Votive

by Karen Brooks

  We paused behind the maestro della casa, who thumped a huge staff against the gleaming floor.

  ‘Signor Ezzelino Maleovelli of the Eighth Casa of Nobiles’ Rise; his daughter Giaconda Maleovelli and, introducing his ward, Tarlo Maleovelli.’ His voice was throaty and loud.

  I don’t know what I expected would happen, but nothing changed. Conversations continued uninterrupted, the music played, the people remained focused on each other. I felt a wave of disappointment. All this anticipation.

  As if they were actors acknowledging their audience, Giaconda and Signor Maleovelli bowed and curtsied to the indifferent room and turned to face a large, low platform, upon which sat an old man – the Doge – in a garish, high-backed chair. His throne. To one side of him stood two men, both of whom resembled each other. I imagined they were the Princes, his sons. On his other side sat a pale man with blond hair who was dressed in peculiar clothes. This must be the ambassador for whom this function was being held. Behind him stood a tall, lean man in a rich, scarlet cassock. He had a matching cap on his head and the huge gold chains of his office dangled across his shoulders, meeting over his heart in a dazzling crucifix. The Cardinale. I swallowed hard.

  The foreigner rose to his feet as our names were called and the Princes helped the Doge struggle to his. Once again, Giaconda and Signor Maleovelli sank into deep obeisance and only stepped away from me once it was my turn to greet the Doge. At that moment, I stood unaccompanied, exposed, at the base of the platform in the centre of the room.

  It was then that conversation ceased and the music spluttered to a stop. All eyes turned in my direction. I watched as groups of men and other, elegantly clad women, spun to look at me, their mouths dropping open. The silence was complete. No murmurs, not a movement, only my breath in my ears, long, juddering.

  Framed by the platform and the huge, dark painting that loomed behind it, I stood proudly, just as I’d been instructed, my head held high, my mask intact, my dress a work of art befitting this grand room. A voice in my head kept talking to me: smile, do not look around, bow your head, curtsy, keep your hands still.

  The Maleovellis left me there for as long as protocol would allow, just enough time for me to catch some of the whispers.

  ‘Gold! She’s wearing gold!’

  ‘How dare she!’

  ‘Stunning.’

  ‘Good god, she’s beautiful!’

  ‘Who is this creature?’

  ‘Maleovelli, the wily old bastardo, where has he been hiding this vision?’

  ‘She dares to wear gold before the Doge?’

  And on they went. As I rose out of my curtsy, I risked a quick sweep of the room. It told me that no-one else was attired in the metallic tint that seemed to dominate the palazzo – that was, until my eyes met those of the Doge. He’d shuffled forward to the edge of the stage, his face creased in a frown. Of all the nobiles clustered in this vast space, only he wore the colour in which the Maleovellis had chosen to attire me.

  I sank to the floor once more, my dress billowing around me, the jewels that adorned the slashes in my sleeves and rimmed my bodice flashing in the candlelight. The feathers of my mask caressed the front of the Doge’s togati as I rose, running from his groin to almost his chin.

  The old man regarded me steadily through his creased eyes. He held out a shaking hand. I placed mine ever so lightly in his. ‘Maleovelli, I didn’t know you had added another filly to your stable.’ I glanced at him quickly. His pitted tongue ran over dry lips. ‘She’s a beauty. A golden beauty.’ He nodded his approval, my hand still in his, holding me at arm’s length, appraising every aspect of my gown, his eyes lingering over my daring décolletage.

  The silence that had held the room in thrall broke and the conversation quickly rose to a crescendo. I didn’t need to hear what was being said to know they were discussing me. It was only later I discovered that the Doge’s first words to me were paramount. He could have ordered me taken from the room, stripped, and my clothes burned. I could have been flung out into the piazza or, worse, the dungeons. Instead, he’d not only welcomed me but, through his greeting, also given me permission to be so bold as to dress like him. To wear the Doge’s colour: gold.

  I had gotten away with breaking one of the greatest taboos in Serenissian society. No wonder the Maleovellis had insisted the dress be kept secret. It also explained the look of fear that crossed Hafeza’s face every time she laid eyes on it.

