by Fiona Paul
Cass inhaled deeply, trying to cool the heat that threatened to boil out through her skin. She changed her tactics, forcing a demure smile as she returned to her seat, adjusting her skirts to show just a hint of her stocking. “Mi dispiace, Signore. I’m just afraid that my fia—my husband has been the victim of a terrible crime, and that unsavory people were paid in exchange for their testimony.” She arched her eyebrows meaningfully.
“You—you’re not suggesting—”
“Surely those who are desperate for a little gold might be persuaded to remember events in a certain way, don’t you think?”
“I understand your concerns, Signora, but Signor da Peraga’s accusers are from noble families. Well-known, God-fearing members of the community.” Giovanni’s spectacles started to fog over, as if his face had begun to sweat. “You can understand why the Senate took the accusations quite seriously.”
“Is there any chance at all of a trial?”
“My understanding is that Signor da Peraga has already been sentenced,” Giovanni said.
Siena made a tiny whimpering noise. Cass shot her a sharp look and she ducked her head, focusing her attention on the floor. Cass turned back to Giovanni and nodded. “I don’t suppose I can visit Signor da Peraga? Even to lay eyes on him just for a moment would be such a relief.”
Giovanni shook his head vigorously. “It is never permitted. Only his legal counsel is allowed to see him.”
Did Luca even have legal counsel? Perhaps Cass should send a message to his mother on the mainland just in case. No. He had mentioned that his mother was unwell. This was the sort of news that could kill a woman. Luca was industrious and prepared. Undoubtedly, he had gotten word to an attorney.
Cass shook a few gold pieces out of her purse. She transferred them from one hand to the other. “There is absolutely no way I can see my husband, not even for a moment? Not even from a distance?” She dabbed at her eyes with the back of a gloved hand, trying to squeeze out a couple of tears for the aide’s benefit.
Giovanni stared at the gold. “I would like to assist you, Signora, but it would be a grave risk for both myself and the jailer.” He licked his lips.
Cass doubled the amount of coins in her hands. Behind her, Siena inhaled sharply. It was probably more gold than she had ever seen all at once.
Giovanni removed his spectacles and polished them on his shirt. He glanced around the Senate Hall warily, as if he thought maybe the paintings were spying on him. “Return to the antechamber.” He gestured toward the door they had come through. “Let me see if there’s any possible way I can help you.” His voice wavered slightly.
He disappeared, only to return a few minutes later. “Exchange your cloak and shoes with your maidservant and put up your hood,” he said. “Someone will come for you.” He skittered back through the door like a nervous rat before Cass could ask who, exactly, was coming for her.
Probably someone to arrest me, she thought as she slipped out of her cloak and shoes. She secured Siena’s plain muslin cloak around her gown and lifted the hood so that it obscured her face and hair. She settled back in on the bench, watching with amusement as Siena awkwardly fastened Cass’s embroidered silk cloak around her neck and slipped her feet into Cass’s velvet slippers.
A different door creaked open, and a stumpy bald man shuffled through. He was almost as old as Agnese, with yellowing skin and a hump on his back that made him walk stooped over. He looked up at Cass with a pair of beady eyes that were set close to his crooked nose. He had the look of a man who had lost one too many tavern brawls.
“You.” He pointed at Cass and then rotated his hand until the palm of his dirty leather glove faced up. It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for payment. She deposited the gold coins into his hand. “Follow me,” he said.
Cass gave Siena’s hand a quick squeeze and then wordlessly rose from the bench. She nodded at the man, who did not respond except to turn his back and mutter under his breath. She followed him back through the door, across a gallery, up two narrow flights of stairs, and down a dingy passageway lit only by minuscule openings carved straight into the marble walls. The heat was unbearable, the sun on the lead-plated roof turning the entire corridor into an oven. The passage ended at a thick metal door. A tarnished ring of keys hung on a hook just outside.
“Keep your head down,” the jailer muttered as he reached up and grasped the set of keys. He shoved one in the lock and jiggled it. The door swung open with a groan.
