by Fiona Paul
Luca’s face went red. A vein throbbed at his temple as he pounded one fist against the bed. “I cannot believe my half brother dared to touch you again. Is he dead, at least?”
“No,” Cass said. “At least I don’t think so. I don’t know where he is.”
Luca turned to her. “Santo cielo,” he muttered, his voice practically a growl. “Cristian is the reason you’re alive? What sort of bizarre twist of fate is that? I went to that workshop the day we got separated. I saw only a dark-haired fellow emerge. It must have been this Piero you were speaking of.”
Cass nodded. “He’s dead now. Belladonna too.” Falco too. She saw his bright blue eyes in front of her for a moment, and her chest caved sharply. It would be a long time before she forgave herself for the role she had played in his death. He never should have come to Angelo’s workshop, never would have if it hadn’t been for her.
Luca took her face in his hands, pushing her wet, tangled hair back over her shoulders. “I can’t bear it, the thought that I left you and you were imprisoned. The thought that you might have died in a fire because I was too weak to remain by your side.”
“It’s not your fault, Luca.” After all, he’d left her side only because she’d hurt him.
“It is. I—”
Cass touched a finger to his lips. “Let us not speak of it. We’re together now. That’s all that matters.”
Luca kissed her hand. “And we shall be together tomorrow too, and all of this shall be over,” he said. “God willing.”
Cass pulled back slightly. “After everything we have been through, do you find that your faith ever wavers?”
“What do you mean?”
She looked away, toward the ground. “I mean do you ever wonder how God could allow such terrible things to befall good people?” She was thinking of her parents, of Siena, of Falco’s lost love, Ghita.
Of Falco himself.
She raised her eyes back to Luca’s slowly, afraid she would see judgment in his gaze.
But he looked merely contemplative. Squeezing her fingers, he said, “I suppose I never thought about it like that. My parents always said God works in mysterious ways. I never saw myself in a position to question his judgment.”
Cass hung her head again. “Would you think it was horrible of me, if I did?”
Luca lifted her chin. “Cassandra,” he started. “A person cannot always control his actions, but he cannot ever control his thoughts. I would never judge you for them. What is inside your head belongs only to you, unless you choose to share it.” He turned, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Of course I would love it if you did, but it is first and foremost your heart I wish to share.”
Cass felt her whole body filling with warmth, her heart expanding in her chest. It was as if she had been buried under the rubble from de Gradi’s workshop and Luca had pulled her body from the wreckage. Finally she felt like it was all right to be the person that she was. “You are so much more than I deserve,” she whispered, staring into his eyes.
“You deserve so much more than you think,” he answered.
And then his mouth fell on hers, and it was different from the previous kisses, fierce, full of longing. He tasted her tongue and her lips, his hands ascending the ladder of her ribs until one cradled the base of her head and the other buried itself deep in her hair.
He pulled her into his lap and her insides went weak, her body asking for things she’d never wanted before. His mouth trailed hot along the hard ridge of muscle in her neck. Cass exhaled sharply, her fingers crawling beneath his shirt to explore the contours of his chest, to trace the map of scars he had earned in her name.
Luca’s hand dropped to her hip. As his mouth found her lips again, his fingers pushed aside the hem of her skirt until they grazed the bare skin of her leg beneath. She shuddered, her whole body trembling at his touch.
He pulled his hand away as if her skin had burned him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“No.” Cass couldn’t think. Her brain refused to make words out of what she was feeling. She was in a fog, a haze. She couldn’t see. Suddenly Seraphina’s advice shined before her like light. Do what your heart tells you to do.
Slowly, Cass led Luca’s hand back to her leg.
“Cassandra.” He expelled the single word like a plea. She could feel his blood racing in his fingertips. “I should go, find a place—”
She buried her face into where his neck and shoulder joined, her lips gently coming to rest on his newest scar. “No, you should stay.”
“But Cass—”
She exhaled a soft breath on his collarbone. “Please,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”
And so he did.