  Before I could grasp the enormity of what had just happened, it was time to be introduced to the Cardinale. I knew not to offer him my hand. Giaconda had described him as a Roman puritan who, unlike other members of the church, did not seek a woman’s company. Nor a man’s, according to rumours. He was a celibate. Puzzling to Serenissian sensibilities. My heart hammered as I met his eyes, afraid he would see straight through my mask, notice the belladonna and denounce me on the spot. As we nodded to each other, I saw the disapproval behind the façade. He did not like what I represented – something the Church could not control in men or women: lust. I also sensed that he fought hard to control his own.

  Then it was time to meet the Doge’s sons and the foreign ambassador.

  After that, the evening became a blur. Every nobile and courtesan wanted to be introduced, to be seen in my company. I was like a new drink everyone wanted to try. Giaconda stayed by my side, keeping the conversation safe, the men at arm’s length. Many tried to get closer, but she would slap them playfully with her fan and warn them away.

  We’d been there for what seemed like hours. The bells in the campanile had long since chimed midnight and, through the windows along one side of the room, I could see the sky was beginning to lighten.

  Just as dawn’s timid fingers reached over the horizon, one of the Doge’s sons and Signor Moronisini’s, Giacomo, the one upon whom I had spied in the Maleovellis’ casa the night the colleganza was made, joined the group of which I was centre.

  At first, I noticed only Giacomo. He grabbed Giaconda’s hand and kissed it, but his eyes were upon me. Up close, he was very handsome, more so than I remembered. He had smooth olive skin, hazel eyes that twinkled behind his mask, and a generous mouth. He was about to say something to me when the group around us parted. The Prince stepped into our midst.

  Giaconda curtsied and I quickly followed suit. As I rose, the Prince took my hand. All night long, I’d resisted the urge to extract, to learn more about these men and the lovely women whose company they sought, but it was just too dangerous. Now, as this man without a mask, with pock-marked skin and the saddest eyes I had ever seen held onto me, I wanted to delve into his soul and discover the source of his sorrow. Above all, I wanted to heal it. Tragedy shaped his face in a way that no mask could ever emulate.

  ‘Another Maleovelli beauty to grace our nights.’ His voice was low, husky, a fitting tribute to his melancholy. ‘Signorina, you shine brightly even in this glittering firmament.’ His arm swept the ballroom.

  ‘Grazie, your grace,’ I murmured. He held me for a moment longer before turning to Giaconda and talking about, of all things, what the foreign ambassador ate. It was a source of great amusement to the assembly. I glanced at the outlandish man now, wandering from group to group, the Doge’s other son assigned to his side. He was tall, about the Cardinale’s height, but broader. Some might find his pale looks handsome, his blond brows, his light blue eyes. His mask dangled by his side and I wondered when he’d removed it.

  I watched him conversing with the Cardinale. His hands did not move, only his mouth; his face did not reveal his feelings. Like me, he was playing a role. I wondered briefly what he must think of all this ostentation.

  A slight chill made me draw my shoulders together and I glanced around to see if the door had opened, for people were beginning to leave. But it was shut. As I turned back to the group, I became aware of Giacomo Moronisini’s eyes on me again. They burned behind his dark mask. I nodded gracefully to him. He did not say a word; he just continued to stare.


  Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, I was glad when Giaconda took my arm.

  ‘Come, Tarlo, the night is almost over. It’s time to retire.’ She smiled and bowed her head to our male companions, who all protested at our leaving. Giaconda opened her fan and concealed her laughing mouth. ‘Gentleman, we look forward to your future favours. Don’t we, Tarlo?’

  Imitating Giaconda, I also opened my fan, a pretty golden one lined with diamantes. They flashed as the material spread. ‘Indeed we do, sister.’

  Looping our arms, we left the men slowly, aware that every single one of them was watching. As I’d been taught, I swung my hips, pleased as my train (something else I learnt from a very friendly courtesan was also forbidden) rustled and swept its way across the floor.

  We approached Signor Maleovelli and I saw he was listening to a conversation between the Cardinale and the foreign ambassador. The Cardinale gave us the barest of nods.

  ‘I am more than happy to explain to you what we’re doing to apprehend the Estrattore,’ said the Cardinale.

  I willed myself not to react. To remain calm. I opened my fan again and began to wave it before my face. The Cardinale turned from me, annoyed that I had drawn attention away from him merely through my presence.

