by Kesia Lupo
‘I heard from my contact at the Battaglia,’ says Elisao, cutting me off, his voice high and nervous. ‘The rematch is the night after tomorrow night. I was thinking we could meet down at the docks – around seven, or eight. Time to warm up beforehand – maybe grab something to eat?’
I struggle to speak. Knowing that what he’s proposing can never happen is choking me.
‘See, Livio,’ he turns towards me, and I think how my true name sounds amazing in his voice, how I didn’t get to hear him say it for years, and now I never will again. ‘I’ve been thinking about you and me, about what we could mean to each other, for a long time.’ He’s rushing now, the words streaming from his mouth like he can’t hold them. ‘Ages, really. Almost since we met. Can you believe it’s been three years? And I want to say …’
‘Elisao …’ I manage hoarsely, sensing the words hovering on his lips.
‘I love you,’ he says at last and presses his mouth to mine. I pull away.
‘Elisao, I can’t do it,’ I blurt. Tears are stinging my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. I can’t even look at him in case they do.
‘The fight?’ His voice quavers.
‘Any of it. The fight. This second life … You.’ I clench my jaw, determined not to cry.
The silence that follows is painful to endure. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice how he hangs his head, slowly removes his glasses. Across the square, a drunk man sings a love song at the top of his lungs, and I wish he would stop – I wish I could punch him once, hard, and silence his warbling of hearts and passion and beauty. My jaw clenches.
‘Look, Elisao, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I wish it weren’t so.’ Even to me, my voice sounds stiff and strange. ‘I wish I really was Vico – if I were, all of this would be different. But it’s just not possible. I was wrong – I can’t have both lives. I can’t ignore my duty for the sake of a fantasy.’
Elisao’s face is stony. ‘You’re sure? This is it?’
I nod once, tightly.
‘Right.’ His tone is curiously flat, unemotional. ‘It’s just that literally yesterday you were so sure you could do it. You said you didn’t care about everything else. That you couldn’t give this up. So what’s changed? You’ve had time to think? Realised you didn’t like me as much as you thought?’
‘No,’ I say, my voice heated. I’m holding back tears, my throat thick and sore. ‘That’s not it at all. Something happened today …’ I trail off. ‘Something important. But—’
He cuts in, his voice brutally impatient now. ‘Let me guess. It’s something you can’t talk about? More secrets, Livio, even after everything you said about being honest? About not being able to lie to me any more?’
I bury my head in my hands, wishing all of this was a bad dream. I’m surprised at how much his comment stings. I wish I could tell him the truth. But I shouldn’t even have told Elisao my true identity – how can I tell him about astromancy, too? Grandmother swore me to secrecy: it’s a power shared between me, her and the Cardinal – no one else but the masked god himself.
He stands up after a few moments of silence. ‘If you’ve got nothing else to say to me, I guess this is goodbye.’
‘Elisao …’ I stand up too – meeting his eyes, a powerful force is urging me to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him I won’t leave. But destiny is stronger. I glance away. A thousand phrases run through my mind: I’ll miss you. Remember me. Kiss me one last time. Don’t go yet. But somehow what leaves my lips is this: ‘Please don’t tell anyone about me.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he says coldly. ‘Your secret is safe.’
And he turns away, walking down the library steps without a backwards glance, and my heart feels like a burnt-out wreck.
TEN:
The Room of Many Faces
Beatrice
A quick breath, a squaring of her shoulders: these are the only signs that Valentina is nervous as she twists the key and opens the door of the mask room for the first time. The hinges are silent and a cool gluey smell drifts from the space beyond – a space, not a room, because you can tell by the feel of the air that it’s vast, and that it’s like no room I’ve ever known.
We cluster round the door, peering in, reluctant to set foot over the threshold. Like we’re intruding. As if in opening the door, we’ve interrupted a conversation, voices still humming into the quiet … But no – this place is empty of any living thing but us three.
And yet … the masks cover every wall. Some even peer down from the ceiling far, far above. In the dim light cast by an oil lamp that Valentina is carrying and the moonlight falling through the high windows, my eye skims tall ladders attached to rails along the wall, and long hooked sticks for hanging and removing items. We descend the final four steps from the doorway to a stone floor so old, it has worn shiny, and Valentina settles her lamp on a hook next to the staircase door.
