by Fiona Paul
Sliding out of bed, Cass considered her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Her hair was a mess of tangles, her face scratched from where she had fallen to the cobblestones during the fire.
“A minute,” she said. “I’ll be right down.” She quickly twisted all of her hair into a bun and dabbed a bit of rosewater behind her ears.
Luca’s face occupied her mind now, and filled her heart with hope. Thoughts of him had kept her alive when she was imprisoned. Thoughts of him had given her strength to outwit his half brother, Cristian. Luca made her better. Stronger. Cass liked the person Luca believed she could be. She wanted to be that person for him, and for herself as well. Once she turned over the Book of the Eternal Rose to the authorities, perhaps the Senate would be so grateful that she and Luca could be pardoned for their crimes.
She glanced up at her reflection once more. The girl who looked back at her was fierce. Determined. She knew what she wanted.
“Truth is a false god that appears only before those who believe in him.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty
Maximus,” Cass said. “So lovely to see you.” She hoped the disappointment wasn’t evident by her expression.
“And you, as well. I was delighted to hear you had returned, unscathed, to Palazzo Dolce. When Octavia told me of your disappearance, I feared the worst.” He bowed and then cast a quick glance around the portego. It was empty. “But this isn’t a social visit, I’m afraid. There’s something I need to show you.”
“What is it?” Cass asked.
“It’d be better if you saw it in person.” He tossed his dark cloak back from his shoulders and held out a gloved hand.
“A moment,” Cass said. “I need to disguise myself.”
“It’s all right,” Maximus said. “Where we are going, there is no one you will need to hide from.”
Cass wondered where the conjurer was taking her. Danger seemed to follow her everywhere she went. “I’ll just get my cloak, then.” She headed back upstairs to her room. As she slipped the loose garment around her, she heard Flavia reading to herself from across the hall. She poked her head into the room. “I’m going out. You know Maximus, right? He says he has something to show me.”
“Are you certain you can trust him?” Flavia asked. She sat at her dressing table, a copy of The Odyssey open before her.
It was a fair question. Cass didn’t really know Maximus that well, but he had found her a place to stay at Palazzo Dolce and had given her a weapon with which to protect herself. He had never been anything but kind to her. If she couldn’t trust him, then whom could she trust?
“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”
Flavia shook her head quickly. “He seems very kind. I just don’t want anything else bad to happen to you.” She laid her chin down on the pages of her book as if exhausted, then turned her head to look up at Cass. “I’m surprised you can trust anyone at all after your ordeal.”
“I trust you.” Cass felt a rush of affection for her new friend.
Flavia smiled. “Always, you can trust me.” She sat back up and did her best to look stern. “But return by nightfall or I shall send the wolves after Maximus.”
“Agreed.” Cass bent down to give Flavia a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll read together tomorrow, I promise.”
She headed down the stairs to where Maximus leaned against the door frame of the portego. He was absentmindedly making a single gold ducat disappear and reappear as he manipulated it with one hand.
“How do you do that?” Cass asked. She lifted the hood of her cloak up over her head to partially obscure her face.
Maximus smiled. “With magic, of course.” He flicked his wrist and the coin vanished. Taking her arm, he escorted Cass out of Palazzo Dolce and onto the busy street. Peasants and courtesans strolled past, chattering and giggling, oblivious to the fugitive in their midst. A few children clustered in a recessed doorway called out to Maximus as he passed, begging for a trick. The conjurer slowed just long enough to pull a silk scarf out of his black hat. When he tossed the scarf in the direction of the doorway, it turned into a ribbon of flower petals, which swirled in the air before fluttering to the damp ground. Cass stared at the individual droplets of color against the gray stone.
Maximus held her arm loosely, whistling to himself as he led her toward the dock. She furrowed her brow as gondola after gondola floated by. Finally, Maximus raised his hand toward a fisherman in a small but agile sandolo. He helped Cass into the skiff and came to sit beside her.
“Maximus. Where are we going and why did we not take a gondola?”
“This boat is better able to reach our destination,” he said.
Cass had no idea what that could mean. “Is this about the fire? About the man imprisoned with me? Falco da Padova?”
Maximus lifted his hat for a moment, his fingers manipulating the velvet brim. His black hair blew forward into his eyes. Replacing his hat, he studied her without judgment. “Do you wish for it to be about Falco da Padova?”
So complicated a question hiding beneath such simple words. And as usual, Cass didn’t have an answer. “I don’t want Falco to be dead,” she said finally. “I trust you heard about the workshop fire?”
Maximus nodded. “They found several bodies. I’m sorry. I do not think anyone else made it out alive.”
Cass turned away from Maximus, unwilling to let him read her emotions. She feigned interest in her surroundings. The sun was directly above her, warming the back of her neck and reflecting off the surface of the water. The fisherman steered the boat through the crowded canals, making his way around gondolas and other vendors heading home from the market. Closing her eyes, Cass reclined against the side of the boat, trying to ignore the stink of fish and the feel of the rough wood digging into her back.
