by Fiona Paul
It was blasphemy. Heresy. Conspiracy to commit murder. There was nothing in the book linking Joseph Dubois to Sophia or Mariabella’s death, unfortunately, but as it stood, there was enough evidence to have him executed several times over.
“Should we take it straight to the Doge?” Cass asked.
Luca shook his head. “Let’s take it to Giovanni de Fiore. Where Dubois is concerned, there is strength in numbers.”
“The skin merely hints at what lies within a man. Untold mysteries lurk beneath.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty-six
De Fiore was still in mourning for his daughter, the windows of his palazzo draped in black. At first he refused to have visitors, but once Cass mentioned the Order of the Eternal Rose, she and Luca were ushered directly into the portego.
Signor de Fiore perused the pages of the Book of the Eternal Rose with great interest and then immediately summoned his butler to write a letter to the pope requesting a meeting. “I’ve given Venice a chance to do right by this matter, and she failed me. It’s time we bring a higher power into the equation.”
“But what if His Holiness won’t see you?” Cass asked.
De Fiore looked grim. “He shall see me. I shall not be the first to speak of the Order of the Eternal Rose, but never before did anyone have proof of their activities.” De Fiore’s eyes flicked to a portrait hanging on the wall. Alessia. His daughter. Executed as a vampire. His eyes misted over, and he quickly turned to a servant and began barking orders regarding travel preparations. De Fiore thanked Cass and Luca repeatedly and promised to request an official papal pardon for Luca’s alleged heresy and Cass’s crimes in breaking him out of prison.
~
Cass and Luca decided to remain in hiding at Palazzo Dolce until Signor de Fiore returned with news. Luca slept in the portego with a small band of men from Mezzanotte Island. As much as Cass wanted him with her, she knew he was probably flogging himself for his single moment of impropriety.
As each day passed without news, Cass grew more concerned. What if Joseph Dubois had sent his men after de Fiore’s traveling party? What if he had never made it to Rome to deliver his evidence to the pope?
“You’re worrying again, aren’t you?” Luca said. Cass had been sitting on a bench in Octavia’s garden, watching the roses shed their petals with each brisk breeze. She hadn’t even heard him approach. He handed her a rolled piece of vellum, its red wax stamp broken across the middle.
“What is it?” she asked eagerly. She unrolled the vellum and began to read. It was from His Holiness, the pope, and started out with a lengthy paragraph about what the Bible says regarding heresy. Cass’s eyes began to glaze over.
“Skip to the bottom,” Luca said with a grin. “To the part where we’re both given a full papal pardon.”
Cass unrolled the bottom of the vellum. It was true. She and Luca had been forgiven their alleged crimes. They were no longer fugitives. Cass dropped the vellum to the bench and flung herself into Luca’s arms. “I can’t believe it’s really over,” she said, inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon from the collar of his shirt.
But was it over?
She pulled back. “What about Dubois?”
“Arrested.” Luca couldn’t keep the beginnings of a smile from creeping onto his face. “Zanotta. Domacetti. Arrested. Several people have been arrested in Florence as well.”
Cass hugged Luca once more and then went inside to share the good news with the rest of Palazzo Dolce. The girls all gathered around her as she read from the vellum.
“We should go to Villa Querini,” Feliciana said. “And tell Narissa. She’ll be delighted you’re no longer a fugitive.”
“She’ll be delighted you’re no longer missing,” Cass said. She turned to Luca. “I think it’s a splendid idea,” she said. “Do you wish to accompany us?”
“I’ve got to go to Palazzo da Peraga and inform the staff I’ve sold the estate,” he said. “Then I need to have some papers drawn up. But I can meet you there later this evening.”
“I still cannot believe that you gave up your family home,” Cass murmured.
Luca shrugged. “A lot of sad memories linger there. I’m ready to make new ones elsewhere.”
