals, red paint trickling outside of the carved lines like blood on bone. A yellow flame flickered from the lamp’s elongated spout. Light. Love. Cass contemplated lashing out with her arm, pushing the lamp from her dressing table, watching it shatter into pieces on the stone floor of her bedroom.

  She should be delighted that Luca was back. She should be dressing in her fanciest dresses and demanding the most elaborate hairdos in order to impress him. Instead, she was avoiding him…which was difficult, since he was staying just on the other side of the wall.

  It wasn’t even proper, a man living on the same floor as the women, but otherwise, he would have to sleep in a tiny chamber on the third floor with the servants, and that would never do. Cass had assumed he would stay only the night and then return to his family palazzo in the city, but her fiancé had suggested that Cass and Agnese needed a man in the house, at least until the murderer was caught. They wouldn’t be safe on their own, especially not at night. Agnese was only too happy to oblige. Cass swore she heard Luca’s boots clunking up and down the hallway several times a day, as if he were a guard patrolling.

  Even Slipper was miserable. The gray and white cat sat in a muff on the windowsill, mewing plaintively. Cass knelt down next to him, her eyes following his gaze through the glass. A pair of starlings chased each other across the side lawn. Slipper’s eyes darted left and right to follow their path. Beyond the birds, the graveyard gate was closed, the chain wrapped loosely through the bars.

  Now that she had seen Falco cradle a dead woman in his arms, she doubted that she’d ever be able to set foot in a graveyard again.

  Cass shuddered as she thought of the workshop, the basins, the lifeless hand dangling from the larger tub. Had Liviana ended up there? She must have. It was the only thing that made sense.

  Folding her knees to her chest, Cass was suddenly grateful her stomach was empty. She forced the image of a young and playful Liviana into her brain. She wouldn’t think of her friend sliced into pieces. That wasn’t how she wanted to remember her.

  Later that day, it was Siena who came to remove her dinner tray. Perhaps Agnese thought a visit from the younger maid might lure Cass out of seclusion. “He’s gone,” Siena said. “Signor da Peraga. He said he won’t be home for several hours, if you want to come out.”

  “I’m not hiding from Luca,” Cass said acidly. She was back at her dressing table, trying again to compose a letter to Falco. The floor next to her was littered with failed attempts.

  Siena raised an eyebrow at the mound of crumpled parchment. “Of course not, Signorina.” She paused just before reaching the door.

  She spoke without turning around. “I beg your pardon, Signorina, but maybe you should count your blessings, instead of focusing on what you have lost.” The softness of her voice couldn’t conceal the fact that her words were a reproach.

  “It’s not your place to comment on my blessings,” Cass said sharply. “It’s not your place to comment on anything at all.”

  Now Siena turned back to her. “Mi dispiace,” she said. She smiled a tight-lipped smile. “I have spoken out of turn.” She curtsied quickly and then left.

  Cass wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She was ashamed of how she had spoken to Siena—the poor girl’s sister was still missing, after all—but she repressed the guilt under a thick layer of anger, stifling and quick, which rose in her like a tide of mud.

  She threw herself on her bed and sobbed—partly from shame, partly from grief, partly from anger. This was it. She would never leave her room again. She would die here, an old maid, her flesh picked apart by spiders.

  For three days, she holed up in her room. Narissa brought her meals, each time offering to dress her, but for the most part Cass refused both clothing and food.

  On the fourth day after Luca’s arrival, instead of Narissa’s gentle knock, Cass’s bedroom door was flung wide open without warning. Cass drew the covers over her head and pretended to be asleep.

 
“There you are.” Cass was surprised to hear Madalena’s voice. A second later, Mada yanked the covers from her head. “Oh, dear. Looks like we’ve got some work to do.” Madalena went to the armoire and began flipping through Cass’s dresses. She pulled out the topaz one Cass had worn to the tailor’s shop the previous week. With the dress draped over one arm, Madalena tossed Cass her cream-colored stays.

  “What are you doing here?” Cass asked, reaching out to catch the stays.

  Madalena gave Cass a dazzling smile. “Saving you. And your marriage, too, from the looks of it.” She turned around. “Slip that on. I’ll help you with the rest.”

  Cass knew she should get up, that it was rude to loll around in bed when her friend had made the trip out to San Domenico just to see her. But the thought of putting on a full outfit, doing her hair, and sitting around in the portego making idle chitchat was positively excruciating.

  “I’m so tired, Mada,” she said. “Can’t we just catch up here in my room? I’m sure the cook would fix you a breakfast tray as well.”

  Mada wrinkled up her nose. “Since when have you turned into an invalid? Aren’t you going crazy cooped up in here?” She pointed at Slipper, who was scratching at the closed bedroom door. “Even the cat wants to escape.”

  Cass gathered her covers around her. “Not me. I was thinking I might stay in here forever.”

  “Not a chance. Have you forgotten my wedding is tomorrow? I won’t allow you to show up in your nightgown.” Madalena pulled the top cover from the bed with a vicious yank. “Besides, old Agnese threatened to send for the head physician if I couldn’t bring you out of seclusion.”

  Cass groaned. Dottor Orsin was a brutish man who would fill her full of toxic-tasting herbal cocktails and watch with sadistic delight as leeches sucked the blood from her body.

  “Fine. You win.” Cass stripped out of her nightgown and slid her arms into the stays. At least it would feel good to have fresh clothes on.

  “Agnese wins, but doesn’t she always?” Mada said, her fingers crisscrossing the laces at Cass’s back. “Now what is this about exactly? You hate Luca?”