“I think we should take you back to Palazzo Alioni,” Siena said. “Even if Dottor Basso isn’t doing something wrong, I just don’t like the feel of this place. It feels . . . alive, somehow.”
Cass didn’t have to ask what her handmaid meant. She had started to feel the same way, like the villa was imbued with a malevolent presence. There didn’t seem to be enough servants to maintain the estate, yet everything was always pristine and perfect. And then there were the walls that sometimes pulsed with life and the flowers that turned to look at her.
But Cass wasn’t ready to leave. Now that she knew what Piero was doing, she could refuse the mandrake. If she had to, she could confront him about the bloodletting. Somehow everything was connected. Luca. The Order. Belladonna. Piero and his spiders. She could feel it. If she stayed, she could explore the villa in depth; she could find the Book of the Eternal Rose. If her head cleared, everything might begin to fit together.
“Don’t worry, Siena,” Cass said. “I’ll just refuse the sleeping medicine. Piero won’t treat me against my will. If he does, I’ll scream and then . . .” What she was going to say was that Falco would come running, but bringing up his name would make Siena think of Luca, and Cass didn’t need more guilt. “Someone will come and find me. At least I’m not turning into a vampire, right?”
Cass was hoping Siena would crack a smile, but her face remained as worried as ever. “Then I’ll stay here with you,” Siena declared, looking as if she’d rather take a turn on the drowning platform behind Palazzo Alioni.
Cass wanted to say yes, but it seemed unfair. Even as a handmaid, Siena would be expected to sleep in the servants’ quarters, and Cass spent most of each day dozing. Siena would be basically alone at Villa Briani. “There’s no point in that,” Cass said. “You wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in the same room with me. Signorina Briani would probably put you to work dusting all of her portraits.”
Siena couldn’t keep a flash of relief from showing, but quickly her expression turned sober again. “There’s something else, Signorina Cass. As Dottor Basso bent down to move your hair away from your neck, I’m not certain, but it looked as if he—” She stopped, obviously uncomfortable.
“What?”
“It looked as if he kissed you. You’re not—” She fumbled over her words. “The two of you aren’t—”
“Lord, no!” Cass covered her mouth with her hand and quickly prayed for forgiveness. But of all the things Siena could have said, this was the most unexpected. Siena must be mistaken. Piero was learned and handsome. He didn’t need to go around kissing girls while they were unconscious. “Maybe you saw wrong,” Cass continued quickly. “Maybe the angle made it look as if he kissed me.”
“Maybe,” Siena said doubtfully. “I just hate the idea of you all alone here. Promise me you won’t let him give you any more medicine.”
“I promise,” Cass said.
It was a promise she intended to keep. The next night when Piero came with his bandages and mandrake, Cass pretended to sip at the cup as he watched. Then, as he resumed his work, she glanced around the room. Mannaggia. There was no good place to pour it. She could dump it over the far side of the bed and onto the floor, but what if Piero heard the splash of liquid hitting the tile? When he glanced toward the window, Cass dumped the syrupy liquid underneath her covers. She flinched as a bit of it splashed onto her skin.
She pretended to fall asleep, just as she had the past few days when Piero changed her dressing. She noted with satisfaction that the thickness of her bandages was decreasing, the pain easing. Her arm was healing.
Piero closed the shutters and drew the thick curtains. Cass opened one eye, just a sliver, as he slipped out of her bedchamber. Now to wait. She listened to the villa creak and groan, to the mice scurrying in the walls. A pair of owls hooted back and forth outside her window.
She worried she might not make it, that sleep might steal her away even without the mandrake. She felt leaden, her limbs and eyelids heavy. She wished Falco would visit. Perhaps he had come the previous few nights but found her sleeping and left. Or perhaps he had stayed, sat by her bedside, and watched her while she dreamed. Maybe that was why the vampire spoke with his voice, instead of Piero’s.
Just as Cass gave in and let her eyes flutter closed, she heard her door creak open.
“Cass?” The whisper was faint, but it was a whisper that made her whole body go warm.
“Falco?”
He moved with catlike grace through the darkened room, kneeling by her bedside. “I’m surprised you’re awake. I’ve looked in on you the past couple of nights, but you’ve been sleeping so soundly, I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you.”
“Are you so busy that you can’t stop by during the day?” Cass hated the way she sounded. Plaintive. Needy.
Falco pressed his lips to her cheek. “The signorina has been keeping me excessively busy.” He paused. “She looks in on you a lot too. Last night, I saw her watching you sleep.”
The thought of Belladonna watching her sleep made Cass’s skin crawl, but she bit back a sarcastic response. She didn’t want Falco to think she was jealous. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” She reached out her hand to touch his face, and then his hair. He was real. He wasn’t a dream.
“Is there anything I can bring you? You must be bored out of your mind.”
“Did you have any luck locating the Book of the Eternal Rose?” Cass asked hopefully.
Falco shook his head. “I pored over every volume in the library for you. There is no Book of the Eternal Rose.”
“I bet she keeps it in her chambers,” Cass murmured. “You’ve been inside her room, right?”
“And I never saw any book.” He raked his hands through his hair. “What makes you think it even exists?”
“Because Luca said—”
Falco didn’t let her finish. “Of course,” he said shortly. He didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Sometimes I wish . . .” He shook his head, his words fading into the darkness.
“You wish what?” There were so many things Cass wanted him to say: he wished he had met her before she was engaged, he wished he had stayed in Venice to fight for her.
“Forget it,” he said, his voice still tight. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset. You focus on getting stronger. I’ll keep looking for your book.”
Cass threw her good arm around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his cheek. “I feel certain it’s in Belladonna’s chambers. If you could just peek around the room the next time you’re painting her in there.”
The Book of the Eternal Rose was in the villa—Cass could feel it. But it was just out of her reach. She counted back in her head how many days she had been at Villa Briani. A week, assuming she wasn’t missing any days. That meant Luca had less than a fortnight until his execution. Falco had to help Cass—he had to. Otherwise Luca would die.
“Just know that I’m always thinking of you, all right?” He brushed his lips against hers, stood up, and started back toward the door. “Sweet dreams, starling,” he said, ducking out into the hall.
Cass let her eyelids flutter closed for a moment. She wanted to scramble from the bed and run after him. But she couldn’t.
The door squeaked again. She assumed it was Falco again and almost called out to him.
But it wasn’t Falco.
It was Piero.
Soundlessly, he crossed the floor to her bedside. She hoped he couldn’t see that her eyes were open, just barely. Turning slightly, she watched as he hovered in front of the table, pulling items from a black bag. Tinder snapped. A candle flamed to life. Something silvery scattered the faint light. Cass squinted: a steel syringe, just as Siena had said.