  He kept talking to the ambassador. ‘And I would like very much for you to explain the religion of your country,’ he continued. ‘We once worshipped the gods. A long, long time ago. But our eyes were opened. We recognised the gods for what they were: a sign of ignorance, and those who claimed to be conduits to them nothing but charlatans.’ The ambassador stiffened. One of the young nobiles gasped at the insult. The Cardinale seemed unaware of the effect of his words. He stifled a yawn. ‘You will have to excuse me. It’s late.’ He glanced out the window. ‘Or should I say, early. We will talk, sir.’ He struck the ambassador on the arm in what was meant to pass as a friendly gesture, but could, in a different setting, be construed as aggressive.

  ‘Your grace,’ we all murmured.

  With a brief bow, he left the group. We waited until he was gone from the room before resuming the conversation. Only then did I release my breath. Signor Maleovelli smiled at us. ‘Ah, belle. Lord Waterford, I believe you have met my daughter Giaconda and my ward, Tarlo. Gia, Lord Beolin Waterford is the ambassador of our newest ally, the country of Farrowfare. Despite what his grace, the Cardinale implied, religion is not the only subject to occupy Lord Waterford’s mind – he’s also interested in trade.’

  ‘Then he is a man of great interest to us, Papa,’ said Giaconda, staring over her fan at Lord Waterford, who flashed her what passed for a warm smile.

  We both dropped into deep curtsies. Lord Waterford kissed the hands we held out to him, first Giaconda’s, then mine. Even through my glove, I sensed something about this man. Depths that his unassuming demeanour hid. This man had secrets.

  ‘Isn’t Farrowfare beyond the Limen, my lord?’ asked Giaconda.

  I tensed. Mention of the Limen still had the ability to startle me.

  Lord Waterford cast me a look, a frown between his brows. I forced my face into a smile as I extracted my hand from his.

  ‘Indeed it is, Signorina.’ He stepped closer to Giaconda.

  ‘I would love to hear all about it,’ she said. ‘Living so close to the Limen we’re always curious about its mystery, about what lies beyond its peculiar barrier, never mind within. You’re the first we know, apart from our infamous Bond Riders, of course, to come from the other side. It’s very exciting. We Serenissians are not able to survive within its space, not unless we surrender our souls. But you know this, sì?’

  ‘I have heard of your Bond Riders,’ said the lord politely. ‘My understanding is that they are no longer able to be, how would you describe it? Made human again?’

  ‘Vero. This is true. Without Estrattore to return their souls …’ Giaconda let her voice trail away, hoisting her shoulders and letting them drop.

  I released my breath slowly. The conversation unnerved me.

  ‘I would very much like to learn about why it is your men can cross into Vista Mare and back again so … unscathed.’ Giaconda looked the ambassador up and down appreciatively. ‘Do you have to surrender your soul or is that still intact?’

  Lord Waterford smiled. ‘I’m afraid that’s an official secret, Signorina.’

  ‘And what about opportunities for trade between our nations?’ asked Giaconda. ‘Is that a secret too? Or will you share that with me?’

  ‘That’s what we were discussing, bella,’ Signor Maleovelli said. ‘Lord Waterford and I have just been arranging a time of mutual convenience to talk further on this matter. Is that not right, Signor?’ Signor Maleovelli reached inside his jacket. ‘This is my card. I would be delighted if you would call upon us soon. I will ask my man to speak to yours, shall I?’

  ‘That would be … most delightful,’ said Lord Waterford, his eyes dusting first Giaconda, then me. I could tell that while he would go ahead with this meeting, it was against his better judgement. I longed to touch this man, to find out more about him. Well, if he came to the casa, I would perhaps have that chance.

  ‘Till the next time we meet, then,’ said Signor Maleovelli and gave the ambassador a dignified nod of his head.

  Lord Waterford bowed, an elegant, practised one. ‘I will look forward to it very much, Signor Maleovelli, Signorina Giaconda and Signorina Tarlo.’

  ‘You will not forget?’ asked Giaconda.

  ‘How could I? I don’t think I will ever forget the jewels that grace this evening – the emerald lady and the Signorina Dorata. I doubt anyone will.’

  Signorina Dorata? It took me a moment to realise Lord Waterford meant me.