~
Narissa opened Villa Querini’s door with a dour grimace, muttering under her breath about useless butlers. The lines in her face melted away when she saw Cass and Feliciana standing there. She hugged them against her stout frame and then leaned back and gave them a long look.
“You both look thin,” she said. “And what on earth did you do to your hair?” She flipped the hood of Feliciana’s cloak down around her shoulders and studied the cropped hair beneath.
“It was the nuns,” Feliciana explained. “I concealed myself in a convent for a couple of weeks.”
Narissa guffawed. “You? At a convent? Now, that’s a story I’ll need a little wine to stomach.”
“Precisely,” Feliciana agreed. “I needed quite a bit of wine just to survive there.”
Narissa ushered them inside and hollered for the cook to prepare a tray of snacks for the “starving girls.” The servants flitted through the portego with tea and trays of food, each more delighted than the last to see both Cass and Feliciana alive.
Later, Cass sat sipping tea with Narissa while Feliciana made rounds among the servants, sharing stories of Florence and the convent.
“I’ve been waiting to give you this.” Narissa produced a rolled parchment, sealed with red wax and tied with a lilac ribbon. “I found it in Signora Querini’s bedroom with a set of keys, which I presume open some of the trunks on the lower level.”
Cass took the parchment. Her name was scrawled in Agnese’s wavery handwriting right below the blob of wax. “What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Narissa said. “Perhaps you should read it.”
Splitting the wax with one finger, Cass slipped the roll of paper out of the ribbon tied around it. She began to read aloud.
I, Agnese Querini, born Agnese Bergamasca, being of sound mind, do bequeath the sum total of my property to my niece Cassandra Caravello. The villa, its furnishings, and the grounds rightfully belong to my late husband’s heir Matteo Querini and should pass into his possession when he comes of age. However, my personal belongings secured away in trunks and crates on the lower level of Villa Querini are my own property and are to be surrendered only to Cassandra. In the event that she would die prior to taking control of my belongings, I leave my entire estate to the women of Palazzo Dolce.
Agnese had signed the bottom of the parchment in her familiar loopy scrawl.
“Why on earth would she bequeath her belongings to the women of Palazzo Dolce?” Cass asked incredulously. “How did she even know of its existence?” Her aunt had always been fond of helping women less fortunate than herself, but Cass would have expected her to donate her things to a convent, not a brothel.
A smile played at Narissa’s thin lips. “I . . . ,” she trailed off.
“What?” Cass asked, her voice shrill. She looked down at the parchment again to make sure she hadn’t read it wrong.
“I guess it would be all right to tell you,” Narissa said. “You’ll hear eventually anyway. Your aunt was a courtesan before she got married. She once lived at Palazzo Dolce.”
“No,” Cass said. “That’s impossible. She’s my mother’s sister. She’s the eldest daughter of noble blood.”
Narissa nodded. “Indeed. But at some point she angered the man your grandparents arranged for her to marry. He wouldn’t have her, and she had no desire to enter the convent. So she packed up her things and went off to be a courtesan. She didn’t want you to know. She thought you might . . . think less of her.”
Cass was stunned. Stodgy old Agnese had been a courtesan? She wondered if the elderly woman at Palazzo Dolce, Rosannah, might
have known her. She had said that Cass reminded her of someone. Perhaps they’d shared an admirer along the way, and that’s how they had ended up with similar bracelets.
“I found this as well,” Narissa said. She handed Cass a leather-bound book.
It was a journal. Cass didn’t even know Agnese kept a journal. Almost without thinking, she started to open it.
But it was locked.
Narissa winked. She tossed Cass a tarnished ring of keys. There had to be twenty or more on the rusted metal circle, but only one of them was small enough to fit into the journal’s tiny lock.
“I suppose I’ll leave you to your own devices,” Narissa said. “I’ve got some mending to do, but Cook is going to fix a proper dinner a bit later. I do hope you’ll stay.”
“I was actually meaning to ask you if I could stay until Matteo arrives,” Cass said. “Luca sold Palazzo da Peraga, and although we do have other options, there’s nowhere we’d rather be than here.”
