Starling

by Fiona Paul

  Cass and the other servant, Gemma, were pinned against the far counter. Cass tried not to stare at the blade digging into Flora’s alabaster skin, at the thin red rivulet that had trickled down and soaked into her collar.

  The room sharpened into focus as Cass debated her options. If she tried to get past Cristian, he’d spill Flora’s blood all over the stone floor. Next to her, Gemma’s breath had gone high-pitched and wheezy, like she was in danger of having some sort of attack.

  “Don’t hurt me,” Flora begged. Her body sagged backward against Cristian. Her face was a mask of panic.

  “It’s all right,” Cass said. Slowly, she lowered the knife to the ground.

  “Kick it over here,” Cristian said.

  Cass kicked the knife in his direction. Gemma and Flora were both crying now, the former big choking sobs and the latter a wave of silent tears. The warm air went cool and silent as Cass waited to see what Cristian would do next.

  “You’re going to come with me, Cassandra.” Cristian began dragging Flora toward the back door. “We’ll go out this way and get back into the gondola.”

  She nodded. She had no intention of going anywhere with Cristian, but too many young women had died by his hands already. She would play along until an opportunity presented itself. And when it did, she would kill him. She was almost looking forward to it.

  Just as Cristian turned to open the back door, a man crept into the kitchen from the front corridor. It was the man Cass had seen outside after fleeing the gondola. He was short and broad-shouldered, with a head too small for his body and clumps of sandy-colored hair that hung down below the brim of his hat. More of a boy than a man, really. Cass didn’t recognize him, but something about him felt familiar. Next to her, Gemma inhaled a tiny breath of air.

  The boy was gripping a lantern in his right hand. Perhaps he had taken it from the butler’s office. He might have looked awkward, but he moved like a cat. Cristian didn’t even sense him approach.

  The boy raised the lantern high above his head. Cristian fumbled with the lock on the door, his shaking left hand trying to work the mechanism while his right arm held the dagger to Flora’s throat.

  The boy took a step.

  Then another.

  He was almost within reach.

  The door swung open. Cristian started to turn.

  “Now!” Cass screamed.

  The boy slammed the lantern hard against Cristian’s skull, and Cass heard the same crunching sound she’d heard when she’d hit him with the fireplace poker. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. The dagger fell to the floor with a clatter. Flora landed on her hands and knees, shaking and sobbing.

  Luca thundered down the servants’ stairs, skidding to a stop as he witnessed the chaos. Bortolo and Narissa were right behind him. “Cass, what happened?” Luca asked.

  The servants were weeping. The boy who had knocked out Cristian looked a bit dazed himself. The lantern hung limply from his right hand.

  “He saved us.” Cass gestured at the boy.

  Luca only then recognized the crumpled form on the floor. “Cristian,” he said. Turning to Narissa, he added, “Send for the Town Guard immediately.”

  Narissa hurried toward the front of the house. Cristian groaned, his eyelids fluttering. Flora stumbled back from him, one hand clutching her throat.

  Luca placed the sole of his boot on Cristian’s neck. “Someone get some rope,” he barked. Turning to the sandy-haired boy, he asked, “Who are you?”

  “Matteo Querini.” The boy set the lantern on the kitchen counter and frowned at Cristian. “Where I come from, a man does not hold a blade to a lady’s throat.” He turned to Cass. “Signorina Caravello, I presume? I’m here to assume control of the estate. Sorry. I was a bit delayed in my arrival.”

  “On the contrary.” Cass dipped into a shallow curtsy. “I’d say you arrived just in time.”

  “Life is fleeting, ephemeral. One day, when our work is complete, that will change.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  twenty-nine

  Cass stood in front of her dressing table mirror while Narissa fussed with her dress. The sleeves were too loose, the skirts not long enough. Even the cuffs weren’t quite right. Narissa gathered the material at Cass’s left wrist and pinned it so it held snug against her skin. She dropped that hand and went to the other.