  ‘Signorina Dorata?’ Giaconda’s eyes widened and then she laughed and stood back to study me momentarily. ‘Very appropriate, Lord Waterford. It’s a name, a title, I think my sister will wear with honour. Grazie.’

  ‘Prego,’ said Lord Waterford. ‘But I cannot claim to have invented it. I am simply repeating what everyone else has been calling her.’

  Giaconda took my arm again and we followed Signor Maleovelli from the room, nodding to those who called out farewells. The Doge had long left his party; the dais and his throne were abandoned.

  I barely remembered being ushered into my cape, descending the staircases or coming out into the fresh early morning air, crossing the piazza and rousing Salzi, who was asleep in the felze. All I could think about was Lord Waterford’s description of me.

  I huddled beside Giaconda, too tired to listen to the Maleovellis’ self-congratulations and analysis of the evening. All I could think about was the uncanny coincidence.

  ‘Did you hear what he called her, Papa?’ Giaconda was full of life, high on the success of the evening, despite the hour. ‘Signorina Dorata!’ She clapped her hands in glee.

  Signor Maleovelli regarded her fondly. ‘She was a greater success than we ever could have hoped. You did well, mia cara. We did well.’

  They continued to speak about me as if I didn’t exist. I was grateful. My mind was roiling with confusion, with the impossibility of it all.

  In a matter of months, I had gone from being Dante’s Dorato – his little golden boy, to the golden lady of Serenissima – Signorina Dorata.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh in triumph or cry at what it all signified. I was too exhausted. My body ached, my feet were leaden and my brain was full of the faces, sights and conversations I had participated in, the danger I had narrowly escaped simply by being there. The tension that had kept me upright and focused all night began to leave my body.

  I snuggled into the cushions, rearranging my dress slightly. We passed over the water and, through the window, I could see out on the ocean beyond the Arsenale, the silhouettes of masts as the sun crawled over the horizon, turning the water into a bronze disc. A flat golden orb. Dorato, dorata. Like the ships anchored in the lagoon, I wondered where this new name would take me. What I would become. Would it set me free as we hoped,
or would it be a burden that would secure me nothing but trouble?

  As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait for very long to find out.

  DANTE WAS AWARE OF THE OWNER of Taverna di Segretezza’s eyes upon him as he gently wiped Katina’s brow.

  ‘She’s not improving.’ Dante turned round and looked at Signor Vestire helplessly. ‘I don’t know what to do, Signor.’ For the last five days, he’d sat by Katina’s bed and watched as her body withered away before his eyes. At first, he’d refused to let anyone come near her, but now, when he had lost all hope, he’d admitted Vestire. He gazed at the kind man now. ‘Tell me. What do I do?’

  Signor Vestire stepped closer. Dante could see a tic in his cheek pulsing frantically as he stared at Katina. He was working hard not to let the apprehension he felt show. ‘I have seen this before,’ he said finally, the back of his hand gently touching Katina’s cheek. Her breathing was shallow, rapid. ‘When a Bond Rider is like this – they must return to the Limen.’

  Dante studied Katina’s face in dismay. ‘I know. But there are factors –’

  ‘More important than this Signorina’s life?’ Signor Vestire rested a hand on Dante’s shoulder. ‘Hush,’ he said as Dante went to speak again. He dragged a chair over next to him. ‘I do know. I do understand. I know the Riders have rules and laws to which we humans are not privy. And you have your Bonds.’ He smiled to soften the severity of his words. ‘But you should at least consider a dottore, amico mio.’

  Dante shook his head. ‘What if he talks? What if he lets slip that you have Riders here …’

  ‘We will get one of our own. Someone who will not breathe a word. Trust me on this. My life is as much at risk as yours.’ Signor Vestire folded his arms and nodded out the window. ‘The Cardinale and the Signori di Notte are, let’s say, encouraging the popolani to report anything or anyone different. They’re paying people to spy on one another.’ He sighed. ‘Why, only yesterday, we heard that an old woman was taken in for questioning. She’d recently moved into the Herb Quartiere from the mainland after her family died during the Morto Assiderato. Once she would have been cared for, welcomed even. Now, she’s accused of harbouring the Estrattore.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Tragedy begets more tragedy.’