Someone knocked loudly at her door and she jumped up, hoping it would be a servant offering her something warm to eat or drink. No such luck. It was the driver of the carriage, with her trunk. He dragged it unceremoniously into her room and left it sitting by the wall.
Cass pulled out her journal and checked to be sure the leather bundle of parchment was still hidden at the very bottom of her trunk, beneath her skirts and stays. It was. She dragged the old chair over to her washing table and pushed the basin for soaking collars and chemises back toward the wall. This would work just fine for writing in her journal. Now to find some ink.
She wandered back down to the piano nobile, the main floor of the palazzo, where she saw that the carriage drivers had just finished unloading the servants’ small trunks. Marco’s attendant, Rocco, was offering to carry Feliciana’s to her room for her. Cass raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a smile. Even skinny and bald, Feliciana managed to attract the attention of every man she met. A servant hurried by, and Cass asked for a pot of ink.
Ink in hand, she returned to her small room and sat down at her makeshift desk. She turned to a blank page and began to write.
The trip to Florence was long and bumpy, but breathtaking in places. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a forest, so many giant trees reaching for the heavens, with feathery green needles flaring out like fans. Even the air feels different here. Like for the first time in my life I’m able to breathe deeply, completely.
Our carriage broke an axle just outside of Florence. We came across a trio of men. They were digging a mass grave for a group of women who had been bitten by vampires; they are apparently running loose in the city of Florence. It was horrible. The men used bricks to—
The tip of her quill punctured the parchment. Cass realized her hands were trembling. She was thinking of the dream again, of being buried alive. It was almost worse than the dream of being attacked by Cristian. She wondered why she was being plagued with nightmares every time she closed her eyes. She laid the quill down on the washing table.
The letter from Falco poked out of the back of her journal. Cass resisted the urge to unfold it and read it for the thousandth time. His soft words would soothe her, but she was here to save Luca. He had led Cass here, to Florence. Now she just had to find the Book of the Eternal Rose, or at least Hortensa. Cass didn’t know if the donna was a member of the Order, but her husband was. Even if Hortensa refused to recant her testimony, she might say something useful. Something that could give Cass a place to start looking for the book.
Hooves thundered just outside her window. Cass peeked out, surprised to see not only a carriage passing by, but also seven or eight men mounted on horseback—servants, from the looks of their simple attire—riding alongside it. Silver bells hung from each horse’s bridle, jangling loudly as the group rode by. The handful of peasants still gathered around the statue in the piazza turned to watch the procession before returning to their conversation.
A boy wearing a leather doublet and a hat pulled low over his face appeared at the far side of the piazza. Cass watched him stumble across the cobblestones, a canteen dangling from one hand and a roll of parchment from the other. He could have been anyone—a student, a messenger—but Cass saw the parchment and could think only of artists, and of Falco. Midway across the piazza, the boy weaved dangerously and nearly bumped into one of the peasants.
Another carriage rolled by, horses whinnying sharply as whips cracked down on their hindquarters. Four men on horseback followed the carriage. One hollered a greeting to the peasants as he rode past.
Cass sat on the windowsill and gathered her skirts around her. She might not get much rest here, but at least Florence was more interesting than being isolated out on San Domenico Island. And the signora was right. The streets might be bare, but the piazza seemed to be full of traffic at all hours of the day.
Someone out there would be able to help her in her quest. Cass was certain of it. Hortensa Zanotta and the Book of the Eternal Rose were both in Florence, and Cass was determined to find them.
twelve
“It is easier to blame the undead than it is the living for the evils that pervade society.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
The next morning, Cass awoke with the lily necklace tangled in her hair. As she gently unsnarled the tendrils that had wrapped themselves around the clasp, she realized Luca’s execution was less than three weeks away.
After a quick breakfast, she persuaded Madalena to go to the giant square behind Palazzo Alioni with her. Surely in the Piazza del Mercato Vecchio she would find someone who knew Hortensa Zanotta. It wouldn’t be safe to just go asking about the Book of the Eternal Rose, not if the Florentine members were anything like Dubois, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep her eyes open for any sign of the Order.
Cass haunted the piazza all morning, interviewing merchants and scanning the crowds for a glimpse of Hortensa or the six-petaled flower symbol. At first, Madalena didn’t mind accompanying her. There were plenty of shops and stalls for her to frequent, all the while lamenting Marco’s absence.
“He told me he wanted a child. How are we supposed to do that if he doesn’t spend any time with me?” Mada wailed. She waved an onyx fan embellished with amethyst in front of her face.
Behind Madalena, her maidservant, Eva, rolled her eyes.
Cass stifled a smile. “It’s not as if he won’t return to the palazzo later,” she said soothingly.
“Later after I’m fast asleep.” Madalena snapped the fan shut and scrunched her face into a pout. “Why doesn’t he want to be with me? Is it so terrible?”
“Of course not,” Cass said. She was only partially listening. She had just caught sight of a tall blonde woman who reminded her of Hortensa. The woman was crossing in front of a stall selling jewelry from the Orient. “He’s probably just trying to impress your father by working so hard.”
Madalena sighed deeply but let herself get distracted by one of the storefront displays—a string of tiny pearls displayed on a bed of crushed velvet. “Let’s go in here,” she said.
“You go ahead,” Cass said. The blonde woman was nearly to the other side of the piazza. “I’ll be back. I thought I saw someone I know.”
Madalena shrugged but signaled for Eva to follow her into the jewelry store. Siena hurried across the square alongside Cass, expertly weaving her way through the crowded piazza like she was at the Mercato di Rialto. “Was it Hortensa?” she asked eagerly.
“Perhaps.” Cass wasn’t certain which of the shops the woman had gone inside. There was a bakery, a butcher shop, and a tailor all in the same area of the piazza. A donna would send her servants to buy meat or bread, Cass decided. She headed for the tailor. Maybe Hortensa was doing like Madalena and passing her time in Florence by seeing how much of her husband’s gold she could spend.
But the tailor’s shop was empty, except for a boy Cass’s age who looked up from the fabric he was cutting to give her an appraising glance. He had bright green eyes and wheat-colored hair that fell to his shoulders.