  Cass sighed. “It’s not that big of a tragedy if the dress doesn’t fit quite right, is it?”

  “Signorina Cassandra. It’s your wedding day. Don’t you want everything to be perfect?” Wrinkles formed in Narissa’s heavy brow as she secured the second cuff.

  Cass could feel the itchy pins rubbing against her flesh. “I’m marrying Luca,” she said. “That’s perfect enough for me.”

  There had been no time to have a new dress made, so Cass was actually wearing Signora da Peraga’s wedding dress. It was pale blue with a sloped neckline that was embroidered with silver and adorned with tiny sapphires. The cuffs and collar were made out of fine ivory lace, but they gaped a bit too much for Narissa’s taste. It looked nothing like the dress Cass had woken up wearing at Palazzo Viaro, and for that she was grateful.

  Narissa huffed, but nodded to herself as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “I guess it’ll do,” she said. “I’m going to make sure Cook has everything prepared for the feast and that Giuseppe is done in the garden.”

  Cass nodded. She was grateful for the moment alone. She hadn’t seen Luca all morning, but the servants had all been in and out of her room, bestowing words of advice and congratulations, taking too much pleasure in telling long embarrassing stories from when Cass had first moved into the villa.

  Narissa shut the bedroom door with a click and Cass considered her reflection. The dress did look lovely with Narissa’s modifications, she had to admit. But there was something different about her face. Her eyes. There was a heaviness to them she’d never noticed before. She stared for a moment, trying to decide if she was imagining it.

  Turning from the dressing table, Cass went to her armoire. Inside, behind all of the neatly folded gowns, was the picture of her that Falco had painted. She pulled it out and carried it over to her bed. As she sat beside it, her fingers tracing the paint’s uneven texture, her heart remembered each moment of the night the painting had been started. The girl on the canvas was a stranger. She looked young and innocent. Delirious with joy. Her eyes were filled with light.

  “Those were the days, weren’t they?”

  That voice.

  Could it be?

  With her heart trembling and her breath lodged in her throat like a stone, Cass lifted her eyes.

  It was.

  “Falco,” she breathed.

  His bruises from being beaten at de Gradi’s workshop had healed. He looked a little thinner than Cass had remembered, but otherwise the same as the day they had met. Smiling fondly down at the painting, he said, “I’m glad that you kept it.”

  “How did you—”

  “Get inside?” He spun around once, and Cass realized he was wearing the blue-and-silver livery of the Querini estate. “You act as if I’ve never done this before.”

  “No. How did you survive the fire? I thought for certain . . . Everyone told me you were dead.” Cass reached out with one hand, her fingers grazing his forearm to make sure he was real. And where have you been?

  “After I helped you through the window, the building started to collapse,” he said. “I managed to pull myself out just in time. I thought I heard you calling my name, but before I could answer, I was hit by a chunk of falling stone. When I woke up, you were gone.” Falco raked a hand through his hair. Cass noticed an angry red scar on his left temple. “I asked everyone if they had seen you, but they all told me the same thing—no one could have escaped alive. They didn’t seem to believe that I had been inside the building. They tho
ught I was a liar, or a madman.”

  Cass wasn’t sure whether to tell him that Cristian had found her unconscious body and taken her. No. Even though he had saved her life, Falco would feel horrible if he knew that Cass had suffered more after their ordeal. She wouldn’t mention it. The Ducal soldiers had come for Cristian the day that Matteo had knocked him out. He was in prison for life and would never hurt anyone again. That was what mattered.

  “I walked the ruins after the fire went out,” Falco continued. “I could barely stand, or breathe, but I had to know if you were all right. I saw the brigade remove two bodies—men, from the looks of it.” He stepped closer to Cass, and she could smell a trace of paint on his clothing. “But then I saw a pair of peasants fighting over a third body. Smaller—a woman, burned beyond recognition. As I watched, one of the peasants plucked a pendant from around her throat—a diamond. So I thought—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  So Belladonna had worn the lily pendant after she stole it, and Falco had presumed the burned body was Cass’s. “I was told four bodies were recovered,” Cass said. “So I thought you . . .”

