Starling

by Fiona Paul

  “Where are you taking me?” Cass asked.

  “Far away from those men,” Feliciana replied. “Where did you plan to go?”

  “I have to get back to San Domenico. To Luca.” She paused. “You can come with me if you like.”

  Feliciana ducked under a clothesline and slipped into a recessed archway. A set of stairs led upward to a second-floor residence. “The gondoliers won’t go out to the islands if they think it’s going to storm. I know the way to where Falco’s been staying. You’d be safe there.”

  Cass’s heart skipped a beat. “That’s not a good idea,” she said.

  Part of her was eager to see Falco, but most of her hoped never to see him again. How could he have sent her that message in Florence about being desperate to reconcile and then fallen into Belladonna’s arms the very next day? Cass wanted to believe she was mistaken about the moment she had interrupted in the garden at Villa Briani, but the looks Falco and Bella had exchanged . . . the touches . . .

  It was none of her business if he and his patroness were lovers, but she also knew he would do his best to protest they were not.

  And Cass would probably believe whatever he told her.

  Then he would give her that lopsided smile. His fingers would trace her collarbones, her jawline, they would find her hair and tug softly. She imagined herself giving in, collapsing against his muscular body as she had done several times before.

  “It’s not as if we have a lot of options,” Feliciana said.

  “You’re right, of course, but . . .” Cass shook her head, tried to erase the image of her falling into Falco’s arms. Things were different now. She was different.

  Feliciana studied her with knowing eyes while she waited for Cass’s response. “So you do still have feelings for him,” she said coolly. “He is quite charming, I’ll admit. I was quite surprised when he invited me to stay with him until I found other arrangements.”

  “You’ve been staying with Falco?” Cass asked, her voice rising in pitch.

  A great gust of wind whipped a row of chemises back and forth on the clothesline. Pale sleeves clawed at the misty air.

  “For a couple of days until I found work,” Feliciana said. “He was simply being a gentleman, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps we could go to your new place of employment instead?” Cass suggested, wondering how Feliciana had found work so quickly while trying to dismiss the other thoughts that were flying through her head. Feliciana’s words about Falco had been innocent enough, but Cass knew exactly what happened when Falco brought women back to Tommaso’s studio. So what if she loved Luca. That didn’t mean she wanted to spend the night watching Falco make eyes at her former handmaid.

  “About that,” Feliciana said slowly. “I didn’t know how to tell you before.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall next to the stairs. “I’ve gone back to Palazzo Dubois.”

  “What? How could you— Why on earth—” The words shot from Cass’s mouth like crossbow darts.

  “Cass.” Feliciana clapped her hands together. She tucked her mourning veil back from her face. “We don’t all have a doting fiancé and a handsome artist vying to take care of us. My sister is dead. I thought you were dead. I’ve no family. This is temporary until I can save enough money to return to Signora Alioni in Florence, but it’s the best I can do, all right?”

  “But he’s a killer,” Cass said. “How can you feel safe?” She couldn’t believe this turn of events. Feliciana returning willingly to Joseph Dubois’s employ . . .

  “Joseph favors me—he always has. And he doesn’t realize how much I know about the Order,” Feliciana said. “Honestly, it was Cristian who scared me into leaving, always lurking around, watching me. What proof do you have that Joseph is a murderer that didn’t spill forth from the lips of that madman?”

  “Just Dubois’s involvement in the Order makes him a killer,” Cass insisted.

  The sky rumbled again with thunder. So far the rain had held off, but the air had taken on a sudden chill.

  “Not necessarily. You told me he had his physician dissect corpses. Unsavory. Blasphemous, to be sure. But not murder.”

  Cass could not believe Feliciana was defending Joseph Dubois. “But he ordered the death of Sophia.”

  “According to Cristian.”

  “Why would he lie?” Cass asked.

  “Because he’s a lunatic?”

  Feliciana was wrong. Cass knew it. She knew it in her head and her heart. Joseph Dubois was a monster. You didn’t have to spend but five minutes with Dubois before the stink of evil became unbearable. “He had Luca imprisoned.”

