Starling

by Fiona Paul

  Cass recognized the curtain of hanging vines as she and Maximus made their way up the little stone staircase. She vaguely remembered the courtesan with white-blonde hair who answered the door. “Maximus,” the girl purred. “Have you come looking for a girl to assist you in your act again?” She held the door open for them to enter and then closed it behind them.

  “No, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know, Arabella,” he promised.

  Arabella took Maximus’s black velvet cloak from around his shoulders and then looked over at Cass curiously. “Have you brought a stray with you?”

  “Now be nice,” Maximus said. “She’s just along to speak with Octavia.”

  Maximus swept Cass through the portego and the dining room, into a small hallway at the back of the piano nobile. They paused outside the doorway to a small sitting room that looked as if it had been converted into a study. Inside, a stately woman in a low-cut dress was speaking to a petite olive-skinned girl about Cass’s age. The girl’s dark skin reminded Cass of Piero. She wondered if she or her parents had come to Venice from one of the Mediterranean islands.

  “That’s Octavia,” Maximus whispered, gesturing toward the older woman. “We’ll just wait here for her to finish.”

  Octavia had high cheekbones and a bit of gray hair showing at her temples. She sat with her chin high and her shoulders back, managing to look regal despite the plunging neckline of her dress. “So you see, dear,” she said to the girl across from her. “There’s more to your position here than being good at carnal affairs. A man wants to be with a woman who is sophisticated and worldly, or at least appears so.”

  “Yes, Octavia.” The girl nodded vigorously, and her tight black curls bounced up and down. She tapped one of her feet repeatedly and fidgeted on her chair. Cass noticed she was wearing a ring on every finger of her left hand.

  “This is not the first time one of our clients has had words with me regarding your . . . demeanor.”

  “Perhaps we ought to come back later,” Cass murmured, backing away from the doorway.

  “Nonsense,” Maximus said. He rapped delicately on the door frame, and Octavia looked up.

  “Maximus, darling,” she trilled. She rose from behind her desk, smoothing her bodice. Cass tried not to stare at Octavia’s breasts, but it was difficult. They were so large and round, just waiting to spill out of her dress the first time she bent over even slightly. Yet she somehow managed to curtsy to Maximus and still remain decent.

  “Who is your little friend?” Octavia asked, settling back into her chair.

  Cass hated when people spoke about her as if she wasn’t even in the room. She cleared her throat as if to speak, but Maximus nudged her in the ribs.

  “Let’s just say she’s a noblewoman who fell upon a bit of bad luck. Her betrothed has cast her out, and she’s here to inquire about lodging for the night.”

  Octavia’s eyes narrowed. “Cast her out, you say?” She turned to Cass. “Did you take another lover, dear?”

  The olive-skinned courtesan’s eyes widened at this. She turned completely around in her chair, seemingly delighted at the idea of such a scandal.

  Mannaggia. Cass should have known enough to come up with a story before arriving at the brothel. She glared at Maximus before responding through gritted teeth. “I did.”

  “Flavia, you may be excused. We will talk more of your studies later.” Octavia made a shooing motion with her hands, and the courtesan reluctantly headed for the corridor. “Close the door behind you, please,” Octavia added.

  “Good night, all,” Flavia said. She dipped into a partial curtsy before leaving the room.

  “Now then, where were we?” Octavia said, once the door had clicked shut. Her eyes flicked from Maximus to Cass. “That’s right. You were about to tell me who you really are and why you’ve sought refuge at my establishment tonight.”

  Cass looked over at Maximus. He nodded gently. Turning back to Octavia, Cass licked her lips, but no words came out.

  “You can trust Octavia,” Maximus murmured, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  Cass hoped he was right. Clearly the woman didn’t believe his hastily contrived broken-betrothal story. “May I sit?” she asked.

  Octavia nodded and Cass took the seat vacated by Flavia. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. After glancing back to make sure the door to the room was secured, she said, “I am Signorina Cassandra Caravello.”

