Starling

by Fiona Paul

  The little fourth-floor room had grown stifling in the day’s heat. Cass went to the window and flung open the shutters, inhaling warm breaths of humid air. The breeze ruffled the coverlet on her bed and made the old candelabra dangling from the ceiling sway back and forth. Normally servants’ rooms weren’t adorned with such frivolities, but evidently a past owner of the house had seen fit to emulate the grander rooms downstairs.

  She glanced nervously at the tarnished fixture, tracing the rope from the brass candleholders down to where it was tethered to the wall for raising and lowering. The rope’s fibers were fraying in places, and the way the candelabra groaned in the wind made Cass worry it might come crashing down at any moment.

  “Capricia? Are you getting ready?” Flavia’s musical voice carried from across the hall. “Do you need assistance?”

  Cass had borrowed another of Octavia’s gowns for the event, a burgundy bodice with layers of silvery-gray skirts and lacy gray sleeves. She could put on the skirts herself but would need help lacing her stays and bodice. Perhaps Flavia also had a wig she could borrow or at least some heavy eye and lip color she could use to disguise herself. Cass tugged the skirts over her slim hips. “Coming.” She slipped across the hallway into Flavia’s room.

  Flavia laced her stays so tightly that for a moment Cass thought of Siena, and her eyes welled with tears. Why had she always been so short with her handmaid? As she threaded her arms through her bodice, she squeezed one hand into a fist, focusing on the pain of her fingernails digging into her palms. She couldn’t break down. She had to be strong.

  “Stunning,” Flavia declared as she secured the bodice and stepped back for a better look. “What were you planning to do with your hair?”

  “Actually,” Cass began slowly, pushing thoughts of Siena from her mind, “I was wondering if you might have a wig I could wear.” At Flavia’s look of surprise she added quickly, “Or perhaps a veil? I don’t want anyone to recognize me.”

  “I see.” Flavia nodded knowingly. “Some of your noble friends might be there to look down at how far you’ve fallen. Is that it?”

  “I don’t mean to pass judgment on your life,” Cass started. “It’s just that—”

  Flavia interrupted her. “Believe me, I’ve grown accustomed to it. But I really have improved my lot by getting hired on here. The quality of man who speaks to me now is different.” She giggled as she pretended to swoon. “Perhaps someday a handsome don will fall madly in love and whisk me away. Now sit and let’s see if I can make you even more lovely.” Flavia’s dark eyes lit up as she helped Cass settle into her dressing table chair. “We’ll do hair first, and then some color for your face.”

  Perfect. Flavia’s heavy hand with the rouge and lip stain would definitely help as a disguise.

  Flavia went to a trunk pushed up against the wall of her little room. She dug through it, tossing things left and right as she muttered to herself. She came back with a brilliant blonde wig. Cass’s jaw dropped a little as she reached out to stroke the silken hairpiece.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she admitted. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear it yourself?”

  “It goes better with your coloring,” Flavia said. “And I find it a little hot.” She adjusted the wig so it covered all of Cass’s dark hair and then secured it at the sides and nape of the neck with pins. She braided sections of it upward and twisted them into a cone shape. The tall hair elongated Cass’s neck and somehow made her look older. She smiled at her reflection. Already she looked markedly different.

  And Flavia wasn’t even close to finished. Next, she started on Cass’s face. A warm cloth and a cool cream were followed by a dusting of tawny golden powder that made Cass’s skin glisten like the bricks of the Palazzo Ducale when the afternoon sun spread across its façade.

  “You’re very good at this,” Cass said grudgingly.

  “If you saw what I looked like with a bare face, you’d understand why.” Flavia made a hideous face in the mirror. “Not even the lepers would have me.”

  Cass laughed aloud and both girls smiled. Flavia smudged Cass’s lower eyelids with kohl and then painted her lips with a deep maroon color that almost matched the bodice of the dress she’d borrowed from Octavia. Cass watched Flavia’s actions and felt transformed, the same way she’d felt when Siena helped disguise her the last time she had masqueraded as a woman for hire. The girl in the mirror wasn’t necessarily more beautiful, but she was wild and impulsive and strong. She was fearless.