‘Well, are you two going to help me, or do I have to light all these lamps myself?’ Valentina says, breaking the silence.
Ofelia and I spring into action, first lighting the lamps over the three generous desks set against the short wall near the door – and then we work our way around the room. A doorway in the panelling leads to a small, plain antechamber – the place we’re to wait in the unlikely event that a Choosing, the ceremony in which mages select a True Mask, should occur during the hours of our work. I note a small privy by the back wall, set behind an elaborate screen, painted with the faceless cloaked figure of our god – but this seems to be the only concession to our human needs. Otherwise, it is only the masks.
But, as I suspected, these aren’t like the practice masks at all. As I brush past them, I can sense their power, conferred by the hands of generations of sisters past. If I run my hands close to their surfaces, it feels like I’m touching a kind of invisible foliage – a grassy, static energy. They watch me as I light the lamps and fill their world with shadows.
When the lamps are lit, we three turn to face each other in the centre of the room. ‘So … this is it,’ says Ofelia softly, her voice trembling a little as her eyes comb the room. ‘This is where we spend the rest of our lives.’
I feel a slick of something like horror run down my back.
But Valentina nods. ‘We’d better get started.’
I finish the mask on my work bench by brushing it carefully with egg white – a technique designed to dry the mask hard, set the decoration, and lend its surface a slight sheen. The grimacing mouth gleams in the candlelight, and I find myself shivering, a little unnerved by this, my first creation. It’s a sad mask – painted a blue that speaks of leaden clouds and heavy hearts. Crystal tears trail down the mask’s cheeks; an angry bloom of purple rings its eyeholes.
At last, I set my brush down – then, noticing a small imperfection, reach to lift an escaped hair from the mask’s surface.
A spark of electricity runs through me as my fingers approach the mask, and I jolt backwards. I blink. I think I saw the tiniest glint of green. I open and close my hands, uneasily, frowning. Mythris’s power flows through me now – it’s no wonder I’m feeling different. But I didn’t expect this … I glance over at my sisters, examining their fingers for sparks.
‘Beatrice? Taking another break?’ Valentina’s harsh voice rings out in the quiet, interrupting my thoughts.
‘It’s nearly dawn,’ I say, feeling my cheeks flush red even though I’ve barely stopped working since sunset.
‘Not yet, though. Clear up your workbench at least – it’s a mess.’
Ofelia and I exchange an eye-roll. A few moments later, Valentina stands up to visit the privy behind the screen. When she is out of earshot, Ofelia leans over.
‘It’s different, isn’t it? From the practice masks. Can you feel it?’ Her eyes are glowing. ‘It’s real in a way it never was before.’
I feel a little throb of relief. ‘Yes … yes it is.’ I shake my head. ‘I’m glad you feel it too. I’ve been so … mixed up. Like there’s all this energy chu
rning up inside me. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me.’
Ofelia looks thoughtful. ‘Actually … I wouldn’t say I feel mixed up, Bea. It’s more like … like I’m stronger and calmer.’ She shrugs, unconcerned. ‘I guess it affects different sisters in different ways.’
Valentina is returning from the privy, and we both turn away. I feel more unsettled than ever. I think back to that night, the night the assassin tried to steal our lives. What happened when power surged through me and I pushed him away? The only people who know are me and him.
Tonight was the first night of the rest of my life: the fulfilment of my destiny. And yet … even beyond the physical toll of my sore neck and hands burning with glue, the task has left me aching and exhausted and confused. I thought this was meant to be our fate. I thought it would feel natural … but it doesn’t. Instead, I feel more drained and out of control than ever.
When we step into the red-tinged dawn, there’s an escort of four guards waiting for us – but unlike yesterday, one of them steps forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.
‘A message from the palazzo,’ he says, bowing and holding out a scroll stamped with the Contessa’s crest in purple wax: the Santini sun surrounded by its nine godly stars.
Valentina and I share a glance of confusion. She steps forward to accept the scroll … and then starts to walk off, holding the letter at her side, unopened.