Narissa beamed. “I’ll have someone make up your old room and the adjoining suite.”
She tottered off toward the back of the house, leaving Cass alone in Agnese’s portego with the journal. Cass decided to take it down to the storage room and see how many of the chests she could open. She suddenly remembered the crate of jewels and gold. She had been so stunned to find out about Agnese’s past that it eclipsed the revelation she was now a wealthy woman.
Slipper scampered down the main stairs as if he had heard Cass’s voice and come to find her. Cass scooped up the gray-and-white cat and held his forehead against her own. He purred loudly, giving her cheek a single lick with his scratchy pink tongue. Cass giggled and set him back on the floor. “Come downstairs with me,” she ordered. Slipper trotted obediently after her, making his way down the tall steps one at a time.
With the journal tucked under her arm and the ring of keys heavy in her pocket, Cass lit a candle and headed for the storage room. Slipper scurried into the room ahead of her, stopping to sniff at one of the nearest trunks.
As curious as Cass was about her inheritance, she was suddenly more curious about the journal. She sat down on the crates that had served as Luca’s makeshift bed. Flipping through the keys, she slipped the smallest one into the lock and the journal opened with a click.
She opened the book to a random page and smiled. There were paragraphs about Narissa constantly hovering over Agnese, and Bortolo falling asleep instead of doing his duties. Cass saw her own name mentioned repeatedly—usually descriptions of how she was becoming more beautiful every day or reminded Agnese of her mother. Cass’s eyes dampened as she flipped through the pages. Agnese wrote of doctor visits, of how exhausted she was becoming, of how she tried to be strong because she wanted to be present at Cass and Luca’s wedding but how she knew her time was nearing.
Luca, Cass read, was Agnese’s recommendation to her parents. He was kind and dependable and came from parents who had raised him to be a good man. Agnese hadn’t found her own “good man” until she was in her twenties. She didn’t want Cass to have to wait so long.
Cass wiped away a tear, but another one replaced it. She choked back a tiny sob. Agnese had cared for her so much, even before Cass had come to live with her. She remembered being scared of her stern aunt when she was a child, but all Agnese had wanted was to make sure her niece was properly raised and that she would always be loved.
Flipping to the very last entry, she read the words aloud:
Donna Domacetti stopped by today and took great pleasure in informing me that the Doge had called off the search for Cassandra and Luca. Officially declared dead, she told me, patting my hands as she spoke. I nodded along as she rambled about how foolish Cassandra had been to think she could break into the Palazzo Ducale and live to tell about it.
But Cassandra’s body was never found. Nor was Luca’s. And even though I will accept condolences and pretend as if I am filled with grief, I know in my heart my niece is still alive. Luca’s love for her was powerful, and I sensed that her feelings for him were deepening before his imprisonment. That sort of connection strengthens people. Love strengthens people. And Cassandra and Luca have always been two of the strongest people I know.
I know Cassandra would send word to me if she could, but she is too smart. The safest thing is to let the world pretend she and Luca are dead. I pray one day I will see my niece again, but my condition seems to deteriorate each day, and I feel my time is drawing near. If I am not meant to see her again, I pray she and Luca stay safe together, and that this time of adversity has forged a bond so deep and strong that neither man nor nature will ever tear it asunder.
I could not be more proud of my Cassandra if I tried.
Cass closed the journal and wept freely. She hadn’t been responsible for Agnese’s death. Her aunt had faked her grief to help protect Cass. Her aunt had known she and Luca were still alive. She had simply succumbed to her many sicknesses. Even though Cass knew it was for the best, that Agnese had been in pain, that she was in a better place now, she still felt a sense of loss at losing her aunt just as she was beginning to get to know her.
Slipper padded across the floor, drawn to Cass by the sounds of her sobbing. He bounded up onto her lap, reaching one paw toward her cheek to explore her tears.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Cass said.