  “Perhaps the courtesan’s body—”

  “Of course.” It all made sense now. Cass hadn’t asked the woman at the scene about the gender of the bodies removed. She had forgotten about Minerva. Belladonna and Piero must have still had her body at the workshop.

  “I didn’t want to believe you were dead,” Falco continued. “As soon as I regained my strength, I went to Palazzo Dolce. I figured they would know for certain. But before I even made it to the door, I saw you in the garden with your fiancé.” His brow furrowed. “The two of you were playing with swords and daggers. It was the oddest thing I’ve ever seen, I have to admit. But you looked so . . . blissful. And I was blissful merely to see that you hadn’t perished. I thought rather than once again intervene in your happiness that perhaps it might be best to let you think me dead.”

  “Falco.” Cass leaned in and embraced him, her lips brushing against his cheek. “I am so glad that you’re alive.” She exhaled slowly. “But as you said, Luca and I are happy. We’re to be married.”

  “I heard. It’s the main reason I came here today,” Falco said. “I just needed you to know how I felt—I didn’t want you to make any rash decisions—”

  “Rash decisions? I suppose I have made a few of those.” Cass took Falco’s hands in her own. “You are—” Her voice cracked, and for a moment she feared she might cry. Inhale. Exhale. She searched for the right word. “Dazzling,” she said. Her lips slanted into a smile. “Knowing you has been magical.”

  “Starling. I—”

  She touched a finger to his lips. “The thing is, I need more than dazzling. I need trust. I need acceptance. I need love that never wavers.” Her voice softened. “I’m forever grateful that you didn’t die because of me, but you and I, we’re not right for each other. At first I thought we were. Neither of us wanted to be the person society wanted us to be. But Luca doesn’t want me to be that person either. He doesn’t want me to be anything, except for who I am.” Cass thought of the way he had held her at Palazzo Dolce, the way he had told her that her thoughts were her own, and that he would never judge her by them.

  “I know,” Falco said. His shoulders slumped forward a little, but his expression didn’t change.

  Cass continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Luca doesn’t care what I think about science or religion or vampires. With you, I always felt like you wanted to change me. We spoke so long ago of Michel de Montaigne, of how marriage was like a gilded cage. But Montaigne was wrong. Marriage can set you free of the cage if you find the right person.” She looked pleadingly at Falco, praying he would understand. “Luca da Peraga is the right man for me.”

  “I know,” Falco repeated. He rubbed at the scar beneath his eye.

  “It doesn’t mean that I don’t care—” She stopped. “Wait. You know?”

  “I didn’t come here to ruin your wedding, Cassandra.” Falco smiled crookedly. “When I saw you with Luca, it looked to me as if you were where you were supposed to be. I suppose I just had to lay eyes on you one last time to be certain, you understand?”

  “Oh, Falco.” Cass dropped his hands and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I will never forget you,” she murmured.

  “Nor I, you,” Falco said after they had broken apart. “I’m returning to Florence, but I truly hope our paths cross again.” He turned to leave, but then stopped. “Tell Luca that he’d better take good care of you. If he hurts you, I’ll come back for him.” He winked. “I’ll come back for both of you.”

  Cass watched his form retreat. As he turned into the hallway, she called out to him. “Falco.”

  He glanced back. “Yes?”

  “You can stay if you like,” she said. “For the wedding.”

  Falco smiled slightly. “I feel as if I’ve overstayed my welcome as it is.”

  With that, he vanished into the corridor and Cass’s heart dipped low inside her chest. Sadness pricked at her like pins, but she had done the right thing. Falco was vibrant, exciting, and unusual. The passionate way that he had touched her had made her whole body come alive for the first time.

  But he wasn’t the man who loved her just as she was. He wasn’t the man who made her want to be a better person.

  That man awaited her in the garden.