  Cass only hoped she could match her insides to her outside. She still had no idea if Donna Domacetti was a full-fledged member of the Order or just a clueless patron who wore the six-petaled flower ring simply because it was pretty.

  Oblivious to the questions tumbling through Cass’s head, Flavia smiled brightly as she splashed a bit of rosewater behind each of Cass’s ears. “Finished,” she declared. She stepped back and her face fell. “Caspita. This is all wrong. Perhaps we should take it off and start from the beginning.”

  “What?” Cass considered her reflection, wondering what Flavia was finding fault with. Her freckles were hidden, her lips looked fuller, and the kohl around her eyes almost made them look gray. She looked beautiful, and more important, she looked almost nothing like herself. “I think it’s perfect.”

  “Too perfect,” Flavia said with a pretend pout. “You’ll already get most of the attention as the new girl. I’ve gone and made you so gorgeous that the men won’t even notice the rest of us.”

  “I’m sure there will be plenty of men to go around,” Cass said drily. She couldn’t imagine wanting attention from anyone Donna Domacetti might invite to a party. Who would be there? Dubois? Angelo de Gradi? Other members of the Order of the Eternal Rose? Cristian? Cass shuddered at the thought of the macabre mementos hidden on the lower level of Palazzo Viaro. She hoped Dubois had the good sense not to let Cristian attend a party full of nobles. Luca’s half brother was clearly unbalanced. Insane.

  Dangerous.

  “I just need to fetch something from my room,” Cass said suddenly. She crossed the narrow hallway and ducked down to reach beneath her bed. Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger Maximus had lent her. She tucked the weapon into the waistband of her skirts.

  She couldn’t be too careful.

  ~

  The four girls Octavia had selected for the party—Cass, Flavia, Seraphina, and Arabella—all took a gondola to Palazzo Domacetti together.

  “Capricia, you look lovely,” Seraphina said.

  Flavia giggled and nudged Cass in the ribs. Once again, Cass had forgotten she was supposed to respond to the name Capricia. She feigned interest in something she could see through the slats of the felze for a moment before turning to respond to Seraphina. “Grazie. I have Flavia to thank for that.”

  “Nonsense,” Flavia said graciously. “All I did was bring out the beauty that was already there.”

  Arabella rolled her eyes. “Someone is already practicing her charm skills.”

  In her golden wig, Cass’s hair was almost as light as Arabella’s. Cass wondered if the blonde courtesan was naturally fair-haired or if she also wore a wig. Arabella caught her staring and raised a pale eyebrow. Cass quickly looked down at the boat’s leather interior. She took comfort in the hum of the women’s voices, smiling at their lighthearted teasing of one another. Was this what it would have been like if she’d had sisters? Feliciana and Siena were the closest thing Cass had to sisters, and now Siena was dead and Feliciana was mourning. Cass couldn’t shake the thought that what had happened in the Doge’s dungeons had forever changed her relationship with Feliciana—that they would never be close again.

  The gondolier navigated a narrow stretch of canal, muttering as his boat scraped up against a stone retaining wall. They turned into a wider stretch of water that eventually met the Grand Canal. There were several other boats out on the water, most
ly gleaming gondolas adorned with royal crests and filled with well-dressed nobles. Unlike the intimate atmosphere of the Florentine Palazzo della Notte parties, it seemed as if all the nobility in Venice was heading to Palazzo Domacetti.

  The boat glided past Palazzo Rambaldo and Cass thought of Madalena still in Florence with her husband, Marco, possibly expecting their first child. She wished she could be there for her friend. She knew it was an exciting but scary time for Mada, whose own mother had died giving birth.

  Palazzo Domacetti loomed in the distance. It was one of the largest and most ornate homes on the Grand Canal, at least twice the size of the palazzos on either side of it. A gondola carrying two men dressed in fine embroidered doublets and wide-brimmed velvet hats pulled alongside the girls as they approached.

  “Good evening, ladies,” one of the men said. His friend stood up just far enough to attempt a suave bow. Their gondola teetered back and forth, nearly spilling them into the canal. Their gondolier swore at them, and the two men began to laugh.

  “I trust we’ll see you at the party.” The first man smiled broadly.