Cass raised one of her gloved hands to her mouth, willing herself not to vomit from the overpowering scent of urine and feces that wafted into the hallway. Holding her breath, she ducked her head low to enter the room. No wonder the jailer walks hunched over, she thought. The ceiling couldn’t have been higher than five feet.
She stood inside a garret, the roof of the Palazzo Ducale just above her head. A single high window cast a beam of scattered light across the dusty enclosure. A row of thick iron doors with circular vents cut in the middle ran along the edge of the room. So these were the infamous piombi—cells so cramped and sweltering that men sometimes went mad from being imprisoned in them.
Cass tried not to look at the dark holes centered in each of the cell doors. She didn’t want to make eye contact with any of the prisoners, at least one of whom was moaning. Instead, she focused her attention on a long wooden table that ran against the far wall of the room. On it sat coils of rope and scattered pieces of silver that reflected the scant light. Cass squinted. Were those . . . knives? She took a tentative step forward, and then another. Sure enough, an assortment of daggers was displayed on the table, their tips smeared with rust.
Or blood.
Horrified, Cass spun around to glare at the jailer.
He ignored her accusing look. “Last one.” He pointed toward the corner of the room. “You have five minutes.”
Cass gathered Siena’s cloak around her body and strode toward the cell at the end, slouching low to account for the sloping roof. Mindless of the grimy floor, she crouched down and peered through the circular grate, into the cell beyond. “Luca?” she whispered.
The blackness seemed to recede into forever, as if Cass were staring at a pit that went all the way to hell. A blurry figure materialized from the dark.
Luca knelt before the grate, his soft eyes peeking out at her with surprise. His beard was a little unkempt and there were bluish circles under his eyes, but otherwise he looked unharmed. His hair glistened with sweat, and the fabric of his doublet clung fast to his chest. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “They’ll kill you if you get caught. Besides, there’s nothing you can do.”
Cass pressed one hand against the grate. She cast a glance back over her shoulder at the wooden table. “Are they hurting you?”
“No,” he said.
Not yet. Cass couldn’t shake the feeling that his predicament was her fault. “There has to be something. You’re innocent. Tell me how I can prove it.”
Luca shook his head. “You can’t, Cass. The testimony has been bought and paid for. No one will go against Dubois. He owns half of the Council of Ten.”
The Council of Ten was a group of senators elected from within the general council. Hortensa’s husband, Don Zanotta, sat among them. They were some of the most powerful men in all of Venice. They and Joseph Dubois.
“But I know the names of your accusers,” Cass said, fanning herself with her free hand. Rivulets of sweat were beginning to trickle down the sides of her neck. “Donna Hortensa Zanotta, for one.”
Luca frowned. “I’ve never even met her.”
“If I could persuade her to recant her statement, do you suppose you might go free?” She let the tips of her fingers curl their way through the grate.
“Unlikely,” he said. “It’s my understanding she is one of several accusers, all of whom probably gave false testimony at the behest of Dubois.” Luca reached his own hand up so that his fingertips met Cass’s. “Promise me you won’t go threatening D
ubois. There’s no point in both of us dying.”
Cass twined her fingers through Luca’s, their hands separated only by the network of steel bars. She leaned forward until her forehead rested against the grate. “But I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What did you do to make him so angry?”
Luca lowered his voice to a whisper. “Dubois is a member of a group called the Order of the Eternal Rose. When my father died, he gave me a key that unlocked a hiding place to certain papers relating to this Order. I told Dubois I would make these pages public unless he sent Cristian away, but then Dubois demanded I relinquish the papers to him. I told him I had burned the papers, but he didn’t believe me.”
“What’s so special about these papers?” Cass’s eyelashes flicked against the metal grate as she blinked.
“Dubois thinks the papers incriminate him in crimes perpetrated by the Order.”
“What crimes?”
“That’s exactly it. I have no idea,” Luca said, shaking his head. “I only know the Order must be involved in something terrible. Unfortunately the papers aren’t quite as incriminating as I let on.”