  Feliciana pursed her lips. “Allegedly.”

  Cass sighed deeply. There would be no changing Feliciana’s mind, at least not tonight. She didn’t know if Feliciana really believed in Dubois’s innocence or if she was picking a fight because Cass had judged her sharply for returning to her old employer. Cass didn’t care. She just wanted to protect her former handmaid. She didn’t think of her as a servant anymore, she realized. She thought of her as a friend. “Stay with me. Don’t go back to Palazzo Dubois. It isn’t safe for you.”

  Feliciana arched an eyebrow. “And here I thought perhaps you’d be pleased. That you’d ask me to do a little investigating for you. Listen in for whispers about the Order.”

  “I would never ask you to risk your life to further my personal agenda,” Cass said.

  “Wouldn’t you?” Two words. So much pain.

  All this anger was about Siena, Cass knew it, and maybe she deserved it. “Listen,” Cass started. “Come back to San Domenico with me so we can talk. I’ll tell you the rest of what happened. I’ll tell you everything, even words your sister said to me in confidence. Whatever it takes to help you get through this.”

  A burst of music intruded on their private moment. Beyond the clothesline, a group of men appeared, shouting to one another and strumming lutes. They wore bright green and purple clothing and large hats adorned with peacock feathers. If they were worried about the weather, they didn’t show it.

  “Follow them,” Feliciana said. “They’re heading to the Piazza San Marco for the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul. You might find a fisherman there who’s spent all his money and needs a fare to the islands.”

  “But you—”

  “I can’t go with you. Joseph has some . . . duties for me tonight,” Feliciana replied. “I wish you and Luca luck in whatever future you decide. If I were you, I’d leave this place. Forget about the Order. Save yourselves.”

  Cass felt heat behind her eyes. She chewed her lower lip. “Will I see you again?” she asked.

  “I’m sure you will, if you want to.” Feliciana smiled tightly, her own eyes misting up. “The world seems to enjoy giving you whatever you wish.”

  With that, she ducked past the line of flapping chemises and vanished into the night.

  Whatever she wished? Dead parents? Dead Siena? Dead Agnese? Feliciana was speaking out of anger and loss. She didn’t mean that—she couldn’t. Cass prayed her friend would forgive her, eventually, but she couldn’t dwell on it at the moment. She had to find her way back to San Domenico.

  To Luca.

  Hoping that the rain would hold off, Cass strolled quickly through the darkening streets, following the musicians from the Castello district to the San Polo district to the San Marco district.

  Fear shot through her as she approached Piazza San Marco. She had not set foot in the piazza since the day she and Siena broke into the Doge’s dungeons. Cressets mounted around the perimeter bathed the area in dancing gold light. Nobles and peasants alike were out in the middle of the square, spinning and swaying to music played by bards and courtesans. Gypsies clad in brightly colored skirts swirled through the masses, peddling protective amulets and brilliant scarves. A handful of soldiers dotted the crowd, but they seemed to have joined
in the reveling, their helmets tossed carelessly to the ground, their swords and daggers safely sheathed.

  A flash of lightning lit up the water behind the Palazzo Ducale, but everyone continued to dance, unworried about the impending storm. Giant cloth banners depicting different crests whipped back and forth in the wind. Cass had been to the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul only once, when she was a girl still living with her parents on the Rialto. They had taken her out into the crowded streets and let her dance to the music before bedtime.

  Then it had seemed like a merry, happy festival with dancing smiling grown-ups, all of whom had grinned down at her and spun her around in circles until she collapsed into a giggling heap.

  But now things seemed different. Darker. Malevolent. Thunder crashed above her head, and Cass jumped. The vendors moved throughout the crowd hawking their wine and jewelry with loud, forceful voices. The spinning dancers enclosed her, their circles tightening, threatening to trap her in the piazza.

