by Fiona Paul
Wordlessly, she untied the bag and handed Luca the clothing Siena had taken from Bortolo’s quarters. The elderly butler was the only member of the household even close to Luca’s height. Cass pulled her own clothes from the pack. She was moving numbly, mechanically. She was too tired to speak. Too tired to think. Tears hovered on her eyelashes. There was a third set of clothing in the bag. Siena’s clothing.
Luca stepped away and turned around to give Cass privacy. She wrestled out of her waterlogged dress and slipped the fresh chemise over her head. She tugged the skirt over her hips. The dry fabric felt good against her skin. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of her bodice and stopped. The ties were in the back. She had no way to lace it without Siena’s help.
A sob escaped from her lips. Luca was at her side in an instant. “Cass. What is it?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
“I need Siena,” Cass whispered, feeling incredibly stupid. “I—I can’t lace this bodice. I—”
“I’ll help you,” Luca said. With slow, fumbling fingers, Luca threaded the first lace through the highest hole. He dropped it and grabbed the lace on the other side.
Cass started to tell him it was faster if he threaded one lace through all of the holes first, and then did the same on the other side. But she stopped. There was something comforting about Luca’s painstakingly slow progress, about the methodical but innocent way his hands grazed her back repeatedly.
“Thank you,” Cass said, when he had made it all the way to the bottom and knotted the silk pieces in a clumsy bow. She blotted each cheek on the back of her hand.
She tried to swallow back all of the questions that rose inside of her. What would happen to her now? What would happen to them? How would they live? Where would they go?
“Come on.” Luca led her back to the tree. The ground beneath her bare feet—even Siena hadn’t thought to bring an extra pair of shoes—was littered with leaves and brambles. Luca lowered himself to the ground. He brushed away the vegetation, clearing a spot big enough for the both of them. He leaned back against the tree trunk. Cass realized he was wearing only breeches and a chemise, that the plain black doublet Siena had packed was hanging over his forearm. He handed the doublet to her. “You can use it as a blanket,” he said. “Or a pillow.”
Cass sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Even in fresh clothing, he smelled of sweat and canal water, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m comfortable,” she said.
Luca draped the doublet over her arms and torso anyway. “Do you think you can sleep?”
She shook her head. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to sleep again.
But she did. In the morning she woke up with her head resting on Luca’s lap, the spare doublet clutched in her arms. She sat up, blinking in the sunlight that filtered through the trees.
The events of the night flooded back. Siena, sacrificing her life so that Cass and Luca could go free. I’m sorry. Cass thought the words as hard as she could. She felt certain that Siena could hear them all the way in heaven. Surely, she had gone to heaven. No one was more pure of soul than sweet Siena had been.
Cass’s chest ached. What if Agnese thought Siena and Cass had fled San Domenico together? What if Siena’s body wasn’t returned? She would be treated as a dead criminal, dumped in a ditch like the three girls tossed into an unmarked grave outside Florence. Another innocent victim of the Order.
The Order was responsible for everything—her parents’ deaths, Luca’s imprisonment, Cass’s attack.
Siena.
Luca groaned softly. Cass looked over at him; he was still asleep. He had dirt and leaves in his hair, and his chemise had managed to lose a button in the night. Cass couldn’t help but notice that his right shoulder was bleeding through the garment. She reached out to touch the bloom of red and he flinched.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, twitching in his sleep. His shirt fell open, exposing a series of jagged red scars down the front of his chest. Cass gasped. Luca opened his eyes.
He blinked hard. “What is it?”
“You’re bleeding.”
Luca looked down at his shoulder. “It’s fine. The water carried me into a mooring post last night. I think I got caught on a nail.”
“And this?” Cass reached out one shaking finger and traced down one of the scars.
Luca stiffened. He sat up abruptly, adjusting the fabric so that he was covered. “It isn’t as bad as it looks,” he said quickly.