“It was all a bluff,” Cass said, starting to understand.
Luca sighed. “Dubois’s name is on them, but there are no crimes mentioned. They’re largely chemical formulas and research notes. They’re part of a larger book—the Book of the Eternal Rose. That’s what he’s really looking for. According to my father, the complete set of pages describes enough atrocities committed by Dubois and the other members to have them executed several times over.”
“So this book is the only way to fight Dubois? Do you know where it is? I’ll bring it to you. I’ll . . . ,” she trailed off.
“Cass.” Luca squeezed her fingers, and her insides went a little weak. “You owe no debt to me. Have your aunt arrange another match, perhaps with someone of your own choosing. Go be happy. It’s what I want for you.”
“Luca!” Her voice rose in pitch. “Don’t even speak like that.” Once upon a time she’d dreamed of those words. Go be happy. Luca releasing her so she could be with Falco. But she hadn’t meant for it to come to this. It couldn’t come to this. She could never be happy with someone else, knowing that only Luca’s execution had made it possible. And what exactly did he mean, someone of her own choosing?
“Quiet,” the jailer growled. “You have one more minute.”
“Tell me more about the book,” Cass begged. “I can find it.”
Luca exhaled deeply, touching his forehead to hers. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Cass.” His voice threatened to break apart on the last word. He reached his other hand up to stroke Cass’s cheek with a single fingertip.
“I don’t want you to die,” Cass whispered. A droplet of sweat fell from her chin and landed on the dusty floor in front of the cell. Inside of her, a wound opened, spilling sadness and rage throughout her body. Luca was brave. Luca was innocent. Luca would never let her rot away in a prison cell.
Their fingers were still intertwined, their foreheads touching. Connected. So close. Their eyelashes practically weaving together.
Cass realized she could kiss him. She could just tilt her head slightly and their lips would meet. For the first time she wanted to. She wanted to show him that she cared for him, that she was a good and decent woman, not the kind of person who would just let him die because it was convenient to do so.
Luca reached up with his free hand again. Cass felt certain he was going to angle her mouth toward his. Her eyelids started to flutter closed, but then stopped when she felt a point of pressure against her throat. She realized her cloak had fallen open, and that her lily pendant was exposed. Luca was touching it.
“I’m so glad you’re wearing it,” he whispered, his voice growing hoarse. “It’ll be something for you to remember me by.”
Cass swallowed down a lump in her throat. She touched her lips to the corner of his jaw, exhaling hard against his skin. “Stop it this instant. I will not give up on you, Luca da Peraga.”
Luca turned his mouth so his lips just barely brushed against hers, so quickly her mouth formed an O of surprise. Her legs wavered and her body threatened to crumple to the floor. She didn’t know if it was the unbearable heat or her uncomfortable position. Or the kiss. She closed her eyes for a second, holding fast to Luca’s hand until her bones went steady again.
He chuckled, an actual laugh. “Now, no matter what happens, I’ll have that to remember you by.”
Cass leaned forward and felt the metal bars of the grate digging into her skin. She didn’t care. Suddenly she wanted to be as close as she could to Luca. Luca, who now wanted her to forget his death and find someone else with whom she could be happy. Cass had never known such selflessness before. She pressed her mouth hard against his, ignoring his sweat and the stubble of his beard digging into her skin. His whole body tensed in response. For one sweet moment, the filth and the stench and the grimness of the situation dissipated. All Cass felt was herself and Luca, connected.
When they broke apart, she struggled to catch her breath. “Now stop talking of remembrances and tell me where to find this book.”
Luca touched his free hand to his lips. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright. “My father believed the book was in Florence, the birthplace of the Order.” He dropped his voice. “But I can tell you for certain where to find the pages.”
“Where?” Cass asked. Around her, the prisoners’ moaning seemed to fade; the whole room fell quiet.
“Locked inside your family tomb.”
“What?” Cass wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him right. “The Caravello tomb?”
“Yes.”
