Starling

by Fiona Paul

  “Once our shipment arrives, we’ll begin testing blood again,” Belladonna said. “But as you know, some blood works better than others.”

  “Ah, yes,” Dubois said. “I might be able to help you with that.”

  His voice sounded clearer, like he had turned and was heading toward the doorway.

  Cass crept back across the hall to the portego and slipped quickly into the dancing, hoping that no one had noticed her sneak back into the room.

  Some blood works better than others . . .

  She thought of the page of equations she had hidden under her pillow at Palazzo Dolce. Belladonna was talking about her. Cass’s heart beat violently in her chest, a bird battering itself against the bars of a cage. Stepping away from the dancing, she blotted her clammy skin with one of her gloves as she took slow, deep breaths to compose herself.

  A man dressed in a blue silk tunic with a large hat pulled low signaled her from across the room. Cass squinted. She felt certain she had never met him before. He gestured again and she glanced over her shoulder, but there was no one there. The man clearly thought he knew her.

  Panic thrummed in her chest. What if he worked for Dubois? Or he recognized her from one of the handbills? According to Narissa, her face had been posted all over the city last week. Cass turned away, toward the doorway that led to the stairs. She would leave. Find a boat, go back to Palazzo Dolce, and explain to the girls later that she had simply panicked.

  But then something about the man struck her as familiar. He had been rubbing at a spot beneath his right eye. Could it possibly be?

  She paused, just as a hand touched the place where her neck met her shoulder. “Back from the dead,” a voice murmured. Then, before she could even utter a single syllable, the man spun her around to face him, took her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers.

  Cass’s brain registered three things all at once: Someone was kissing her. Someone was kissing her in a way that made her knees quiver and insides turn to liquid. This particular someone smelled like mint . . . and paint.

  “Beware the vines of desire: beautiful, entangling, suffocating.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  twelve

  Falco,” Cass gasped, pulling back from his hungry lips.

  “Yes, starling?” He placed his hands on her waist and drew her away from the center of the room. He leaned in to kiss her again.

  “Falco, enough.” He might have dressed himself up in fancy nobleman’s clothes, but underneath, he was the same old Falco who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Panicked, she pulled away from his embrace, her head whipping back and forth to take in the roomful of partygoers. Several of the nearby guests were glancing at the two of them curiously, a couple of the women frowning at the inappropriate display of affection. Seraphina, seated on one of the divans near the doorway, nodded her approval and gave Cass a coy wink.

  “You’re going to wreck everything,” she hissed. “People are staring. Someone might recognize me.” Obviously, even the wig and cosmetics weren’t helping if Falco had recognized her in a matter of minutes.

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Mi dispiace, starling. I didn’t mean to get carried away, but I thought you were dead.” He took hold of her lacy sleeve. “Come with me. Let’s find a place where we can talk.”

  The way he said talk made Cass’s insides melt again. She berated herself for being so weak, but she let him lead her away. She had to warn him about Belladonna and the true purpose of the Order. He hadn’t listened in the past. Now she would make him believe her.

  He towed her down the servants’ stairs, through the kitchen, and finally out a door that exited into a lush courtyard garden shaped like a U. The cool night breeze tickled her damp skin, and her slippers sank slightly into the moist ground. She had left her chopines by the front door—her shoes would be ruined. She didn’t care. She was glad to be outside, away from the crush of people.

  As soon as the door fell shut, Falco pinned her back against the wall of Palazzo Domacetti, his body tight against hers, his mouth tracing the contours of her face. “Cass,” he murmured. “Dio mio, I thought I would never see you again.” His lips found hers easily.

  Her brain threatened to stop working. The rest of the world began to disappear. It was only her and Falco tucked inside a glass bottle while the rest of Venice continued throwing parties and stealing blood and killing people. With Falco, she could be safe. With Falco, she could just be.

  No. She couldn’t. Not any longer. “Stop.” She turned her face away. Slipping out from between him and the wall, Cass walked along a path of stepping-stones toward a bronze fountain at the back of the garden. Beyond the fountain was a wrought-iron fence, and beyond the fence was an alley. She rested one hand on the iron bars, feeling a bit like the caged bird Falco had once accused her of being.

  He took her hand and led her back to the edge of the fountain, where she sat. Sitting beside her, he pressed his leg against her hip. “What is it?” he asked.

  “We came out here to talk, remember?” she said.

  “We can talk later.” He squeezed her hand, his fingers massaging the middle of her palm. Mannaggia. Why did every single touch have to make her want things? “When you’re not dressed like that,” he added.

  Cass sighed. She tugged at the neckline of her bodice. “You are impossible,” she said, scooting slightly away from him. “What are you even doing here?”

  “Madalena found me at Villa Briani just after you left Florence. She told me of your insane plan to rescue your fiancé.”

  “And so what are you doing at this party? Here at the command of your lovely patroness, I suppose?”

  Falco glanced around before he spoke. “I’m beginning to think you were right not to trust her. I went looking for—”

  “Really?” Cass didn’t let him finish. “But the last time I saw you, the two of you looked so close.”

