Belladonna

after Signora Querini falls asleep.”

“Thank you, Siena,” Cass said.

The sun disappeared below the horizon and the stars began to appear. Siena clasped her older sister’s hands in her own, giving Feliciana a fierce hug before retiring to the servants’ quarters. Feliciana went to the window and inhaled deeply.

“I’ve missed this sky,” she said. “There’s so much haze over the Rialto, you never get to see stars.”

Cass thought about how she used to feel the same way, before her friend Liviana’s body had disappeared and set into motion a series of events that ended with Cass being attacked. Outside the window, the spikes of the graveyard fence glittered in the moonlight, the high grass beckoning to her like skeletal fingers. No one knew where Livi’s body had ended up, but Cass suspected it lay piecemeal in Angelo de Gradi’s workshop. The courtesan Mariabella’s body still lay in Liviana’s tomb.

And what of Sophia’s body, which had floated to the surface of the Grand Canal? She hoped Dubois had had the decency to bury her, so that her soul could ascend to heaven.

But it was unlikely.

“I’m sure you’re ready to get some sleep,” Cass said. She didn’t want to think of dead bodies or Joseph Dubois anymore tonight.

Feliciana ran a hand over her bonnet, smiling once again at the night sky. “I’m just happy to be here,” she said. “It has been forever since I’ve felt safe. But I do, now.”

Cass wished it were that easy. She didn’t feel safe anywhere. But she just smiled and nodded. Grabbing a folded blanket from the bottom shelf of her armoire and a pillow off her bed, she opened the door of her bedroom just a crack. The villa was dark and silent.

She lit a candle that sat on her washing table and motioned to Feliciana. The two girls crept through the portego and into the dining room, where they descended the narrow servants’ staircase. San Domenico was built up slightly higher than the Rialto, so there wasn’t any standing water in the hallways, but the stone floor was damp and the air smelled moldy.

“Sorry,” Cass whispered. “It’s probably not too much of an improvement from your previous accommodations.”

“If you’re not going to wake me in the middle of the night and command me to pray, I’ll consider it an improvement,” Feliciana whispered back.

Cass led Feliciana past the butler’s office to the far corner of the villa’s first floor, where an arched doorway was cut into the stone. She pushed on the wooden door and it creaked inward. Unlocked, just as Siena had promised. Cass held her candle high in the dark space. She had no idea what her aunt was storing down here.

Neat stacks of evenly spaced wooden crates filled most of the low-ceilinged rectangular room. Some of the piles were covered with canvas sheets. All of the stacks were balanced on platforms made from stucco bricks, which kept the lowest boxes from being damaged by occasional flooding and the near-constant dampness.

“What is all this?” Feliciana asked, peeking beneath one of the sheets. “Your parents’ things?”

Cass shook her head. “I don’t think so. My parents’ belongings were sold with the estate.” She tried to remove the top of the crate nearest to her, but it was nailed shut.

“Who knew Signora Querini had so much?” Feliciana asked.

“Feel free to nose through it,” Cass said, handing Feliciana the candle. “Maybe you’ll find some additional clothing that fits. Siena or I will do our best to sneak you some breakfast in the morning.”

Feliciana dragged two wooden crates together and laid Cass’s blanket down on top of them. “Pleasant dreams, Signorina Cass,” she said. “Are you sure you won’t need the candle to get back to your room?”

“I’ll be fine.” Cass had navigated the darkened villa so many times, she could do it blindfolded and in her sleep. “Good night, Feliciana.”

Back upstairs, Cass crawled beneath her covers. She had feared she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but the events of the day had exhausted her. She dreamed of a tossing black sea and voices calling to her from the dark, and then she didn’t dream at all.

* * *

Loud voices from the portego woke Cass the next morning. She slipped on a dressing gown and stepped out into the hallway. Agnese was sitting on the divan, clutching a teacup in one hand and a roll of vellum in the other. Siena hovered close by, a basket of mending perched on one slender hip. Cass couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her aunt up so early.

“What is it?” Cass asked, praying someone hadn’t already discovered Feliciana. She held a hand in front of her eyes to block out the harsh daylight streaming through the open shutters.

Agnese shook the roll of parchment. “Heresy,” she said. “Luca’s been imprisoned for speaking out against the Church.”

“What?” Cass grabbed the letter out of Agnese’s swollen fingers and scanned the swirly handwriting. The message was from Donna Domacetti. Of course. She would be the first to know—and spread the news—about any tawdry gossip. Apparently, the donna had seen soldiers escorting Luca toward the Palazzo Ducale the day before and had asked her husband, a senator, why Luca was being arrested.

“That’s madness,” Cass said. Luca was a good man. He had never spoken out against the Church, she was certain of it. If anyone deserved to be accused of heresy, it was Falco, who wandered around saying science was his religion and that bodies ought to be torn apart in the name of research. “On what evidence?”

“We’ll know more soon,” Agnese said. “Donna Domacetti is on her way over. You’d better make yourself presentable.”

Cass allowed a pale and trembling Siena to tow her in the direction of her bedchamber.

“Heresy,” Siena croaked out. “It’s such a serious crime, Signorina Cass. What are you going to do? What can you do?”

“Have you seen your sister today?” Cass asked impatiently. She was quite certain she had not moped around the house like a shivery, wilting flower whenever anything bad had happened to Falco. Siena needed to pull herself together, immediately. “Luca is a man who can take care of himself. Feliciana is depending on us, for the time being. Try to remember that.”

Siena hung her head. “I was sneaking her a bit of breakfast when I saw the messenger approaching. She’s fine. Bored, but fine.”

“Good. Now help me get dressed before Donna Domacetti arrives and starts telling lurid tales without me.”

Siena pulled a cream-colored garment from Cass’s armoire.

“Not those,” Cass said. “My other stays.” Ever since Cristian’s dagger had narrowly missed her heart by embedding itself in the whalebone ribbing of her ivory stays, she had considered the undergarment lucky. With a runaway servant hidden in the storage room and Luca in prison, Cass would take all the luck she could get.

She slid her arms into the armholes, and Siena began to thread the laces from behind, her obvious distress causing her to cinch them even tighter than usual.

“Ouch,” Cass said. “Remember, I have to be able to breathe when you’re finished.”

Siena loosened the laces slightly and then began searching through Cass’s armoire for skirts and a bodice. She came back with a set of emerald-green skirts and a gray bodice with long silvery sleeves already attached.

Cass slipped the skirts over her slim hips while Siena went to work on the laces of the bodice. “Once I hear what the donna has to say, I plan to go to the Palazzo Ducale, to speak on Luca’s behalf.”

It was unlikely that the Senate would let her speak to Luca, but Cass was going to try. She couldn’t help him without more information, and she wasn’t sure she could trust a single word that came from the mouth of that gossiping crone Donna Domacetti. It couldn’t hurt to ask for a meeting. Maybe a little extra gold would open doors, literally.

Siena grabbed the silver-plated hairbrush from the dressing table and motioned for Cass to sit. Cass waved her away. “I’ll just twist it all under a hat,” she said, grabbing one made of gray velvet from a shelf in her armoire. “I don’t want to miss a moment of the donna’s visit.”

Donna Domacetti was just settling herself in a velvet chair when Cass returned to the portego. The woman lurched back to her feet, putting a dangerous amount of weight on the wooden frame of Agnese’s chair as she did