  “The girl who broke into the Doge’s prison?” Octavia asked. Not even a twitch of surprise registered in her expression. “Is there not a huge reward for information about your whereabouts?”

  Cass frowned. “Yes, but Maximus said—”

  “That you could trust me. And you can. But if anyone knew I was sheltering you . . . ,” she trailed off.

  “I know it’s a risk, but I can pay you,” Cass said, thinking of the gold back in Agnese’s storage area. “I don’t have the money with me—”

  Octavia nodded. “It’s not simply about money. It’s about the girls all being a bit fearful. You see, two of them disappeared last week.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “I assumed they’d simply run off to work for someone else or try to make a go of it on their own. But then Tessa’s body was found beneath the Conjurer’s Bridge, drained of its blood.” Octavia made the sign of the cross over her chest. “I never believed in vampires until I saw their handiwork with my own eyes.”

  So Octavia and her girls were victims of the Order. Tessa must have been the girl the vendor had mentioned.

  “I have reason to believe,” Cass began slowly, “that it’s not vampires, but rather a group called the Order of the Eternal Rose that is behind the attacks.” She felt as if she should say more, tell Octavia how the Order believed the fifth humor was real, and could be made only by recombining the body’s four humors. That Joseph Dubois and Angelo de Gradi had tried to extract humors from stolen corpses, but Belladonna and Piero sought their humors strictly from the blood of the living, and that was the reason for the sudden surge in “vampire” attacks. But it all sounded so crazy. Octavia might very well toss her out into the street if Cass told her the whole story. Better to stick to the essential information. “Have you ever seen this symbol?” With one fingertip, she traced the six-petaled flower on the desktop.

  Octavia dipped a quill in ink and found a scrap piece of parchment in a drawer. “Draw it for me,” she said.

  Cass drew the insignia of the Order as best she could while Maximus looked on curiously.

  Octavia squinted as she considered the paper. “I believe I have seen it before. At least a couple of my clients have worn rings like this.”

  Cass felt a rush of excitement. It wasn’t much, but just identifying additional members might help her and Luca in their quest to destroy the Order. Perhaps they could find someone who was trying to escape the shadowy society’s barbaric practices, a member who might aid them in locating the book.

  “Is there any way,” Cass asked, “that I might be able to spy on some of these men?”

  “I can do better than that, dear,” Octavia said. “My girls have been invited to a gala tomorrow night. It’s hosted by Donna Domacetti. Some of the men you are looking for are bound to be in attendance.”

  Donna Domacetti! She wore the ring of the Order. It was likely that Dubois himself would show up to a party at Palazzo Domacetti. But could Cass sneak into her palazzo without being recognized? She would have to. She would do whatever it took to determine if Belladonna and Dubois were working together, and whether Cristian was working for one or both of them. She would do whatever it took to find the Book of the Eternal Rose.

  The folded parchment from Palazzo Viaro suddenly weighed heavy inside her pocket. The rest of the book had to be somewhere in Venice.

  “But if you’re going to stay here, even just for the night, we’
ll need to concoct a believable tale for the rest of the girls.” Octavia fiddled with the lace neckline of her bodice. “Let us leave it as you said,” she continued. “You betrayed your fiancé and he cast you out. You’re going to stay the night here and perhaps tomorrow to examine your options, to see if the life of a courtesan might work for you.”

  “All right,” Cass said. It would work as well as any other story, she supposed, though it hit uncomfortably close to home. What would Luca do if he found out about Falco? It wasn’t as if she and Falco had lain together, but she had definitely thought about it. And there had been so many romantic moments. She didn’t even want to think about how devastated Luca would be to find out she had spent so much time alone in the company of another man.

  “And your name will be Capricia,” Octavia declared, a hint of a smile forming on her thin lips. “But in return for my kindness and discretion, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” Cass said, immediately regretting her wording. She had no experience—and no intention of garnering any here—with some of the various activities that might be required of a courtesan.