The warm air whipped her cloak back and forth like a sail. She gathered the excess fabric in one hand, trying to block out the shouts and laughter coming from the boats around her. A loud burst of clapping made her open her eyes. She and Maximus were heading south toward the Rialto Bridge. A large circle of peasants had gathered at the crest, pumping fists and clapping at something Cass couldn’t see.
“They’re wrestling,” Maximus explained as the sandolo glided beneath the crowd.
For a moment, Cass imagined the throng of people parting to expose Luca and Falco sparring in the center of the circle. It was a ridiculous notion—neither of them were fighters. The sandolo continued south, with no sign of slowing.
“Are you taking me back to Villa Querini?” she pressed.
Maximus smiled enigmatically. “You ask many questions, Signorina. Perhaps for once, you should simply relax and enjoy the feel of the wind in your hair.”
Easier said than done. Ever since Cristian had started killing women and Luca had returned to Venice, Cass’s life had been chaos. Falco’s leaving. Luca’s imprisonment. The dog attack. Siena’s death. Her own imprisonment. The burning workshop.
Falco’s death.
Cass realized she was balling the fabric of her dress inside of her fists. She unclenched her fingers and did her best to straighten her rumpled skirts.
Maximus’s lips quirked into a smile. “I see I have asked the impossible of you,” he said. “We’re going to Mezzanotte Island.”
“Mezzanotte Island? I’ve never even heard of that.”
“It’s a bit southeast of the Lido.”
“In the Adriatic?” Cass asked. “What on earth are you taking me to see all the way out there?”
But Maximus wouldn’t tell her. And Cass, her mind racing, sat forward and did feel the wind in her hair as she wondered about their destination.
The fisherman cursed under his breath as the boat cut between the Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggiore. The water had become rough, slamming into the boat’s narrow bow and sending plumes of frothy
spray in Cass and Maximus’s direction. Cass curled her legs behind her, tucking her feet away from the water that sloshed back and forth as the boat pitched in the waves. Off to the west, she could see the outline of San Domenico, and she couldn’t help but think of Agnese, of the villa that had been her home for the past few years. She wondered if Joseph Dubois was still watching the island.
The fisherman turned sharply, and Cass dodged another wave as it crawled over the edge of the boat. Sparkling blue water stretched out in all directions, beautiful but menacing. They were alone with the sea. If they capsized, their bodies might be lost forever.
“How much did you have to pay him to travel all the way out here?” Cass asked, relief coursing through her as a long finger of land she knew to be the Lido came into view.
“Enough,” Maximus said. “But I think you’ll find our destination worth the journey.”
The Lido came and went, and then they were back to the open water. Rocky structures rose up on either side of them. Cass couldn’t believe anyone lived so far from the city. These weren’t islands. They were just clusters of stone and vegetation that probably disappeared and reappeared based on the ocean levels.
The fisherman steered toward one of the larger landmasses and the swirling current pitched Cass and Maximus from side to side. Her stomach lurched, and she clung to the side of the sandolo so as not to end up in the conjurer’s lap.
“Hold on,” he said. “We’re almost there.”
As they approached the island, Cass saw a narrow strip of sand and a wall of gray stone beyond it. At the top of the cliff, she could just barely make out the sharp spike of a bell tower stabbing its way into the clouds.
“Mezzanotte Island,” Maximus said.
The fisherman swore again. Cass turned to watch him, her eyes widening as he frantically rowed on one side and then the other in an effort to keep Cass and Maximus from getting drenched. As they approached the island, a skeletal network of rock formations and coral rose out of the water. Brightly colored fish darted in and out of the rocky canyons as the fisherman navigated his way back and forth around the jagged outcroppings. Despite the fact that his boat was getting soaked, he wore a half smile above his grizzled beard, as if some part of him truly enjoyed navigating this treacherous water.
“Is it even safe to land here?” Cass asked. “Will we be dashed to bits on the rocks?”
“Signorina Cassandra, I assure you it is safe,” Maximus said. “I come here quite frequently.”
The fisherman did his best to moor the boat, and Maximus helped Cass out onto the slick rocks. The fisherman turned to leave. “Wait,” she called. “How are we going to get back?”
“Those who live here will provide transport for us,” Maximus said.
“People actually live here?”
Maximus gestured in front of them. A man had appeared from a crevasse cut into the wall of stone. He was dressed in loose black breeches and a leather doublet that hung open, exposing his chest. Cass tried not to stare at the sculpted muscles or the angry red scars that adorned them. This man had been stabbed or tortured.
“Come,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Cass asked.
“That is irrelevant,” he said.
Maximus followed him, and Cass had no choice but to follow them into the dark mouth in the rocks, even though each step made her feel a bit more as if she were falling into a dream. What was this place? Who had built the church at the top of the cliff? Who would come all the way out here to worship?
Even the island was otherworldly. She was used to the sandy soil and meadow grass of San Domenico and the Giudecca. The jagged rock formations that ringed the shore of Mezzanotte Island were interspersed with bursts of green flowering plants that seemed too lush to be growing naturally.
Maximus and the man in the breeches pressed onward, and she had to hurry to keep up with them. She picked her way across the uneven rocky ground, her hands out to her sides for balance. In front of her, Cass could see another opening, and light beyond it. Perhaps it was the start of the road that led upward to the church.