Now it’s Ofelia and I who glance at each other in frustration as we hurry after her towards home, following the straight, quieter street at the back of the palazzo square. In a few moments, we’ll be veering off, climbing a narrow stepped path along the cliffs to our walled compound alongside the palazzo. The morning is already quickening, voices rising from the square beyond the mask room, the smell of oranges carrying on the breeze.
‘Aren’t you going to read it?’ I ask, catching up to Valentina.
‘It’s unseemly to open private post in the street, Beatrice,’ she replies, her jaw set, eyes fixed as she walks. ‘Besides, this message is from the Contessa’s household and must be of the utmost importance.’
‘But how can you wait? We’ve never received a letter before.’ My stomach churns. ‘Do you think it’s about the new triplets?’ I whisper. ‘Maybe the mother has gone into labour …’
‘Don’t be absurd, Beatrice – why would they send us a letter about that?’
As we’re talking, I barely see Ofelia darting to Valentina’s other side and snatching the folded paper audaciously straight from her hand.
‘Hey!’ Valentina says, two bright spots of colour rising on her cheeks as she stops and spins to face Ofelia. We’re at the turning off towards the house, where the path narrows and steepens, and the sea crashes somewhere beneath. Valentina reaches to snatch the letter, but Ofelia darts up the narrow steps away from her. Our escort of guards shuffle nervously – but they’re too afraid of us to say anything. ‘Give that back! Don’t you dare open it, Ofelia!’ Valentina hisses.
Ofelia runs, and we all follow – a hurried procession of girls in black and guards in bright yellow. I find laughter rising in me, bubbling out in a fit of breathless giggles as my feet pound the stony path – if Valentina was worried about appearing unseemly before, she’ll be burning up with embarrassment now. We’re about thirty paces from the gates to the mascherari grounds when Ofelia stops, climbing up on a rock beside the path.
‘Get down from there! Get down!’ Valentina says.
‘Make me!’ Ofelia cries, waving the letter triumphantly.
I can see both of their faces are flushed even beneath their black veils. The line of silver trees hiding our house rustles in the wind behind Ofelia, the sea crashes beneath us. My heart lifts. Our guards stand a few paces further back – and for a moment, we’re not surrounded.
‘Give it back this instant!’ Valentina says, her voice cracking with frustration.
But Ofelia has already broken off the seal, which separates from the paper intact and drops to the paving stones at my feet, and is scanning the text of the unravelled scroll. Suddenly she shrieks and throws the letter up in the air.
‘Oh blessed many faces of Mythris!’ she exclaims, bringing her hands to her mouth, and I can’t tell what other emotion is mingled with her obvious shock.
The letter is fluttering away on the breeze. Valentina is close to fainting with rage – it’s beneath her dignity to hurry after it, especially after our crazed chase – but it’s not beneath mine. Two of our guards – one of whose mouths I swear is twitching in amusement – step aside for me to catch it where it’s landed on a fragrant rosemary shrub.
I retrieve the letter and unravel it. ‘It’s an invitation,’ I say, scanning the text. ‘We’re invited to the puppet theatre tomorrow night for the Contessa’s fiftieth-anniversary celebrations.’ I glance up at Ofelia, suddenly understanding. ‘The puppet theatre!’
‘The Mezzanotte company, Beatrice!’ she squeaks, jumping off the rock, skirts flying. ‘An original production!’ She’s whirling and dancing like a spinning top.
I return to the letter. ‘We’ll have the night off, it says. Some escorts will arrive for us at dusk.’ I glance up at Valentina – an offer of peace in my eyes. ‘Isn’t that exciting?’
But her face is pinched and pale. ‘Exciting? What is wrong with you both? I shall have no part in it. Better, if I am not to work in the mask room, to spend my night in prayer. Now, if you’re quite finished with your ludicrous display?’ She turns and walks up towards the house.
We hurry after her, enclosed again by the guards – but even Valentina’s foul mood cannot wipe the smile from Ofelia’s face. I step on something as I walk and lift my foot. It’s the purple seal – the sun encircled by stars – turned face up and curiously intact but for the neat crack down its middle. I’m not sure why, but something in me makes me bring my heel down hard, crushing it to dust.