Slipper turned his body in a full circle and then lay down on Cass’s lap. He looked up at her with his wide green eyes. Cass stroked the cat’s fur softly, listening to the deep rumbling purr that emanated from his belly. She wondered if it was almost suppertime. She couldn’t wait for Luca to arrive. She wanted to show him how Agnese had always believed they were alive—that she had faith in the power of their love for each other, even before they had faith in it themselves.
“One’s destiny is held within one’s free will.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty-seven
The sun slowly faded into the horizon, the dwindling rays backlighting the rose trellis, causing the last blooms of summer to burn red and orange against the oncoming twilight. The scene was beautiful, like a painting, but Cass would never think of fire in the same way again. It had taken Falco’s life. It had almost taken hers too.
Luca appeared from around the front of the villa. Smiling slightly, he crossed the garden in a few long strides and sat next to her on the bench. He seemed completely healed, both from the wound on his shoulder and the scrapes he’d gotten at Palazzo Dubois. The last remaining evidence of the fight, a bruise on his jawbone, had turned from purple to brownish yellow.
Cass reached up to touch it. She still couldn’t believe they’d infiltrated Joseph Dubois’s home, stolen the Book of the Eternal Rose, and escaped with only a few minor injuries to show for it. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she said.
A gust of wind sent a bouquet of fallen leaves spinning through the air. Luca wrapped his hand around hers, and their fingers naturally twined together. “I promised I would, Cass.”
Her lips curled upward. Luca had only just started calling her Cass, but she liked it. It made her think that he had finally relaxed around her, that the person he was being was his true self.
“Did you finish all your business?” she asked. She leaned over to pluck a dead leaf from one of his lace cuffs.
“I did. My loyal staff will be provided for even if Rowan should decide to sell the estate.” He squeezed her hand, and she could feel his heart pounding in his fingertips. He paused, then licked his lips. A dark bird made a lazy circle in the sky. Blades of fresh-cut grass tumbled end over end across the garden. “There’s been more news,” he said finally.
He could have been referring to anything, but somehow she knew. “Dubois?”
“He’s going to the gallows.” Luca said it without joy. His face was a mask of grim determination. “Don Zanotta and Don Domacetti are being held in prison, awaiting the
ir sentences. The pope has sent royal emissaries to both Venice and Florence to conduct investigations into deaths brought about by the Order of the Eternal Rose. Anyone whose name appears in the book will be questioned by an inquisitor. Several members have fled. Rewards have been offered for their capture.”
“It’s really over,” Cass said. Belladonna and Piero were dead. Dubois would be dead soon. If the remaining Order members wanted to survive, they would have to either hide or run away. They wouldn’t dare try to continue the Order’s nefarious activities, not with bounties on their heads.
Luca squeezed her hand again. With his other hand, he reached up to stroke her hair, and Cass felt a warmth move through her. He touched her as if she were breakable, but he didn’t treat her that way anymore. The old Luca da Peraga would have never let his fiancée hide among courtesans and train with a dagger. Admittedly, Cass was hoping she would never need to do either of those things again, but still it meant something to her that Luca had given her the time and space to make her own decisions.
He turned to face her. “I never should have left you, Cassandra.” The wind pulled a lock of hair in front of Cass’s eyes, and she studied Luca through a field of auburn strands.
Cass realized that he blamed himself for what had happened to her, much like she blamed herself for Siena and Falco’s deaths. She pressed her lips against his cheek. “I’m all right,” she said. “They didn’t hurt me.”
“I know what it’s like to be imprisoned,” Luca said. “I don’t want you ever to suffer like that again.” He produced a small box from his pocket and flipped open the lid. A brilliant pendant lay nestled on a bed of velvet.
At first Cass thought it was the lily necklace that Belladonna had stolen from her at Angelo de Gradi’s workshop. But as she looked more closely, she saw that this pendant was slightly different; the petals were larger, and the diamond in the center had a pinkish hue.