“What… what did they do to you?” Cass’s voice trembled.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice softened. “What’s done is done, Cass. We need to look forward, not back.”
“The Order,” Cass said, her resolve returning.
Luca looked at his hands. “Our parents spent most of their lives trying to destroy the Order of the Eternal Rose.”
“No, Luca.” Cass’s throat was thick. “You’ve got it wrong. Our parents were members.”
“I know,” Luca said calmly. He lifted himself to his feet and then bent down to help her from the ground. Keeping one of her hands twined in his, he started walking toward the shore. “My father told me. But the Order wasn’t always bad, Cass. It was founded almost a hundred years ago by people who believed in the advancement of science through the examination of cadavers. Those with access to the dead formed a network. They shared their research. They took the name the Order of the Eternal Rose.”
Angelo de Gradi’s words from the church in Florence echoed in Cass’s head. He’d said something about the Order almost being taken down from within. Could he have been talking about her parents and the da Peragas? Hope flickered inside of her, but only for a moment. Cass shook her head. “Even today, de Gradi is still defiling bodies in the name of science.”
“The goals have changed. The Order has abandoned its pursuit of scientific knowledge to chase after some mythical formula.” Luca’s expression darkened as he looked out over the water. “They seek everlasting life. They want to turn man into gods.”
“The fifth humor,” Cass said slowly. “I went to Florence, Luca. They’re using blood.” Breathlessly, she relayed the story of how she’d met Piero Basso at Palazzo della Notte and then later ended up watching Hortensa Zanotta’s execution. She told Luca about the dog attack, about Piero drugging her and stealing her blood, about following him to the church and watching Belladonna’s sacrificial bath.
By the time she was finished, the bell tower of San Giorgio had come to life. Cass counted six chimes.
“We can’t risk staying here much longer, but I know a place where we can go,” Luca said. “I have a friend from school whose father lives on the Giudecca. No one will come looking for us there.”
“Can we trust him?” Cass asked.
“We might not have to,” Luca said. “We might be able to hide away in his barn for a few days without him even knowing we’re there.”
“What then?” Cass asked. “Where will we go?”
Luca touched one hand to her lower back. “Wherever we need to,” he said, “to finish what our parents started.”
Cass glanced over. The sunlight glinted off Luca’s light brown eyes. “You still want to destroy the Order?” she asked. “After everything you’ve been through?”
He plucked a rock from the sandy soil and turned it over in his hands. “Especially after everything I’ve been through.” His eyes lifted to meet hers. “Everything we’ve been through.”
Cass thought back to a younger Luca who had once given her a similar stone, its edges worn by water, shaped into a heart. She had never imagined that boy might desire anything besides a life of traditional nobility. Servants. Children. A position within the Senate. A doting wife. Perhaps she had been wrong all along.
Luca flicked his wrist and sent the stone flying out into the waves. Cass watched it bounce across the surface of the water. He turned toward her, tucking a tendril of hair back behind her left ear. “Don’t you want the same? Will you help me destroy the Ord
er of the Eternal Rose?”
“I do.” Cass suddenly felt warm. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she looked up at him. “I will.”
Luca pulled her in close. He pressed his lips against her cheek. Cass turned her head. She reached up and stroked the back of his neck as she turned her mouth toward his. He tightened up for a second and then relaxed. His lips pressed against hers, gently at first. Then harder. Cass’s whole body trembled. She folded herself against him. Her hands found his hair, the muscles of his back. Everything was warmth. Light. New life.
New beginnings.
She wanted to kiss him until she ran out of breath, and then kiss him some more.
When they finally broke apart, Luca trailed his lips from her cheek to her jawbone to her earlobe. So softly, like rose petals being dragged across her skin. “Cass,” he whispered, “you make me want to be better.”