“Victory requires knowledge, fortitude, and focus.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty-three
The next morning, Cass lay alone in her bed, alone in her room, as if the previous night had been a dream. But it hadn’t. She could still feel the pressure of Luca’s hands upon her skin, his mouth upon her lips. Shaking the haze of bliss from her brain, she changed into a new dress and made a futile attempt to unsnarl her hair before venturing downstairs.
Luca was nowhere to be found, so she took her breakfast with Flavia and then spent the morning reading The Odyssey with her. After reading, Cass retired to her chambers to practice with her dagger. Instead of concealing it in her pocket, she had borrowed a skirt from Octavia that had thick billowy folds. She made a sheath out of fabric and tucked the dagger into her belt in a way that her skirts hid it from view. This made it much easier for her to draw it quickly, if needed.
~
Luca found her in the afternoon and invited her to the garden to watch him practice the sword. Cass fetched her dagger from her room, intent on practicing more as well.
“I missed you this morning,” she said as they passed out into the warm sun. She was trying not to sound accusatory.
“Did you?” He pulled her into a quick embrace. “I took a walk by Palazzo Dubois. Rowan will want as much information on the layout as possible.” His eyes lingered on her, dancing across her form.
He reached out for her hands, and Cass smiled in spite of herself. Luca touched each of her fingertips to his lips and then held her gaze.
“What are you thinking?” she asked. Secretly she hoped he was thinking the same thing she was, that falling asleep with their hearts beating in tandem had been sheer bliss.
“I was thinking that no matter what happens tonight, I’m glad we have these moments together,” he said. He spun her around once and then drew his sword, slashing at imaginary adversaries that cowered among the rosebushes.
Cass watched him practice, her breath catching in her throat as the sword moved in a series of fluid patterns. In only a fortnight, Luca had become a different person. His skin was tanned from training outside, and a few days’ growth of blond beard covered his determined jaw. A hint of the long scar down his chest peeped out over the neckline of his doublet. She blushed as she thought of how she had pressed her lips upon it the previous night.
Luca sliced a rose from the nearest plant and tossed it to Cass. She giggled. Drawing her own dagger, she moved about the garden with him, ducking the blade of his sword and lunging forward when the opportunity presented itself. Later, they both rested on the garden bench, and Cass tried to convince herself everything would be fine. Luca was strong. They both were. They were ready to fight the Order.
But when Rowan and his men showed up at Palazzo Dolce that night, battle-hardened and dressed in black, she could no longer deny that she was terrified of what they were about to do. She didn’t just fear for her own life, but for the courtesans’ lives as well. And for Luca’s.
Flavia answered the door and ushered Rowan and the others into the portego, where Luca received them.
“Signorina,” Rowan said as he approa
ched Cass. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
Octavia appeared in the doorway that led to the back of the house. “My office.” She gestured sharply. “This way.”
Luca and Rowan followed Cass and Octavia back to the small sitting room Octavia used for her office. Octavia sat behind her desk, and Cass and Luca took seats in the chairs in front of it. Rowan leaned against the wall, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with the hilt of his sword.
“Tonight you’ll go with the other women to Palazzo Dubois as planned,” Luca started. “When you arrive, mingle an appropriate amount of time and then separate from the festivities and begin searching for the book. The men and I will arrive just before midnight, early enough that the festivities will still be in full swing. Some of us will find Dubois and hold him. Others will keep his security forces occupied. The guests will be free to leave.”
“What of the servants?” Cass asked.
“We’ll have to work around them,” Luca said.
Rowan produced a dagger from his boot and twirled the handle in his right palm. “Or stab them,” he suggested with a raised eyebrow.
“No!” Cass said. “No one gets hurt unless they attack us first. Your goal is to subdue Joseph Dubois and keep his men busy while I find the book. That is all.”
“Right,” Luca said. He gave Rowan a meaningful look. “Those are the terms for which you are being paid.”