“But why would your father put them there?” Cass asked.
“He didn’t,” Luca said. “Your mother did.”
six
“The truth is often different from what is perceived as truth, but only the latter is of any consequence.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
What? Why would my mother—”
Heavy boot steps sounded behind her. The jailer was coming. Cass was out of time.
“The key is in the study at my family palazzo,” Luca whispered. “Hidden in the fireplace.”
Before Luca could explain further, the jailer took hold of Cass’s arm and hauled her back to her feet. “You must go now,” he said, prodding her roughly through the door that led back into the passageway.
Wiping the perspiration from her brow, Cass retraced her steps to the room with four doors, where she quickly exchanged her shoes and cloak with Siena.
“Let’s go,” Cass said. “I’ll explain on the way.” She towed Siena across the vestibule and down the stairs. A pair of noblewomen stood just inside the porta della carta, their handmaids hovering dutifully at their sides. Cass could feel all four sets of eyes burning into her back as she passed.
“Get everything you came for?” the shorter soldier asked as Cass slipped back into her chopines. She ignored him, heading quickly across the smaller part of the piazza to the lagoon, where Giuseppe and their gondola bobbed in the quay.
For one brief second, Cass allowed herself to replay the kiss, the prickle of Luca’s beard against her chin, his lips on hers. Softness. Pressure. How could he just tell her to forget him and find someone else if he loved her? Even if Cass were to be executed, she would want her husband to weep over her corpse, to declare her the great love of his life.
Without waiting for Giuseppe’s assistance, she wobbled her way into the boat. She instructed him to take them down the Grand Canal.
“Where are we going?” Siena asked, taking Giuseppe’s gnarled hand in her own as she lifted her skirt over the side of the gondola.
Cass yanked open the slats on the felze. “We have to go to Palazzo da Peraga, but first we’re going to pay a little visit to Donna Zanotta.”
Giuseppe obeyed wordlessly. He had been working for Agnese’s estate for more than thirty years and had learned not to question the whims of Cass
or her aunt. It occurred to Cass for the first time that he must know many secrets about Agnese. She wondered what sort of stories he might be able to tell.
As they passed into the wealthiest part of the San Polo district, Cass balled her fists tightly in her lap. Hortensa had everything. What could Dubois possibly have promised her in exchange for her testimony? Had she done it just to be cruel, to be hurtful? Or had he threatened her to get her to comply?
Giuseppe slowed the boat to a stop in front of Palazzo Zanotta, a vast and ostentatious building with a façade made of brick and brightly painted marble trimming. Don Zanotta’s private dock featured a pair of mooring posts carved in the shape of knights wielding broadswords. Giuseppe tied up the gondola and helped Cass and Siena from the boat.
Cass glanced up as she stepped onto the dock. The sun had made its way across the sky. It must be late afternoon already. She adjusted her lace collar, which seemed intent on strangling her.
The front door of Palazzo Zanotta was made of carved wood and gold filigree. An ornate bronze doorknocker in the shape of a wreath was mounted at eye level. Cass reached up and knocked the circle of metal leaves, wincing when the foliage’s sharp edges pricked the skin of her hand.
No one answered. She knocked again, this time more insistently. Louder. More knocks. “It appears no one is home,” Siena ventured.
“Of course someone is home,” Cass said crossly. “Don Zanotta wouldn’t just let his palazzo sit empty, not even if he and the donna were away.”
Eventually the front door opened a crack and a wrinkled, pasty face appeared. “The don and donna are away in Florence,” the servant rasped.
Cass wasn’t even sure if she was speaking to a man or a woman. The door started to close and Cass jammed her foot in the crack. “When will Donna Zanotta be back?” she asked. “It’s important that I speak to her as soon as possible.”
“Not until the end of summer. They left yesterday at daybreak. You just missed her.”
How convenient. Hortensa Zanotta had given false testimony and then immediately fled the city. And to Florence of all places, where Luca believed the Book of the Eternal Rose to be. Could it be a coincidence? Or was everything somehow connected?