She buried her head beneath his chin. “You are already the best man I know.” It was true. How had she not seen it? Luca had lied to her once, but it had been to protect her. He wouldn’t lie to her again. And he wouldn’t betray her. Not like Falco had with Belladonna. Cass trusted Luca with her life. With her heart.
He squeezed her against him and lifted her up into the air, spinning her around once before setting her gently back on the sand. “With you, I feel like anything is possible,” he said. “I love you.”
Cass smiled against his chest. “I love you too,” she murmured, but the wind and the waves and the beating of his heart stole away her words.
No matter. Their time together was just beginning.
“Creation of the Elixir of Life will elevate the Order of the Eternal Rose above the Senate, the Church, and God.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
Epilogue
Piero turned the crank, and the metal cylinder began to whirl. Silver flashed. Glass tubes clinked together inside the mysterious apparatus. He cranked again. And again. A few more turns and the machine slowed to a stop. Piero removed a single tube. He held it up to the fire, nodding in satisfaction at the layers of fluid: a clot of darkness in the bottom, then red, then a skim of yellow, then clear on the top. All four humors, separate and pure. All four humors extracted solely from blood.
Consulting his notes, he carefully measured out the different humors with a pipette. Drops of red, yellow, black, and clear fell into a tiny crucible. Everything had to be done in just the right ratio and order, or the reaction wouldn’t work. With a pair of long iron tongs, he held the crucible just above the fire. The mixture needed to be hot, but not singed. If the flames surged too high, he’d have to start over.
He heard the fluid begin to sizzle. He pulled the crucible back from the fire. With a tiny wand, he stirred the solution five times clockwise, five times counterclockwise. The liquid bubbled and then turned clear. Not pinkish. Not yellowish. As transparent and colorless as water. It was the fifth humor, another remarkably pure sample. Piero stared in wonder for a moment and then added exactly one dram of spider venom. The venom kept the fifth humor from separating when it cooled, but Piero thought it was also responsible for the potency of the newer batches of elixir. Back when they had used wine instead, the resulting compounds had only slightly increased the longevity of the roses that served as Piero’s first line of testing subjects. His current test plant had been in full bloom for weeks, and there was not even a hint of wilting on any of the petals.
If the elixir worked as it should, they wouldn’t have to take it daily as they had been. Perhaps every other day, and then later once a week. It would build up in their bodies and keep them from getting ill. It would keep them from aging.
Finally.
Piero didn’t yet know why some blood resulted in a batch of fifth humor that was cloudy or imperfect, but what he did know was that this subject’s blood resulted in the purest humor he’d ever seen. And the strongest elixir. He had been testing it not just on the roses and spiders, but also on himself. He had never felt as alive as he did in that moment.
He scribbled a few notations on a loose piece of parchment and then waved it dry. When he had finished with this subject’s blood, Belladonna would insist on personally locking up his notes. Someone had stolen the Book of the Eternal Rose right out of her chambers, and she was livid about it.
He found her in the garden, composing a letter on her finest vellum. “What are you writing?” he asked.
Belladonna looked up. “Did you get a chance to meet Cristian de Lambert?” she asked. “He used to work for Joseph Dubois in Venice, but Dubois sent him away, so he came here, hoping to work for me. I sent him back to Venice to spy on Joseph and spread fear about the threat of vampirism.” Her tight lips turned slightly upward. It was the closest thing Piero had seen to a smile since the book had gone missing. “If Angelo de Gradi is right and mass amounts of the proper blood can only be found there, that could be very useful to us.”
“I believe you’ll find these notes useful as well.” He set a few sheets of parchment on the table next to her half-composed letter. “I know you are upset about the book, but truly, we didn’t lose anything crucial to our goals.”
Bella’s posture tensed, and for a second Piero thought she was going to pounce on him. “That book was my father’s, and my grandfather’s before him. I will get it back or I will die trying, do you understand?”
“Completely.” Piero bowed low. He had learned it was best to appease his patroness when she was in one of her moods.