  “Cass.” Falco’s eyes widened. “That was not what it looked like.”

  “It looked like you would do anything to keep your position at Villa Briani,” Cass said.

  Falco shook his head. “Not anything. You have to believe me. When I saw you here tonight, it was like I had crawled out of my own grave and been reborn. No other woman makes me feel as you do.” He reached for her again.

  Cass leaned away. “How did you know it was me?” she asked.

  “I didn’t. But I heard one of the other girls chatting about how the new courtesan had taught her to read Michel de Montaigne. I knew there was almost no chance, but I asked her to identify you. Even then, I had to get close before I realized it was truly my starling.” He stroked her wig and then his hand dropped to her waist. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days. You should come stay with me, let me take care of you. We could run away together.”

  Cass imagined it. Her and Falco, together, in some other country. Far away from the Order. She could take the crate of gold and jewels from Villa Querini. Falco could earn money as an artist. Her obligation to Luca was a moral one, not a legal one. It wasn’t an impossible dream anymore. She and Falco could be together if they truly desired. It would be . . . easy.

  No. Ever since she had broken Luca out of prison, she had felt stronger, more in control of her destiny. A life with Falco was just a fantasy—nothing more. It was what fairy tales were made of, and as breathtaking as fairy tales could be, they weren’t real. What she had with Luca felt different. Solid. A base upon which to build something.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  Falco’s blue eyes darkened. “Why not?”

  “Because I have obligations, Falco. There are . . . things I must do here.” Cass felt the tears forming at the backs of her eyes. What a fool. She had meant to use their stolen moment to warn him about Belladonna, but instead they would quarrel like lovers, once again. She struggled to focus. “Belladonna a
nd Dubois are working together now,” she blurted out. “I heard them talking. Both of them deny possessing the book. Are you staying with her here in Venice? Perhaps you could peek through her things.”

  “I’m not staying with her,” Falco said. “I’m staying at Tommaso’s studio. I cannot help you find this book.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me.” Cass wiped away a rogue tear. “I understand if you’re more worried about your position than helping me—”

  “Cass, don’t be absurd,” Falco said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you in Florence, but I do now. My position means nothing if it keeps me from you.” He pulled her in close, wrapping both arms around her waist. “So quit dreaming up excuses to avoid me, all right?”

  Cass wasn’t sure she believed him. He had always been such a good liar. And Belladonna was so beautiful. But this was madness. Cass was a taken woman. She would not let Falco’s words set her heart racing—not any longer.

  Suddenly she glanced up and saw a pale face watching her from the other side of the wrought-iron fence. The whole night went blurry.

  Luca.

  As she leapt up from the edge of the fountain, his face vanished into the dark. She stepped in the direction of the fence but realized it surrounded the entire property. “I have to go,” she said. Spinning on her heel, she rushed toward the back door of the palazzo. “Promise me you won’t look for me,” she called back over her shoulder. “It could be dangerous for us to be seen together. Swear you’ll stay away.”

  Falco hurried after her. “That’s one promise I don’t know if I can keep, starling,” he said. “Where are you running off to?”

  Cass couldn’t bring herself to say Luca’s name aloud. “I beg of you. Don’t follow me, just this once.” Her voice cracked. “It’s the only thing I ask of you. If you care for me at all, do as I say.” There was no more time to argue. She ducked through the back door and raced across the kitchen, praying that Falco wouldn’t pursue her. She followed the first-floor corridor and exited out onto the cobblestoned street that ran alongside the Grand Canal.

  She turned left and then right, her eyes searching for movement among the shadows of the docks and mooring posts. There! Luca was walking briskly away from Palazzo Domacetti. He had his arm raised, attempting to signal a gondolier across the water.

  “Wait,” Cass called, running to his side. “Luca, please don’t go.”

  He spun around, his broad frame blocking the light from the low-hanging moon. “Don’t go?” he repeated incredulously. “I should stay and watch more of that?”

  “Luca. I don’t know what you think, but—”

  “When I heard Donna Domacetti was having a party, I knew members of the Order would be in attendance. I thought I might find you. I even prayed I might find you. But I never expected you to have an escort.” His voice broke apart on the last word.

  Of course Luca would come looking for her there. He knew her. He knew that if she were trapped and unable to return to the villa as planned, her next course of action would be to find the Book of the Eternal Rose on her own. Luca da Peraga knew her even better than she knew herself.

  “Do you love him?” Luca asked suddenly.

  “I— What?” The words came out sharp and shrill. Cass was completely dumbfounded. “Why on earth would you ask me that?”

  Luca thrust his shoulders back and crossed his arms, wincing as he did so. The move made him seem even taller than he was, and Cass felt tiny and insignificant in comparison. “When I first returned to Venice, I saw you with him once,” he said. “I wasn’t spying. I’d heard Cristian sometimes drank at the taverna on San Domenico. I was watching the place when I saw you two leaving. I told myself it didn’t mean anything, that you were just bored or lonely, that perhaps he was betrothed to one of your friends.”