My mind spins the rest of the way home. Inside, Valentina is already in her room by the time Ofelia and I climb the stairs, the door slamming behind her. Ofelia opens the door to her room, humming, lost in her dreams of puppets and plays. Then, on instinct, I catch her arm, pulling her after me. We enter my room, and I click the door softly shut.
‘Ofelia …’ I take a deep breath. I’m not sure that what I’m thinking should ever be voiced – but then I remember her face when I told her about the new triplets, and my resolve hardens.
‘Beatrice?’ she says, her face creased with worry. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘This could be our chance.’
‘What?’ She doesn’t understand. I lower my voice, drawing closer to her.
‘Our chance … to leave.’
‘Leave?’ It takes a few long breaths before her face settles into understanding. My heart thuds with hope and terror in equal measure.
‘Bea … no …’ she shakes her head, clearly shocked. ‘We couldn’t.’
‘What have we got to lose?’ I reach out and take her hands in mine, pulling her towards me, certain I can convince her. ‘Ofelia, you’re like me. You and I have always been frustrated that we didn’t choose this life. We’ve always wondered what our paths would have been – if we weren’t born triplets on this island, if the Contessa hadn’t plucked us from the world before we were old enough to decide. Remember? Well, now we’ll have a chance to find out.’ I’m sure I see a glimmer in her eyes – hope? Inspiration? But then she pulls her hands away, leaving mine cold and empty.
‘What about Valentina?’ she says gently. ‘She’d never agree.’
‘We’d convince her,’ I said. ‘If it were both of us against her, she couldn’t say no. Look, Ofelia. We won’t have another chance like this – all three of us out in the city, away from the house, surrounded by crowds …’
But Ofelia is shaking her head, and the words fall away from my lips. ‘But it’s more than that, Bea. Scarossa is relying on us. We are part of an unbroken chain stretching back for generations. Our masks keep the people her
e safe, helping the Contessa protect us from our enemies. Do you really want to be the ones responsible for breaking that chain? The consequences for us would be bad enough—’
‘If we were caught!’ I say desperately. ‘We’d make sure we weren’t!’
‘But the consequences for the Contessa, for the people here would be dreadful,’ she says firmly. ‘No, Beatrice. I can’t accept this and neither should you.’ Her words are final.
When I close my eyes, I see myself sailing on a ship across the waves … I can’t let go of this dream, not yet. I open my eyes and blink a fat, hot tear down my cheek.
‘The people hate us,’ I tell Ofelia, my voice barely more than a croak. ‘They won’t even look at us. And the Contessa only cares about her own power.’
‘But this is our duty. Our fate.’
‘You sound like her.’ My eyes dart in the direction of Valentina’s room.
She shakes her head. ‘I know … I’m sorry. She’s insufferable. But sometimes, just sometimes … although I hate to admit it…. I think maybe she’s right. I think …’ her voice is gentle. ‘I think this is just a symptom of your mental state, Bea – all your worries and anxieties rising up, making you panic. And who can blame you? Everything has changed, so quickly, and with such upheaval. The Inheritance. Nurse leaving. The assassin.’ She smiles at me. ‘Somehow, you fought him off. You’re my hero, Bea. But that’s a lot of pressure on one girl.’
I think about telling her that there’s more. That fighting off the assassin has raised further questions in my mind about the power I now hold … Instead, I say quietly, in a voice that already sounds defeated, ‘It’s more than that. It’s not just anxiety. This life is so full of darkness, Ofelia. How is that something I can love? And the rest of the world is out there, shining like a jewel.’
She is quiet for a moment, as if she’s turning my words over in her mind. Then, she places her hands on my shoulders. ‘What you have to remember is that this life is your destiny. This is what you were born to do. Is it a hard burden to bear? Yes, of course it is. But it’s also full of opportunity. I truly think that the life we live here, together, in the service of the Contessa and Mythris, will be a happy one. Come here,’ she says, and she pulls me into an embrace. ‘I’m upset about the new triplets too. I didn’t expect it to come this soon.’