“What do you mean, only dogs?”
“Some people believe that vampires can take many different forms.”
“They were dogs,” she said curtly. Why was all of Florence so eager to accuse women of consorting with vampires?
Piero nodded. “I believe this is yours.” He held up a dusty silver necklace. Her lily. “Lovely flower. How fitting.”
Cass’s hand went to her throat. “It must have fallen off,” she said.
Piero polished the necklace on one of his cuffs. Wordlessly, he reached behind her and fastened the pendant around her neck. “Rest now. I need to attend to my mistress, but I’ll be back soon to check on you.”
“Is the party still going on?” Cass settled back against the pillows.
Piero smiled. “It is afternoon. You have been asleep for fifteen hours.”
Fifteen hours! Madalena and Siena must be frantic. “I came to the party with my friend, Signora Madalena Cavazza,” Cass said. “Does she know where I am?”
“She was informed of your injury last night. She and your handmaid wanted to stay with you, but Signorina Briani persuaded them to return home. They could have done no good here, weeping and trembling at your bedside. But I’ll have Signor Mafei send word to them that you’ve awakened.”
“She’s staying with her aunt. Palazzo Alioni, just off the Piazza del Mercato Vecchio.”
Piero smiled again. “Yes. She made certain that I knew. Can I have the staff bring you anything? Some food? Something to drink, perhaps?”
Cass hadn’t realized how dry her mouth was. Her whole throat felt like it was coated with dust. “I’m very thirsty,” she admitted. “It’s quite warm in here, isn’t it?”
Piero shook his head. “You’re suffering from fevers. I’ll have someone bring you something to drink.”
Several minutes later, a tiny blonde girl, who might have been Siena’s younger sister, brought Cass a goblet of ale. “I’ll just leave the pitcher here on the table,” the servant said, curtsying quickly. She scurried out of the room like she was afraid that whatever affliction Cass had was contagious.
Cass downed three goblets before her throat started to feel normal again. The pain in her arm had faded to a dull ache. She lay back on the pillow and tried to rest, but sleep didn’t come. She wondered whether Mada and Siena were panicking. She wondered whether Falco knew she was there, an invalid, Belladonna’s unwilling prisoner.
Cass had a feeling Belladonna hadn’t told him. If she had, surely he would have come to look in on her. And what about the lady of the villa herself? Shouldn’t Bella at least pretend to be concerned about a young noblewoman who was injured at her birthday party? Then again, Cass wasn’t really in a hurry to see her. Shockingly, her room had four full walls and none of them was draped with a painting or tapestry of Belladonna’s face. Perhaps that was why Falco had been hired. He did say she had hired him to paint something for every room of her villa.
Cass flung her covers back with her good arm. The room was bigger than her room at Palazzo Alioni, but the air was warm and thick and the gloom was suffocating. As soon as she twisted her body so that her feet touched the floor, she was overwhelmed with lightheadedness. She sat back down on the bed until the fog cleared from her head. Slowly, with her uninjured arm out for balance, she made her way over to the window and peeked through the heavy drapery.
She was in a bedroom at the back of the villa, overlooking the garden. She was delighted to see Falco and his easel below her. He appeared to be painting a picture of Belladonna’s roses.
Cass fumbled her way to the dressing table and consulted her reflection in the mirror. It was a lower-quality mirror than what she was accustomed to in Venice, distorting her image slightly. But not distorting it enough, Cass thought. She was a disaster. Someone had dressed her in a pale blue chemise made of fabric so thin, she could clearly see the outline of her breasts. Had it been Piero who had removed her soiled gown and washed her body? Had he chosen the revealing garment for her? Cass cringed as her freckled cheeks went pink in the mirror. Best not to think about it too much.
She turned away, using her good hand to push a tangled clump of partially braided hair back under her sleeping cap. Then she searched through the armoire next to the table until she found a thick velvet dressing gown. Returning to the bed, she struggled to wrap the gown around her as best she could, leaving her injured arm dangling inside the robe. She worked the belt into a loose knot, using her mouth and free hand to cinch it tight.
She peeked out into the hallway. A pair of girls in blue and red were dusting a large painting of Belladonna riding a dapple-gray horse. They gave Cass a curious look as she edged into the hall, but didn’t say anything. Cass nodded as she headed past them.
She descended the stairs toward the garden where she had seen Falco. She just wanted to talk to him, tell him what had happened, ask him about de Gradi. She knew his mere presence would comfort her.
The bright flowers swam before Cass’s eyes, a sea of color that beckoned to her. It was madness, but she swore the roses turned ever so slightly in her direction as she descended the stairs. She had to go slowly and periodically lean against the banister to fight attacks of dizziness. By the time she emerged into the garden, Falco and his easel were gone. A group of boys in plain beige gardening uniforms squatted on their hands and knees, trimming the grass with large shears.
“Excuse me,” Cass said. The boys all looked up at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. One of them gaped at her bizarre appearance. Cass ignored them. “I’m looking for Signor da Padova, the artist,” she said.
“He’s gone,” the tallest of the boys said. “The mistress called him away to do some work inside.”
Of course. Cass imagined Falco and his patroness holed up in her bedchamber working on something even more scandalous than a painting depicting Belladonna as a half-naked Roman goddess. She pushed the thought out of her mind, thanked the tall boy, and turned back toward the villa, feeling unaccountably frustrated.
Piero’s medicine had soothed her slightly, but now that she was up and moving, her arm was tingling and burning. Again, Cass was dying to see what was beneath the bandages. But she was too afraid to look. She realized that she might have died if Piero hadn’t helped her.
She realized, too, that she had neglected to thank him for saving her life.
She turned back to the boys, who were clipping small tufts of grass to an even height with an almost mathematical precision. “I’m sorry to bother you again,” she said. “But do you know where I might find Piero Basso, the house physician?”
“His lodgings are on the first floor.” Once again, it was the tallest boy who responded. “Next to the butler’s office.”
There was no entrance to the first floor from the back of the villa, so Cass would have to ascend the stone stairs leading away from the garden and travel through the house to the main spiral staircase. She paused at the top of the back stairs for a moment, watching as a bank of clouds rolled in from the west. The air felt cooler. A storm was coming. She ducked back into the villa and made her way to the main stairs.
Cass paused for a moment at the bottom of the staircase and reached out for the banister to steady herself. It looked as if the walls were moving. Not spinning or running away from her, but pulsing, almost as if the villa itself were breathing.
She closed her eyes and opened them again. The walls went still. She stood between the rectangles of sunlight that filtered through the front window for a moment, getting her bearings.