  Arabella quickly produced an ivory fan, fluttering her eyelashes as she fanned herself. Seraphina smiled back at the men, waving coyly with one hand. Flavia giggled and hollered out something Agnese would have declared unbecoming of a lady.

  Cass laughed. For the first time, she thought of her aunt without being overcome by sadness. She missed her terribly. She always would. But perhaps Agnese was finally at peace now, as Narissa had said. And in the company of the other girls, Cass didn’t feel alone, for once. She was fortunate to spend time with these unusual women. She envied them and their gorgeous dresses, their perfect hair, their invitations to all of the best events. Excitement flooded her veins. Tonight didn’t have to be all about the Order of the Eternal Rose. Perhaps she could have a bit of fun as well.

  The gondolier pulled to a stop a few boat lengths away from Palazzo Domacetti. The dock was crammed with gondolas, and the girls had to wait their turn to alight. Cass tried to embrace her identity as Capricia as the boat bobbed gently in the water. Courtesans had freedom and respect of which noblewomen could only dream. They were beautiful and talented. Desired.

  Powerful.

  When their gondolier had safely moored their boat, Cass took Flavia’s hand and stepped gracefully onto the dock, balancing herself carefully in her chopines. She turned back to help Arabella, who was holding on to the mooring post in one hand and clutching a black leather case that held her flute in the other.

  Palazzo Domacetti appeared to be freshly painted, its bright white walls a stark contrast to the mildewing, water-stained exteriors of the neighboring palazzos. Gold leaf and intricate carvings of vines and blossoms decorated the arched front door. The door knocker was made of marble and shaped like an angel taking flight, but there was no need to knock. People were arriving in droves, and a servant in the brilliant red-and-black livery of the Domacetti estate was ushering everyone into the palazzo.

  Cass and the courtesans approached the door together. She couldn’t help but notice the way everyone stared at them. Men slid out of the way so that they could pass. Women looked on with scorn or envy. Flavia squeezed Cass’s hand with excitement as the girls glided up the stairs and entered the spacious portego.

  Aside from a pair of divans right inside the doorway, the furniture had all been relocated to make more space for dancing. Otherwise, Donna Domacetti’s portego looked just as Cass remembered it: dark wood, red and yellow paint, carved sculptures of angels and winged horses covering the entire room. The walls were deep mahogany, with white marble moldings carved in swirling patterns. A giant square mirror hung at the center of each wall, reflecting the swirls and wings from across the room. The effect was dizzying. Cass reached out for Flavia’s arm to steady herself.

  Flavia was staring down at the floor in fascination. Cass tried to ignore the replica of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus that stretched beneath their feet, each of the painting’s tiny details laid out in colored floor tiles. After seeing Falco’s painting of his patroness arranged like Venus, but springing forth from a rose, Cass would never be able to look at another Botticelli image without cringing.

  Seraphina started toward the group of guests who were dancing, and Arabella announced that she was going to play her flute in one of the sitting rooms. A small line of men followed her through the crowd toward the back of the piano nobile.

  “Shall we dance?” Flavia suggested. Her dark curls bounced as she glided across the room.

  Cass started to follow her but then stopped.

  Joseph Dubois stood near a table laden with enormous pies and a giant roasted bear, a gleaming baked apple tucked between its sharp canines. Dubois accepted a slice of meat from a servant who was dutifully carving the bear to order, and then turned back to the woman he was chatting with: Donna Domacetti. Cass’s insides twisted with revulsion. It made her sick the way that all of Venetian nobility refused to see Dubois for what he was—a liar and a murderer. Even Feliciana seemed to be back under his spell. How could his influence make people so blind?

  Shaking her head in disgust, Cass hurried to catch up with Flavia, and both girls blended into the group of dancers. Cass followed the lead of the man across from her, switching dance partners occasionally as she worked her way closer to Dubois. Just as she was about to close in on him, another familiar face floated into view.

  Belladonna! Cass’s heart went still in her chest. She had known it was possible the Florentine leader of the Order of the Eternal Rose might be at this party, but the room blurred for a second as all the horrors Cass had faced in Florence came rushing back: Hortensa’s execution, the dog attack, waking up with her wrists bound to her bed, Piero drugging her and stealing her blood. And the worst of all: Belladonna bathing in the blood of an innocent Florentine girl whom Piero had murdered in the name of the Order.