Rowan smiled slightly. “You nobles are so lacking in humor. Of course I’d never let my men kill servants.” He winked. “You never know when you might need their assistance.”
“What if one of them recognizes you?” Cass asked Luca. “The Senate . . .”
“Do not worry about anyone being recognized,” Rowan said. “We’ll be wearing masks. Your signore will be unidentifiable, perhaps even by you.”
Cass doubted that very seriously, but the idea of Luca covering his face comforted her somewhat. He had been out of the city for so long that surely everyone assumed he was either dead or gone for good, but still, it was better to be safe.
~
As Cass sat in the gondola with Arabella, Seraphina, and Flavia, she replayed Rowan’s words in her head. She hoped he was trustworthy. Without Luca by her side, her guilt was threatening to drown her. Everyone she loved except for him had died because they cared about her. She had spent so much time and effort trying to stop the Order from creating their terrifying elixir, one that contained heaven knew what poisons, what powers. And yet, all along, she was the sickness.
Deadly venom.
“Are you nervous?” Seraphina tucked an unruly lock of honey-colored hair under her hat as she studied Cass curiously.
Cass shook her head, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. She was desperate for absolution, and if she opened her mouth, she feared the entire story would come rushing out. So many lies, so many deaths.
Seraphina tried once more. “You look lovely as a blonde.”
Cass was wearing Flavia’s wig again. She smiled tightly.
The gondolier moored the boat and each of the girls alighted onto the wooden dock. Inside, the courtesans all split up as they entered the portego. Arabella sidled over to one of her regular admirers, and Seraphina and Flavia joined the group of dancers. Cass loitered just inside the doorway, getting her bearings, surveying the scene. Dubois patrolled the room flanked by a pair of men carrying clubs. Personal guards. Apparently, after Belladonna and Piero’s untimely passing, he feared for his life. Good, Cass thought. Let him understand what it is like to be afraid.
She fell into the mix of dancers, moving in circles and clapping hands with several different men while she observed Dubois. He wore brilliant gold breeches and a black doublet with slashed sleeves. Bright red fabric poked through the slashes. Both his hat and boots were adorned with scarlet ribbons. He didn’t appear nervous. In fact, he walked with the same regal but casual stride as always, stopping frequently to kiss women on the hand or clap noblemen on the back. He never once glanced in Cass’s direction.
As Dubois accepted a glass of wine from an attendant and joined a pair of senators who were chatting near the table of food, Cass grabbed a candle from a table along the wall and slipped away to begin to search for the hidden room Feliciana had mentioned.
She passed back into the portego and headed for the far side of the dancers, where a second hallway led to the back of the palazzo. There was a dining room, a library, and a pair of bedchambers, one of which had to be Dubois’s.
The first room was too simple to belong to the master of the estate. The bed wasn’t large enough, the furniture not ornate. Cass gave the room a cursory check and then turned back to the hallway. As she crossed the threshold, a shadow moved in the corner of her vision. She spun around, but the corridor was empty.
Suddenly she heard a scream. Then a crash. The sound of tromping footsteps. The music stopped abruptly. Il Sangue de Mezzanotte had arrived.
Cass crept to the edge of the portego for a closer look. The room was teeming with men in masks. Women clutched protectively at their jewelry while their escorts shepherded them toward the stairs that led to the front door. Some of the braver—or perhaps more foolish—men were engaging the mercenaries. Cass stifled a scream as she saw a man wearing a senator’s gold medallion around his neck try to tackle a mercenary from behind. The mercenary—she was almost certain it was Zago, the man who had practiced sparring with her at Mazzanotte Island—bent low and flipped the politician over his head. Then he lifted him by the fabric of his tunic and sent him flying backward into a platter of meat pies.
“We only want Dubois.” Rowan’s voice boomed across the chaos. “The rest of you should leave.”
