Madalena came to find her for dinner. Cass debated skipping it—she didn’t want to face anyone else, to see their pained eyes and piteous expressions—but she hadn’t eaten breakfast and she was starving. At Mada’s urging, she reluctantly took her seat in the dining room. It turned out to be a mistake. While Cass was packing, Madalena had taken it upon herself to inform the rest of the household of Cass’s immediate return to Florence because of Luca’s impending demise.
Cass didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t even want to think about it, but everyone else did. Marco and Signor Rambaldo took turns first arguing about the injustice in denying a man a trial and then assuring Cass that the Senate would come to its senses, that this was merely a ploy to get Luca to confess. Mada nodded along with them, reminding Cass that Luca was good and God was good and everything would work out. Cass knew they meant well, but each time one of them said Luca’s name, she could almost see him dangling from the tarnished chandelier, his neck purple, his throat crushed.
She tried to distract herself by staring at her lap, counting the tiny, uneven X-shaped stitches that made up the fleur-de-lis on her napkin. Seeing those Xs made her think of Mariabella, the dead courtesan she’d found strangled to death and slashed with an X in her friend Livi’s tomb. And thinking of Mariabella also made her think of Cristian. Cass folded her napkin and looked at the wall instead.
Also no help. A giant mural depicting Judith holding a sword to Holofernes’s neck was painted on the wall opposite her seat. Drops of blood were just beginning to fall from her silvery blade. The painting appeared to be as old as the palazzo. Cass wondered about Signor Alioni’s ancestors. Why would they have wanted such a gory picture in their dining room?
After what felt like two lifetimes, the servants cleared the bowls of soup and brought plates of roasted duck and herbed potatoes. It was without a doubt the most delicious-looking food Cass had seen come up from the kitchen at Palazzo Alioni. She felt as if she were the one who had been condemned, enjoying a last meal on Signora Alioni’s finest, only slightly chipped, gold-rimmed porcelain.
Across the table, Marco and Signor Rambaldo were still debating. “If Luca confesses to this trumped-up charge, the Senate will reconsider the sentence,” Signor Rambaldo said.
“What if he doesn’t confess?” Marco asked.
“Perhaps we should speak of something else.” Mada dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I hear the cook has prepared some sort of pastry for dessert.”
Another course to suffer through. Cass sipped her wine, wondering whether she should plead illness and flee to her room.
Signor Rambaldo swallowed hard. “Luca da Peraga is no fool,” he said, spearing another bite of potato with his fork. “He isn’t stubborn enough to die. He has his mother to think about, and Signorina Cassandra.”
“Cass.” Mada tried again to change the subject. “Did Stella tell you she’d be delighted to keep Feliciana in her employ for the time being?”
Cass felt a momentary rush of relief. Feliciana would be safe. She nodded at Signora Alioni. “Thank you for your kindness.”
Signora Alioni nodded in return. “She’s a fine worker, though I fear she may distract some of the boys.” She smiled and arched an eyebrow.
Marco barreled on. “Yes, Signore, but even if Luca confesses, there is no guarantee that he’ll ever go free.”
Madalena cleared her throat loudly and shot a meaningful glance at her new husband. “I received a message from Prudentia today,” she said.
“Who?” Cass asked.
“I don’t believe you’ve met her. She’s married to Marco’s cousin.”
“Right,” Marco said. He finally seemed to have understood that Cass could not bear to sit through any more discussion of Luca’s fate. “Teodor’s wife. They were planning to spend some of the summer in France, were they not?”
France. Luca had studied in France. Cass had to stop thinking of Luca or she would go mad. She forced herself to concentrate on Madalena’s face. “Is that right?” she mustered. “I’ve heard France is lovely.”
“Yes. She and her husband have been exploring Paris.” Mada smiled. “Her letter goes on and on about the Notre Dame cathedral. Apparently it has the most breathtaking stained-glass windows.”
“Notre Dame,” Marco mused. “Have you seen it, Signore?” He turned to Madalena’s father.
“I have, indeed,” Signor Rambaldo said. “A stunning piece of architecture. Though to be fair, Venice has her share of beautiful structures as well.”
“Is it true,” Marco went on, “that there are catacombs beneath Notre Dame’s courtyard? Ruins of the original settlement built by the Celts?”
“I have heard that. Crumbling walls, broken swords, perhaps some ghosts trolling the place looking for their bones.” Signor Rambaldo rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
Madalena flung down her fork. “Both of you ought to be ashamed,” she cried out. “I’ve been trying to distract Cass from morbid thoughts, and you two turn a lovely conversation about Paris into a ghost story.”
“It’s all right, Mada,” Cass said. Her heart was going fast in her chest. The story had reminded her of something Belladonna had said at tea, the day she and Cass first met. Bella had spoken of Venice being rife with eerie specters that snuck in with the tides and stayed to haunt the city’s dank lower levels.
At the time, Cass had been surprised at how superstitious Belladonna had seemed. Now, however, she knew it was all an act, and a different aspect of the story struck her: the part about sneaking in.
Perhaps there was a way to save Luca. Could Cass sneak into the Doge’s dungeons like the ghosts and the tides? It was highly unlikely. Even if she could gain entry, she didn’t know if she’d be able to find Luca. And if she found him, she didn’t know if she’d be able to free him.
All she knew was that if she did nothing, he’d be executed in just over a week.
As a child, Cass had taken Liviana to play near the canals, and the contessa had accidentally fallen into the fetid water. Even though it was years later that Livi became ill, Cass had always partially blamed herself for Liviana’s death.
And when Cass’s parents had gone off on a research trip, Cass had written them letter after letter, begging them to return home early so that she might spend Christmas with them. They had attempted to make the journey back during a rough, stormy December, and had died somewhere along the way. Cass didn’t know if it had been her fault, if they might have survived had they stayed away until spring, but she blamed herself anyway.
Luca had returned to Venice to protect Cass from his half brother Cristian. If he died, it would be partially because of her. Cass’s conscience was heavy with the blood of others. She would not add to that burden. She would save Luca, or die trying.
twenty-five
“Blood left to cool will separate into layers of black, red, yellow, and clear. We believe each of the humors can be extracted from these layers.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
Cass left for Venice the following morning. Madalena, Marco, and Signor Rambaldo were staying in Florence, as was Feliciana, at least for the time being.
“I need to make a stop before we head to the coast,” Cass said. She and Siena were sharing a carriage back to Mestre, where they would then board a ship to take them home. As much as Cass had no desire to ever see Piero or Belladonna’s villa again, she couldn’t leave Florence without saying good-bye to Falco. She hadn’t seen him since their fight and didn’t want him to think he was the reason she’d left Villa Briani and returned to Venice.