  And then Cass saw a familiar face in the crowd. Dark eyes. Dark hair. Dark skin. It was Piero Basso, Belladonna’s personal physician. The man who had drugged Cass and drawn her blood while she was unconscious. Panicked, she pushed past the circle of dancers and craned her neck from side to side. If Piero was here, then Belladonna was likely nearby. Perhaps they were looking for her.

  Perhaps they were looking for her blood.

  It had been a bad idea to come here. The gondoliers and fishermen were all merry and drunk. No one looked as if he wanted to leave the party. Cass didn’t see Belladonna in the crowd. And now she didn’t see Piero either. Had she imagined him, or was he working his way around her at this very moment, preparing to sneak up behind her?

  Spinning around, she pushed through the masses of people. She had to get away. Far away.

  She made it to the edge of the piazza when a man dressed all in black melted out of the night and reached for her.

  “Rare is the blood that recombines to form a pure sample of the fifth humor.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  nine

  Cass shrieked, but the festivities drowned out her voice. She flung her elbow at the man’s midsection, turning to flee as he stumbled backward in surprise. She plunged into an alley, leaping over a pile of tangled metal outside a blacksmith’s shop. Gasping for breath, she pulled the paring knife she’d stolen from Palazzo Viaro from her pocket. Footsteps pounded behind her.

  She ducked between two buildings, pressing her body tight against a stucco wall. Her knife wavered in her grip. Peering around the corner, her eyes widened as the man dressed in black drew near.

  “Maximus?” she said incredulously. Cass hadn’t spoken to the conjurer in weeks.

  “Signorina Caravello,” he said. “I thought I recognized you.” He adjusted his hat and then rubbed the left side of his rib cage. “Caspita. Are you wearing armor beneath those sleeves? I think you cracked a rib.”

  “Just my bony elbow, I’m afraid.” Cass smiled ruefully as she slipped her knife back into her pocket.

  Just then, the skies opened and rain began to fall, hard and fast like tiny swords. She ducked into a doorway. “Mi dispiace, but what were you doing reaching out for me like that?”

  “I was trying to talk to you, but you were walking as if the Devil were clawing at your neck.” Maximus joined her beneath the overhang. “Where are you headed at such a speed?”

  “I need to get back to San Domenico.”

  “Signorina, that’s an impossibility. No one will travel in this weather. Worse, just two hours ago I saw boats patrolling the shoreline—both government and private. If you try to go back there, you’ll be captured.”

  Lightning slashed at the sky again. Cass prayed that Luca had not been caught. “But I was told by a source I trust that the Senate had given us up for dead.”

  “Aye,” Maximus said. “Someone must have seen you since and reported it. That would explain why they have begun to search for you again.”

  Cass swore under her breath. “Then it appears I’m trapped here for the time being.”

  “Well, I’m not going to leave you all alone,” Maximus said. “So we’ll have to be trapped here together.”

  Cass smiled. From this distance she could see the bits of gold and orange that danced in Maximus’s dark eyes and the tiny wrinkles beginning to form at the edge of them. He was likely close to the age her father would be if he were still alive, and for a moment she tried to decide if the two men would be friends. Yes, she decided. They would.

  “So pensive.” Maximus produced a single red rose out of thin air. “A flower for your thoughts?”

  Cass was half tempted to ask Maximus if he could wave his hands and make a roasted chicken appear. She had only begun to eat when she and Feliciana had to leave the restaurant. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked. “You hardly know me.”

  “I like what I know,” Maximus said. “And you look as if you could use a friend.”

  Cass bit her lip, suddenly at a loss for words. She had never made a friend on her own before, and she wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.

  “Are you skilled at disguises?” she asked suddenly. She and Luca had both cut their hair while hiding on the Giudecca, but it had taken Feliciana and Maximus both about two seconds to recognize her. Obviously shorter hair and a servant’s uniform were not enough to keep her safe.

  Maximus chuckled to himself but didn’t answer. He studied Cass for a moment. “I’m on my way to meet a friend,” he said finally, “but you can come with me. She is the kind of woman who might be able to teach you a thing or two about becoming someone else.”

