Cass’s throat grew dry as she spoke. “Falco and I, we—” She blushed.
Feliciana’s eyebrows shot up. “Signorina Cassandra! You’re telling me . . .” She trailed off, but the implication was obvious.
“No,” Cass said quickly. “But we kissed, and sometimes I think . . . I think I love him. Loved him,” she corrected. She continued her story before Feliciana could press for the intimate details. “At Madalena’s wedding I was lured into the wine room by a friend of Signor Rambaldo’s. His name is Cristian, and I believe he is the same Frenchman you saw at Palazzo Dubois. I didn’t know it at the time, but he’s actually Luca’s half brother. He tried to—” Cass swallowed hard. “I think he meant to kill me.” She finished by telling Feliciana about the deal Luca had struck with Dubois.
“The Order of the Eternal Rose. I may have heard that name mentioned by visitors to Palazzo Dubois.” Feliciana frowned. “How much does your aunt know?”
“Very little.”
Feliciana arched an eyebrow.
“Almost nothing,” Cass admitted. “She knows I was attacked at Madalena’s wedding, but she believes it was by a random thief. She knows nothing of the Order or Dubois’s involvement in the murders.”
“It’s quite a sordid tale.” Feliciana struggled to conceal a yawn.
“You’re tired,” Cass said, straightening up. Her knees ached, and her hands were covered with dust. “I should let you rest.” It was getting to be late enough that she could safely sneak outside. She could no longer put off venturing out into the graveyard in search of the sheaf of papers.
“I am tired,” Feliciana said. She blinked hard. After a moment she added, “Thank you for saving me. You and my sister. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“We’re glad you’re here.” Grabbing her lantern, Cass slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Cass passed back through the portego, noting with satisfaction that Narissa had retired for the night. The crypt key hung around Cass’s neck, cold against her flushed skin. All she needed was her cloak, she decided, heading for her bedroom. That and a little courage.
Just as she slipped back into her chamber, something slammed against the glass of her window. Cass’s heart leapt into her throat. Was someone prowling the grounds of the villa? Falco had thrown rocks at her window once, but the pebbles had sounded like fingers snapping, rattling the panes ever so slightly. This was more like someone pounding on the glass with a fist.
Cass approached the window from an angle, as if she thought something might reach straight through it and grab her. She squinted at the grainy glass. Could a bird have flown straight into the windowpane? Or a bat?
She could just barely make out the fence of the graveyard and the rows of crypts behind. A chill crept up her spine. She hadn’t been to the graveyard since before Madalena’s wedding. Just the thought of the mist-shrouded air, the looming crypts, filled her head with horrible images. Cristian and the dead Mariabella sharing a deep kiss beneath the sliver of moon while Cass watched, terrified, unable to look away.
She wrapped her hand around the key, feeling its edges dig into her skin. She had to try. For Luca.
Throwing her cloak around her shoulders, Cass made her way downstairs, grabbed a lantern from the kitchen, and headed for the front door. Outside, a steady stream of mist was blowing in from the Adriatic. The sharp, salty air bit into her skin, stinging her eyes and stealing her breath away.
The moon hung low and heavy in the sky. It peeked through the fog, bathing the estate in muted yellow light. Tufts of damp grass snatched at her ankles. Cass swore she saw bats winging their way through the haze. She kept her fingers tight around the handle of the door for a moment, reluctant to give herself up to the night, to the horrors it might be hiding.
Each step she took toward the graveyard was another weight crushing her chest. She struggled to breathe. No matter how tightly she hugged the cloak to her, she couldn’t get warm. Twice she stopped, certain that if she moved forward, she would faint onto the damp grass.
The gate clanked in the breeze. Cass watched the kiss of metal on metal, and then finally, feeling as though her feet were turning to stone, she threw herself beyond the threshold—straight into the graveyard.
She craned her neck in all directions and then let out a long sigh. She had made it past the gate, and nothing bad had happened. She could do this. Luca needed her to do this. He trusted that she was strong enough.
And she was.
She headed for the northeast corner, to the small plot of overgrown land where the Caravello family tomb had sat, undisturbed, for years.
The grass rustled sharply and Cass almost dropped her lantern. She whirled around, her eyes combing the outlines of the nearby headstones and shrubbery. Nothing. Overhead a bat soared, a sharp black shadow across the hazy moon. Something tickled her ankle. Cass gripped the lantern tightly and stepped back instinctively.
A ghost-white cat yowled as her foot landed on its tail.
“Sorry,” she said, expecting the cat to scoot off into the bushes. Instead, it looked up at her, its yellow eyes bright with hope. She ducked down with her lantern. She could see each individual bump on the animal’s spine. Reaching out, she stroked the cat’s back gently. It nuzzled its forehead against her leg.
“I have no food,” Cass whispered regretfully. The cat lay down on its side, rolling in the dirt.
Cass was sorry when it didn’t follow her. Even the company of an animal was infinitely preferable to being out here alone. Maybe she’d ask the cook if he needed another mouser for the kitchen. It did seem to be a friendly sort of cat.
Holding her breath, Cass approached the door of the Caravello tomb. Even back when she had wandered the graveyard day and night, she had not come to this corner in years—not since she found Slipper sleeping just outside her family crypt. With the kitten’s arrival, her mother’s spirit had gone elsewhere, or at least that was how Cass felt. What had once welcomed her began to repel her. Warmth faded. Vines overtook the tomb, obscuring the engraved lion crest and the name Caravello.
Cass pushed the prickly vines away from the padlock, hand trembling. She stared at the lock for a moment. Would it open? She pulled the chain with the key over her head and slid the key into the lock.
It fit, but it didn’t turn. She felt both relieved and disappointed. Perhaps Luca had been confused about the location of the mysterious papers. Then the key shifted slightly. Cass pushed harder and the metal groaned. The lock was rusted inside too, perhaps full of debris.
But the key was turning.
eight
“The Ancients believed in the existence of a fifth humor within the body, a mystical substance of uncharted power.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
Cass felt as though she were moving underwater, simultaneously weightless and weighted down. The lock clicked open. She removed the key and slipped it back around her neck as the door leaned inward. Holding her lantern high, she stepped forward.
The thick, musty odor of the crypt nearly made her gag. She leaned back, waving a hand in front of her face to dissipate the smell and dislodge the glimmering silver threads of a giant spiderweb.
Slowly, her eyes began to adjust to the dark. The Caravello tomb was smaller than Liviana’s, with four shelves on each side and just enough space in between for Cass to stand. She edged farther inside, bringing the hem of her cloak to her mouth, breathing through it.
The dead bodies of her ancestors crowded around her. Cass noted with relief that all of the stone coffin lids were secured in place. But beneath the lids . . .