  Luca must have seen her the night she and Falco went to the Rialto and rowed right into Sophia’s body in the Grand Canal. Cass’s face burned as she remembered the amorous moment she had shared with Falco in the batèla. “I can explain,” she said.

  Even though she couldn’t.

  Luca continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “But then after Cristian attacked you, when I was feeling so horribly guilty, I started to receive strange letters from the messenger. Pages in your handwriting detailing romantic trysts with a man who was ‘different from your fiancé in every way.’”

  Cass sucked in a sharp breath. Cristian had sent her journal pages to Luca. That was why the book in her shrine was empty. “Those were my private thoughts,” she said angrily, biting back tears. “I cannot believe you read them.”

  She looked out at the dark water of the canal. A gondola floated by. Cass could see two shadows snuggled together inside the felze. A day ago, that was how she saw herself and Luca—entwined, connected.

  Happy.

  But now Falco was back, and Cass’s mouth was still burning from his kiss. And Luca had read all sorts of unflattering things she had written about him in her journal, not to mention the slightly scandalous things she’d written about her activities with Falco.

  Luca’s voice softened. “Once I realized what the pages were, I stopped reading them, Cassandra. I told myself what you had done in my absence didn’t matter. I felt as if we were growing closer, as if you wanted to grow closer.” He sighed. “I felt as if you had chosen me.”

  “I did,” Cass said. “I do.” She looked back at him. It was too easy to imagine him skimming through the pages, his brow furrowing slightly as he realized what he was reading. He was never very good at showing emotion. Even now, he didn’t look particularly angry or hurt, but Cass could see the pain in his clenched jaw and stiff posture. She had wounded him worse than the mooring post on which he had caught his shoulder. And instead of begging for forgiveness as she should, she was trying to blame Luca for reading part of her journal. “Thank you for respecting my privacy,” she whispered.

  Luca shook his head. “You give me too much credit. I didn’t do it for you. I did it to spare myself. I knew things might go sour with Dubois and that I’d never survive a battle with him or my brother if I didn’t have thoughts of you to keep me strong.” Pain glinted in his eyes. “You were my reason not to die, Cass.”

  “Luca, don’t talk like that,” she said. “There are a million reasons to live.”

  “Indeed,” he said. “But reasons to live are different from reasons not to die.” After a moment he added, “How is it that you know him and I don’t? Is he a friend of Madalena’s?”

  “You don’t know him because he isn’t noble,” Cass said. “He’s an artist.” She continued before Luca could take the opportunity to scoff at how useless art was. “You know how Cristian killed the courtesan who worked for Joseph Dubois and hid her in my friend Liviana’s tomb?”

  Luca nodded. Cass had told him everything that had happened before he returned to Venice, everything except her dalliances with Falco.

  “I was there that night, just going for a walk as I used to do. Falco was there too.”

  Luca raised an eyebrow. “In the graveyard? Was he also just going for a walk?”

  “No, he and his friends were robbing crypts, stealing bodies and selling them to Angelo de Gradi.” Cass hated admitting this, but she couldn’t continue lying to Luca. If they were to have any future together at all, she had to be truthful. “The next day I received a threatening letter from the killer. I figured he must have seen me in the graveyard. Falco tried to keep me safe.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Luca said tightly. Another gondola floated by, this one empty except for the gondolier. “I have to know, Cassandra. Did you continue to see him after I returned to Venice?”

  The wind whipped unruly pieces of Cass’s wig around her face. She stepped back from the edge of the canal. “That’s the crazy thing, Luca. He got a job far away and I assumed I would never see him again. But then I went to Florence, cle
arly for you, and Falco was there, working for Belladonna.”

  “What a coincidence,” Luca said. “Do you not see that it’s likely he’s also a member of the Order?”

  “No. Absolutely not,” Cass said. There was no way Falco could be a member of the Order of the Eternal Rose.

  “He works for the dottore who does research for Dubois, and then he suddenly works for the Florentine head of the Order, and you’re really naïve enough to think he’s not involved?”

  “He’s not. I promise you. I can’t explain it,” she said. “I just know it.”

  “I see.” Luca paused for a moment. “So let me ask you again, Cassandra. Do you love him?”

  Did she love Falco? Two months ago she would have said yes. Two weeks ago she would have said no. And then tonight when he showed up at the palazzo, everything had become muddled again. “I’m not sure,” Cass admitted. “But I know I love—”

  Luca cut her off. “You realize my sentence, as handed down by the Senate, nullified our engagement contract, right?” He looked down at the ground.

  “Well, I suppose, but I—”

  “Perhaps it was foolish of me not to clarify that, to assume that you wanted things to stay as they were.” He looked up, eyes hard. Empty. “Consider yourself officially released of any obligation to me.”

  “But Luca, I don’t want—”

  “Clearly you don’t know what you want, Cassandra. And you won’t figure it out with me by your side.”

  “No, that’s not true.” Cass reached out for his hand. “Don’t leave like this. Please give me a chance to make you understand.”