  She. Cass imagined spending the night with Maximus and his lover. Perhaps even more awkward than spending a night alone with him. But what alternative did she have? Huddling in the rain all night and praying Piero didn’t find her? “I wouldn’t want to impose,” she said slowly.

  “It’s no imposition,” Maximus said. “She’ll likely want to hear your story. Escape from the Doge’s dungeons. Brilliant, I say.”

  “You cannot tell her who I am,” Cass insisted. “It could put Luca in danger if people find out we’re still alive.”

  “So your fiancé made it out as well? Amazing.” Maximus adjusted his hat again. “Well, if you won’t tell her, you’ll have to promise to tell me someday.”

  Cass nodded. The two of them hovered beneath the recess, watching the silvery drops of rain slash their way to the ground. She didn’t mind getting wet if it meant getting someplace where she could feel safe for the evening.

  “Shall we?” She gestured out at the street.

  “We shall.” Maximus took Cass’s arm and, with it, much of the fear she had been holding inside herself. With him, she wasn’t Cassandra Caravello, fugitive of the Republic. She was neither a threat nor a target, just a simple serving girl out for a stroll in the rain with her friend.

  Maximus led her back the way she came, and then he turned away from the Grand Canal. Raindrops battered her cloak and her bare hands, but her hood kept her face protected. Her feet were another story. Without her chopines, her simple leather shoes were submerged completely in the pooling water.

  Gradually the palazzos became smaller and older, with clusters of dingy little flats between them. In one of the larger houses, two girls danced in windows to the music of a boy playing a lute. Cass recognized the area: Fondamenta delle Tette. “Are we going to a brothel?” she joked, thinking back to the time she had spent in the neighborhood with Falco.

  Maximus turned to her with a grin. “What better place to secure a beautiful lady for the evening.”

  Cass skidded to a stop on the wet cobblestones and pulled her arm free from Maximus’s grasp. “I cannot go to a brothel with you.” She imagined what Luca would say. It was bad enough that she wasn’t going to make it back to San Domenico to meet him. He would probably go mad wit
h worry. How angry would he be to find out Cass had spent the night lounging around with courtesans and their men?

  “Why not? As I recall, it wouldn’t be your first time.” Maximus winked. “That’s where we met, right? At Palazzo Dolce? Both of us were looking for Mariabella.” He gave Cass a sideways glance. “Besides, the head of the house is a personal friend of mine, so I guarantee she’ll put you up for the night. She probably won’t even make you work off her kindness.”

  “Maximus!” Cass turned bright red at the thought.

  He chuckled. “Sorry. For a moment there, I forgot your station. When I met you, you were in costume, and here you are again, pretending to be less than you are.”

  It was true. He had never known her as a noblewoman. “I’ve been pretending for the better part of a week,” Cass said. “If anyone were to recognize me, they’d likely turn me in for the reward money.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned to face him. “Why aren’t you turning me in for the reward money?”

  “I should hardly think I need money so badly as to see a woman executed to get it,” Maximus said. “Besides, Joseph Dubois has been posting reward notices all about the city for information leading to your capture, and he once spirited away something very dear to me. I’d rather fall on a sword than help that man.”

  Maximus was talking about Mariabella. He probably didn’t even know for certain she was dead. All he could do was suspect. Cass wished she could tell him that Cristian had killed her while he was working for Joseph Dubois, that her body lay in another woman’s tomb. It was obvious the conjurer still desperately missed her. But that would mean explaining everything, and now was not the time for that.

  “Are you sure this place is safe for me?” Cass asked suddenly. “The women won’t alert the authorities to my presence?”

  “The woman in charge is called Octavia,” Maximus said. “I’d trust her with my life. She hates the Doge and the Senate, so she’d never turn you in. I can’t be too certain about the other girls, though—some of them do tend to think with their purses. Best we keep your real identity a secret just in case.” He steered Cass down a side path. “Palazzo Dolce. Here we are.”