Belladonna

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.

He wanted to see her too. An urgent message had arrived late the previous night. The folded parchment was tucked inside of Cass’s trunk, but she recalled the words exactly: I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me. I must see you so that I can explain. I will come to Palazzo Alioni tomorrow evening. If you do not receive me, I will accept the fact that you never wish to see me again. Typical Falco—get angry first and then think later.

Still, Cass understood why he’d said what he did. She knew what it was like to speak out of turn when emotions ran high. And it had been unfair to ask for his help in freeing Luca. She knew that now, and she didn’t want Falco to think she hated him. But Cass would have to hurry back to Venice to make it before Luca’s execution. She couldn’t wait for Falco to come to Palazzo Alioni that night.

“Of course,” Siena said. She was busy twisting and untwisting the belt of her dress, no doubt worrying about Luca’s execution.

Cass’s own fingers were busy rolling and unrolling a piece of parchment. She had scrawled Falco a quick response note. Nothing romantic. Just good-bye and good luck and a reassurance that she didn’t hate him. If he were absent or unavailable—and part of her hoped that he would be—she would just leave the message with the butler and hope that he delivered it.

She shivered a little. Signor Mafei had seemed so charming when she and Madalena had first met Belladonna for tea. But he had been there at the church, dressed in black, pouring blood just like Piero. Anyone who belonged to the Order of the Eternal Rose was sick and depraved. Evil.

Cass’s heart splintered in her chest as she realized the gravity of her words. There could be no more excuses. Her parents had been evil too.

The carriage turned onto the dirt road leading to Belladonna’s villa. Siena yelped as one of the wheels hit a rock. Cass glanced up and realized they were at the edge of town.

“Where are we going?” Siena frowned slightly, as if she knew the answer but couldn’t quite believe it.

“Villa Briani.” Cass lifted her chin toward Siena’s disapproving gaze. “Just for a moment.”

Siena shook her head but didn’t say anything. She turned her attention back to her lap and sat silently until the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Belladonna’s villa. Cass wondered what Siena was really thinking. Cass had pulled her handmaid to the side late the previous night after everyone had fallen asleep. She had told her there might be a way to help Luca escape from prison. At first, Siena had looked at Cass as if the wound on her arm had traveled all the way to her brain.

But slowly, Cass had explained the possibilities. They could contrive their way into one of Palazzo Ducale’s many servants’ entrances and hide away until nightfall. Then they could find their way into the Doge’s prison. True, once they were there, they would have to overpower the guard to steal his keys. Cass was still working on that part of the plan.

“I’ll go with you,” Siena had said without hesitation, her blue eyes as serious as Cass had ever seen them.

Cass didn’t know if Siena believed they could really free Luca from the Doge’s prison or if her handmaid loved him enough to volunteer for a mission that might get her killed, but the offer of help had made the idea seem real. It was foolish and crazy, but if there was the slimmest of chances that Cass could actually save Luca, she had to try.

But first, she had to deal with Falco.

One last good-bye.

Cass took the driver’s hand and stepped down from the carriage compartment. She felt a tremor of nervousness move through her as she made her way along the path that led to the arched front door. She could barely bring herself to knock. What if Piero answered? What if Belladonna answered, naked and covered in blood?

Idiota. Signor Mafei would answer, of course. It was only proper. And when she wasn’t posing for nude paintings or bathing in blood, Belladonna did seem fond of being proper. Cass reached out and rapped bravely on the wooden door.