  “Is there any chance you know how to read?” Octavia asked.

  Cass nodded. “My aunt arranged tutors for me. She was quite nontraditional when it came to my upbringing. I can even read in French.”

  “Splendid. I need you to work with Flavia for a day or two,” Octavia said. “The poor girl has little skill at dance or music, but claims an older sister taught her to read. I thought maybe you could help her select a few stories or poems that she could use to entertain her clients? Perhaps even teach her a bit of decorum at the same time?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Cass promised.

  “Excellent,” Maximus said from behind her. “So glad that’s settled.”

  Octavia rose from her chair. “I’ll show you to your temporary quarters.” Her lips quirked into another smile. “Maximus, will you be staying the night with your friend?”

  “Oh no,” Maximus said.

  Cass felt her cheeks go red. She looked away, toward the window behind Octavia’s desk. It was too dark to see outside, but the glass was dry, as if maybe the storm had blown past.

  “What I mean is—” Maximus cleared his throat. “Signorina Capricia is lovely, but I came hoping to spend the night with you,” he said, taking Octavia’s hand in his and kissing it gently. “But first.” He turned to Cass. “You cannot carry a tiny vegetable knife and think it will protect you.” Bending down, he pulled a sheathed dagger from his boot. “Take this. Keep it as long as you need to.”

  Cass slid the dagger from its leather casing. The blade was made of gleaming steel, the tip curving slightly upward. The hilt was carved from black marble and inlaid with emeralds. It was more like a piece of art than a weapon. “It’s so . . . magnificent,” she said. “I can’t keep this. It must have cost a fortune.”

  “My family has quite a collection of weapons.” Maximus’s eyes seemed to stare straight through her for a second. “I was never much of a fighter myself, but I assure you I can easily replace it.”

  Cass imagined sinking the dagger into someone’s flesh. Her stomach quivered. She breathed slowly through her nose until her nausea subsided. Not someone’s flesh. Joseph Dubois’s flesh.

  If the moment came, could she do it? Faces flickered before her eyes in rapid succession: her parents, Mariabella, Sophia, Siena, Agnese. Were it not for the Order of the Eternal Rose, they might all be alive today. She gripped the hilt tightly. Her resolve became sharp and deadly, like the blade.

  She would do whatever it took to keep all those deaths from being in vain.

  ~

  Safe in her own room, Cass removed the page she had found at Palazzo Viaro from her pocket. Unfolding the parchment, she studied the slanted writing. The four humors were mentioned, in various ratios, with arrows leading to a number five inscribed in a circle that might have stood for the fifth humor. It was a list of equations, Cass realized, all but one of which had been crossed out. The bottom one was circled. Next to it, someone had scrawled a single word: Caravello.

  Cass’s heart rose into her throat. Angelo de Gradi had said something in Florence about the purest fifth humor coming from a Venetian woman. She didn’t want to believe it, almost couldn’t believe it, but it seemed clear. For some reason, her blood was the blood that made the equation work.

  “Courtesans are closer to men than their wives; they see and hear the secrets kept from the rest of the world.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  ten

  Cass dreamed first of blood and humors and then later of Luca, waking with his name on her lips. She had to find her way back to him. They were much stronger together than apart. She hoped he had found a temporary refuge and that he wasn’t too worried about her. Surely, he had seen the boats patrolling San Domenico and found a place to hide. Cass would have heard by now if he had been captured and imprisoned again. That sort of gossip traveled quickly.

  But would he be angry that she hadn’t even tried to return to the villa? That she hadn’t done more to try to find him?

  She sighed as she slipped out of bed. There was nothing she could do. Without knowing where Luca was staying, she couldn’t send him a letter. The best she could do was send a message to Narissa and hope he might receive it eventually.