  ~

  Bortolo escorted Cass from the kitchen door to the rose trellis at the back of Agnese’s garden. Luca watched her approach, his face a study in neutrals, his eyes beginning to mist over. The garden was packed with servants, courtesans, mercenaries, and a handful of girls Cass knew via Madalena. It was not the crowd of people she had dreamed would attend her wedding one day, but everywhere she looked, her eyes fell on a friendly face. And what could be better than that?

  Well, Luca, of course. He wore his finest green silk tunic and a pair of black velvet breeches, his hat and boots adorned with pale blue ribbons Cass suspected Narissa had selected for him. Bortolo released her arm, and Cass took her position across from Luca, with the priest standing in between. She couldn’t resist lifting one hand to stroke the faint hint of beard showing on his cheeks. “Bongiorno,” she whispered.

  “Bongiorno.” He took her hands in his own and squeezed them. “In case I forget to tell you later, this has been the best day of my life.”

  “So far.” Cass grinned.

  The priest cleared his throat. She and Luca fell silent as he began to speak. He talked of bonds, of water and blood and what it meant when a woman and a man entered into the covenant of marriage. He talked of the sun, of doves flying free, and of God looking down to bear witness. Cass barely heard most of it. She was getting lost in Luca’s eyes. Life had torn them asunder and she had broken laws, swum currents, and shed blood to find her way back to him.

  And she would do it all again, if need be.

  When the priest pronounced them married, Luca kissed her and the crowd cheered. The courtesans threw rice and everyone headed inside, up the stairs toward the portego, where presumably the wine would flow.

  Everyone but Cass.

  She felt the tears brimming and hung back from the group for a moment. Blotting at her eyes with one of her lace cuffs, she accidentally left a smudge of kohl behind. Santo cielo. Narissa would see and scold her twice. Once for being slovenly and once for damaging someone else’s dress. Cass bit her lip.

  Maximus appeared out of nowhere. He clapped his hands together and produced a red handkerchief. He pressed it into her hands.

  “Mi dispiace,” Cass said, accepting the square of shimmery cloth. “I don’t mean to cry.”

  Maximus tucked a strand of hair back behind her left ear. “It’s your wedding day,” he said. “You may do anything you wish.”

  The wind blew. Needles of freshly cut grass danced on the current. Cass wiped at another rogue tear as it escaped
and cut a wet path down her cheek. She balled the handkerchief in her hand.

  “Grazie,” she said. “For everything, Maximus. You befriended me when I was scared. You helped Luca find himself when he was lost. And then you brought us back together. If there is ever any way I can repay you—”

  “You already gave me the one thing I needed. A chance to say good-bye to the woman I loved.”

  After the soldiers had taken Cristian away, Cass had told Maximus about what had happened in the spring—about finding Mariabella’s body in the contessa Liviana’s tomb, about Cristian admitting to her murder. Then she told him about the room at Palazzo Viaro. Maximus had gone there and removed Mariabella’s corpse. He had found her mother and together they had arranged a proper burial.

  “I’m sorry she’s gone,” Cass said.

  “Signorina Cassandra, there is too much darkness in the world for you to personally apologize for all of it. Go forth instead with your new husband and make light.” Maximus took the damp handkerchief from her hand, folded it into a square, and squeezed it between his palms. He clapped his hands once, and the handkerchief was gone.

  A single red rose sat in its place.

  “Not to sound ungrateful,” Cass said. “But I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to appreciate roses again.”

  Maximus nodded as he closed his fingers around the bloom. “Do not worry. This one is not eternal. It is ephemeral, as flowers should be.” With a flourish, he opened his hands once more to reveal a single dove. The bird flapped its wings once and then took to the sky.

  And then Cass felt it inside of her—light.

  Hope.

  Maximus was right. She had borne her share of darkness. It was time for a change.

  “Someday you are going to have to tell me how you do that,” she said.

  “I’ve already told you,” he said with a wink. “Magic.”

  Cass watched the dove fade into the horizon. “Tell everyone I’ll be right there, will you? I just need to duck into my chamber for a moment.”