“And when I find whoever took it, I will kill that person very slowly.” She watched his reaction.
Piero knew she suspected both him and the butler, Dionisio Mafei, of the theft. As members of her inner circle, they were two of the only people who knew where she kept the book. Piero hadn’t stolen it, though. Why would he? He enjoyed his current arrangement too much, and as the one actually making the elixir, he knew there was no way Belladonna could deny him his share.
She seemed to notice the vial clasped in Piero’s hand for the first time. “Another test batch of your favorite elixir?” Her catlike eyes tunneled straight into him.
“It is.” Piero gestured at a rosebush near the center of the garden. “I’ve been feeding this plant for two weeks.”
Belladonna’s lips curled into another half smile as she studied the roses in question. Her whole garden was stunning, but this particular bush was laden with the largest, most vibrant blossoms she had ever seen.
“I cannot wait to begin taking this elixir,” she said. “I do hope, whoever your donor is, that she hasn’t been executed as a vampire.” Belladonna laughed a cold, bitter laugh.
Piero thought of the shelf in his room, of the row of glass tubes stamped with the lily insignia. “Do not worry, Bella,” he said, smiling. “I know exactly where to find her.”
Acknowledgments
I have to start this page by thanking you, the reader. Getting a book published is almost like getting an invitation to a certain school of witchcraft and wizardry. Getting multiple books published is like getting paid to attend that school. It’s the best thing ever, and it’s possible only because of you. I will never forget that.
More thanks:
To my mom for her unwavering support, even though most of the time I have no clue what I am doing; Paul for always being a calming influence, and for driving me across several states to see a dolphin show that one time I was really sad; and Vicky for sending copious e-mails full of brainteasers and baby animal pictures, and for hiding chocolate all around my apartment every time I go out of town.
To Lexa Hillyer, Lauren Oliver, Beth Scorzato, and everyone at Paper Lantern. Beth, you are my backup calming influence. Thank you for not filtering my relentless 2:00 a.m. e-mails full of questions and semi-ranty tirades. Renaissance expert Eleanor Herman, once again your insights raised this book to a new level.
To Team Philomel: Michael Green, publisher, Jill Santopolo, editrix of wonder and tireless advocate for more kissing, Julia Johnson and the rest of the ed
itorial team, Kristin Smith, Lisa Kelly, Sheila Hennessey, Anna Jarzab, Elizabeth Zajac, and anyone else who had a part in getting the word out about this book—you guys rock!
To Stephen Barbara and the people at Foundry, Jennifer Laughran and the Literaticult, the Apocalypsies, the Blueboarders, the book bloggers, Jessica Spotswood, Andrea Cremer, Antony John, Heather Brewer, Rhalee Hughes, all of the Breathless Reads girls, Left Bank Books, Pudd’nhead Books, Main Street Books, the St. Louis and St. Charles library systems, my crit partners: Cathy, Jasmine, Jess, Ken, and Marcy. I literally could go on forever listing other industry people who have helped me along this journey. I feel incredibly lucky to be part of a community that is so invested in the success of its members.
To everyone else who put up with my insane schedule: Connie for the late-night gossip and iced coffee, Julie for the bookmarks and inviting me to the hipster bar (I’m gonna go one of these days, I swear), Ben for going to the gun range with me when I needed to shoot things, Jeff for going out to eat with me when I needed to eat things, and all of my amazing colleagues at Award Winning Teaching Hospital, especially Debbie Hoog for taking me on a vicarious trip to Florence.
Adam, you continue to be my Kryptonite and not mentioning you here would just be wrong. We’ll always have Golden Tee.
Finally, the interwebz can be a scary place for a new author. You blog, you tweet, you pin, you post, but is there anyone listening? Or are you just shouting into the ether? Extra-special thanks to Monica Lopez, Nikki Wang, and my amazing group of cyber-pals, for being a constant reminder that I’m not all alone in this.
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Also by Fiona Paul