  Cass went downstairs, fetched a pot of ink and a scrap of parchment, and quickly composed a short message. Stuck on the Rialto. Staying with friends. I am fine. I will return when I am able.

  Without signing the note, Cass folded the parchment and sealed it with a bit of red wax. She left the letter in a basket on the small table just inside the door to Palazzo Dolce. There were two other messages there, and she assumed they would go out at the first light.

  Later, as she’d promised Octavia, Cass took her breakfast with Flavia in Palazzo Dolce’s bright and airy dining room. It was only the two of them at the table, and Cass had a feeling many of the girls enjoyed sleeping late.

  Flavia wore a long flowing gown and had her tight curls pinned high on top of her head. She’d applied too much rouge and lip stain for Cass’s taste, but otherwise had achieved the look of a sophisticated courtesan. She ate properly, taking small bites, mouth closed, watching Cass as she did so.

  Octavia had lent Cass a gown so that she didn’t have to put her servant’s uniform back on. The sleeves were a bit too short and the bodice was a bit too large, but Cass had spent several minutes straightening her laces and adjusting her neckline in the tiny cracked mirror of her dressing table before descending from the cramped fourth-floor room where she had spent the night. Her hair was hopelessly tangled from blowing around in the storm, so she had twisted it into a bun and secured it with a few pins she had found in the dressing table’s drawer.

  Flavia started chattering about something, and Cass nodded congenially as she helped herself to a pastry and some wine and then stared out the window. The day looked clear and bright; all evidence of the storm had washed away. A brown-and-white bird dipped low, beating its speckled wings before arcing gracefully back up into the sky. Cass thought again of Luca. Perhaps fate would twine their paths somehow. Otherwise she would remain separated from him until the boats patrolling San Domenico went away.

  A heaviness settled in her heart. It wasn’t just about strength in numbers. Cass missed him, the way he listened to her impassioned tirades about the Order, the way he calmed her.

  The way he made her feel stronger than she truly was.

  Flavia swallowed a lump of cheese and fanned her face with one hand as she let out a hearty belch. Cass’s eyes widened. Perhaps the girl would be a bit more of a project than she had anticipated.

  “Sorry about your fiancé turning you out,” Flavia said pleasantly, as if she were commenting on the weather. “I think you’ll like it here, though.”

  Cass bit into a slice of
orange and sipped her wine delicately. “Octavia says I’m to teach you a few things today,” she said. “Lesson one is that it’s not polite to bring up certain topics of conversation.”

  “Oh?” Flavia actually looked confused. Her cheeks went pink, and Cass realized she hadn’t meant to be rude.

  Cass softened her tone. “I realize you’ve more experience speaking to various men than I have, but the patrons you speak to here are of a higher class than those at your previous place of employment. Nobles expect different things from their women. Say for instance you are with a man, and his ship has vanished at sea or he has lost a lot of money on an investment. You wouldn’t want to bring that up, you see?”

  Flavia set her silverware down and leaned slightly toward Cass. “Go on, Capricia,” she said.

  It took Cass a second to remember her name was supposed to be Capricia. “Men come to places like this to be distracted from their problems, not to be reminded of them.”

  Flavia tucked a black ringlet behind her ear. “So instead I should speak of poetry, as Octavia mentioned?”

  “Poetry, or song, or perhaps an amusing story. Do you know any amusing stories?”

  Flavia started telling a story about a farmer, his daughter, and the several men who came to call on her.

  Cass struggled not to cover her ears as the vulgar ending approached. “Maybe something a bit less colorful,” she suggested. “Do you know The Odyssey? Or The Iliad? Men like stories about great journeys and battles.”

  “I’ve heard of these books,” Flavia said. “But they are many pages long, and to read them would take me weeks.”

  Cass smiled. “You don’t have to read them all. Let’s see if Octavia has a copy of either in her library. I can tell you the story, and then I’ll mark a few passages for you to remember.”