But when she followed the men out of the cave, she saw there was no road. There was only a mountain of boulders leading upward into the sky.
“There must be another way,” she said. “I cannot possibly climb up there.”
“Those who wish to visit Il Sangue di Mezzanotte must follow the trail,” the man said.
The Blood of Midnight, Cass thought. Lovely. And then she said, “What trail?”
With one foot in front of the other, the man with the scars maneuvered his way up the rocks with impossible agility. He stopped halfway and looked down at Cass. “It is just like a staircase,” he said.
Gingerly, Cass tested her foot on the closest stone. It shifted slightly beneath her weight and she almost tumbled backward. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she grumbled.
“You can make it, Signorina Cassandra,” Maximus said. “Be the woman who broke her fiancé out of the Doge’s dungeons.”
The man’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but if he was surprised at this, he didn’t comment. Cass tried again, this time picking a rock that held steady. With her arms out for balance and her body leaning forward, she began to make her way from boulder to boulder, doing her best to follow the scarred man’s path. Maximus trailed behind her. At one point, her skirt caught on the rocks and she kicked her leg out away from her body to free it, ripping a small hole in the fabric. She swore under her breath. Flavia had been kind to lend her a dress, and she’d be returning it in ruins.
Halfway up, Cass’s concentration wavered. Her foot hit a loose rock—she lost her momentum and began to fall backward. Squealing, she swung her arms wildly in a circle before grabbing on to Maximus for support.
The man paused, nearly at the top of the pile, and shook his head. “She has to do this on her own.”
“Maybe it would help if I knew why I was doing this,” Cass said. But regardless of the reason, she knew she would press onward. She was too curious now. She wanted to know more about the sort of people who lived out here, so far from the Rialto.
“The answer to your question awaits you at the top.” Maximus picked his way gracefully across the loose stones, making it look ridiculously easy.
“That’s not helpful,” Cass said. But even as her body screamed in protest and her leg muscles began to quiver, she kept going. Grunting, she leaned forward again and used her hands to help navigate the rocks.
Her skin hadn’t seen much light in the past week, and she could feel her face burning in the afternoon sun. For a moment, she heard Aunt Agnese’s voice in her head, scolding her. Don’t you know freckles are the surest sign of a wayward nature, child? Cass grinned at the memory and then was filled with a sudden longing. If only she’d had one more chance to tell Agnese how much she loved her.
Sweat trickled down her forehead, and she brushed at it with fingers that were red and raw from clawing her way up the mountain of boulders. A gust of air blew in from the water as she finally made it to the top. The rocks fell away at the base of a gentle hill. At the crest of the hill stood the old church. It was made of rough-hewn stone and white marble columns, with a gabled roof and a single bell tower rising high above a pair of domed cupolas.
The final ascent was nothing. Cool, wet air swirled around Cass as if she had somehow climbed straight up into the clouds. Below her, the surf pounded against the jagged rocks, but she barely registered the dull roar of the water.
In front of the church sat a large campo, with circles marked in white chalk. Men faced off in the circles, attacking each other with swords and maces.
Cass raised a hand to her mouth as one man’s spiked weapon collided with his opponent’s shield. “What is this place?” she asked. “What is the Blood of Midnight?”
“It is where men go when they have nothing left to lose,”
Maximus answered.
Cass’s eyes were drawn to the middle circle. There the men fought not on the campo, but on a narrow slab of wood balanced on two pedestals. Swords clanged as the men exchanged blows, their feet carefully traversing the warped beam upon which they stood. Both of the men wore shirts of chain-mail armor and the same loose breeches as the man who had led Cass and Maximus up the path.
The taller man stepped back sharply as his opponent lunged at his chest. He twisted his body to regain his balance, and Cass caught a glimpse of his face.
“It can’t be,” she murmured, lifting a hand to her mouth.
“To believe in loyalty is to invest in the gold of deceit.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty-one
It was Luca.
He didn’t know she was there, clearly. His face was granite, his close-cropped hair slick with sweat. He grunted with each thrust of his sword, pushing an older man with peppery hair and a thick beard backward toward the edge of the board.
The older man suddenly surged forward, his sword swinging low. Luca jumped, his feet lifting over the blade as it whizzed past. He landed solidly but had to put his left arm out for balance. His opponent’s sword cut the late-afternoon sun into pieces as it slashed at him again.
“Luca.” Cass sucked in a sharp breath.
His head flicked suddenly in the direction of her voice and the older man attacked, his sword slamming against Luca’s with such force that Luca stumbled sideways and fell from the wooden beam. He ended up on his back, his sword still clutched awkwardly in his hand. The older man leapt from the board and landed catlike on the campo. He touched his blade to Luca’s neck.
“Stop it!” Cass started toward them, but Maximus caught her arm.
“It’s all right, Signorina Cassandra,” he said. “That is Rowan. My brother.”
“Your brother?” Cass looked from one man to the other. There was a slight resemblance, but why was Maximus’s brother living on a remote island? And why was he holding a blade to Luca’s throat?