  “Signorina, are you all right?” A man with dark hair and a feathered cap looked down at her curiously.

  Cass realized she’d stopped dancing right in the middle of the song, and the man had nearly collided with her. “Fine. Sorry,” she murmured. Dropping her eyes to the ground, she took his hand, moving once more to the music as she darted looks at Falco’s patroness. Belladonna carried her shimmering teal skirts over to where Dubois and Donna Domacetti were talking.

  Belladonna gestured at a doorway on the far side of the portego. Dubois nodded but didn’t move. Donna Domacetti threw back her head and cackled at a joke no one else seemed to find funny. Eventually the donna was pulled away by a woman wearing a ridiculously large hat. Belladonna and Dubois turned away from the festivities.

  Cass waited until they left the portego and then hurried off in the same direction. She was grateful they hadn’t gone in the direction of the lower floor. She would have had a hard time explaining why she was trolling the damp storage areas if anyone caught her. Instead, they wandered into a small salon full of Greek sculptures across the hall. Cass loitered just outside the doorway, her ear pressed to the marble as she struggled to hear.

  “I know you have it, Joseph,” Belladonna said. “My patience wears thin.”

  “Bella, I already told you. I have my best men seeking out the criminal who stole your book. After all, my name is on certain pages of that book that I should not like to see spread around the Republic.” Dubois’s words were calm, slick, as always. Cass had never heard him raise his voice.

  “I know you sent your mangy old physician to Florence to steal it from me. It’s the only thing that makes sense, though how he contrived admittance to my chambers I shall never know.”

  Cass’s hands started to shake. The book was still missing, but Belladonna seemed to think Angelo de Gradi had stolen it. Luca had gone to Angelo’s workshop the previous day. Perhaps he had seen something. Or perhaps Angelo had passed the book on to his employer and Dubois was lying to Belladonna.
/>   “Certainly not, since you felt the need to kill him,” Dubois murmured.

  “How was I to know a person could bleed to death from a few severed fingers?” Belladonna said. “I’m quite impressed by how long the old man held out. Clearly, he was more loyal than I ever imagined.”

  Cass’s stomach churned. Belladonna had tortured and murdered Dubois’s physician in an attempt to regain possession of the book. Clearly, there was no end to her wickedness.

  “Or perhaps he didn’t have your book after all.” Dubois didn’t sound too bothered by Angelo’s death.

  Cass risked a quick peek around the door frame into the room.

  Belladonna stood with her arms crossed, scowling so hard that her eyes had turned to slits. “Either he had it, or you have it.” She tightened her lips into a hard line. “If he had it, I shall find it eventually. But if you have it . . .” She sighed. “Those pages are very dear to me, Joseph. If you return it, I might be persuaded to give you a batch of elixir.”

  Dubois stood in front of a statue of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Her wings seemed to sprout from his back. He raised an eyebrow. “You have working elixir?”

  “We believe so, but our supply is almost depleted.”

  “I assume you plan to make more?” Dubois asked.

  “Of course. We’re just waiting on one ingredient.”

  Cass ducked back out of view. Belladonna had working elixir? She couldn’t have been in Venice more than a week or so. How had she managed so fast?

  Dubois answered the question. “I see you made quick work of utilizing Angelo’s workshop to your advantage,” he said. “Really, Bella, the dottore was quite fond of you. If you’re going to work for me, you need to be a bit less reckless.”

  Belladonna’s voice went shrill. “You mean work with you.”

  Cass couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Belladonna and Dubois were working together. And Belladonna or one of her minions had apparently killed Angelo de Gradi to take over his workshop. But neither of those facts was as scary as the Order of the Eternal Rose having working elixir. Once they had perfected their formula, they would undoubtedly want to produce massive quantities. They would capture or kill whomever they needed to make more. With it, they would be able to bribe citizens, senators, leaders of the Church. No one would be able to resist the lure of immortality, would they? The Order would be omnipotent. Cass had to find a way to stop them, and quickly.