Cass didn’t see Joseph Dubois, but two of his guards appeared from the lower level of the palazzo, their clubs drawn. “Send for the Town Guard immediately,” one hollered toward the stampede of people heading for the door. No one turned to acknowledge him, but Cass knew at least a few of the attendees would report the intrusion.
The servants were fleeing alongside the guests. A girl about Cass’s age dropped a tray of delicate blown-glass goblets, spilling a puddle of burgundy wine onto the floor. The musicians had abandoned their instruments and were shoving their way through the crowd. Cass caught a glimpse of Flavia, one hand over her mouth in pretend surprise. She and the other courtesans were moving toward the door with everyone else. A pair of masked mercenaries were pulling frightened women and servants from the corners of the room. Cass recognized Luca immediately from the span of his shoulders and the length of his stride. He had a blonde woman by her arm and was gently guiding her toward the exit.
Dubois’s guard charged at Rowan. He swung his sword in a deadly arc, and Cass cringed at the thought of more spilled blood. But the blade sliced only through the edge of the wooden club, rendering the guard defenseless but alive. He fled toward the back of the house, and that’s when Cass saw a shadowy figure duck across the hall and dash toward the doorway to the dining room.
“It’s Dubois,” she shouted. “He’s trying to escape.”
The chandelier above their heads trembled from the heavy footsteps as Cass chased Dubois past the long mahogany table. Ancient vases wobbled behind the glass of a display cabinet. She heard shouting from behind her. Boots on wood. The mercenaries were coming. Cass dodged a high-backed chair Dubois tossed into her path, suddenly feeling powerful. She would be the one to catch him, and she would hold her dagger to his throat until he gave her the Book of the Eternal Rose.
Dubois looked back at her, his eyes hot with anger. He leapt from the top of the servants’ staircase, and Cass was just behind him.
Until she tripped.
For one long, sickening instant, the floor beneath her feet disappeared. Cass saw herself tumbling to the base of the stairs, the hard steps cracking ribs, breaking skull, as she bounced to the bottom. But a hand grabbed her around the waist a
nd steadied her. Luca. “Your services are needed elsewhere,” he murmured. “We’ll catch him.”
The masked men plowed past her. Luca was right. She had gotten swept away in the idea of revenge, but she needed to find the book. The Guard were probably on their way. Time was limited. Turning back, Cass returned to the portego. Pushing past a couple of serving boys who were salvaging food from the half-destroyed table, she plucked a wavering candle from between what looked like a roasted badger and a boiled porcupine drizzled in honey. She resumed her search.
~
The second bedroom had a deep green rug and black lacquer furniture with gilded edges. Two of the walls were painted with scenes from Greek mythology: Dionysus dancing in a field of grapes and Nike and Athena facing off against the Titans. The wall opposite the bed was empty except for a tapestry showing four men on horseback battling over a royal flag. As Cass neared the wall hanging, she noticed it didn’t hang flat in the middle. She swept the tapestry to the side. Beyond it was a wooden panel shaped like a door, but with no handle. Carved in the face was the symbol of the Order of the Eternal Rose—six petals inscribed in a circle. Holding her candle close, she saw there were letters etched inside each of the petals, a random assortment of vowels and consonants. Cass’s heart started thrumming in her chest. This was it. This was the entrance to the secret room.
But how could she open it?
She reached out to touch the top petal. It receded beneath her fingers with a click, but the door didn’t budge. She pressed each petal in turn. Nothing happened. Studying the symbol, Cass realized the entire alphabet was represented on the six petals. The room was locked with some sort of code. She pressed the petals that spelled out D-U-B-O-I-S. She heard a soft click, but the door didn’t open. She tried again, spelling out Eternal Rose. Another click, but still no luck.
Cass heard a series of shouts from the hallway, but she resisted the urge to step away from the wooden panel. Their entire mission hinged on her being able to open this door. If Luca and Rowan managed to catch and secure Dubois without killing him, they could force him to open the door to the secret room. But in case they couldn’t, she would continue trying to figure it out on her own.
