see again.
When she was certain no one was paying her any attention, Cass slipped out of her chopines. She unfastened her cloak and draped it across the stone railing that ran along part of the piazza. A vendor would undoubtedly find them and offer them for sale.
She glanced up at one of the clock towers. Its golden hands indicated four o’clock. It was still early, but she didn’t want to wait too long and risk the servants’ door being locked before she and Siena made their way inside the palazzo. They would not get a second chance. “Ready?” she asked Siena, finding that although she was not wearing her stays, she still could hardly breathe.
Siena nodded. “They won’t expect servants to be coming and going after sunset. We might as well get inside and find the wine room.” Her hand went to the pocket of her skirt. She was feeling for her dagger. Cass did the same. It was there—heavy, wrapped in kitchen cloth. Reassuring.
They headed for the wooden servants’ door, slipping through it without hesitation, as though they belonged there.
Inside, a long hallway ran the length of the palazzo. Servants milled past carrying armloads of clean linen. A pair of noblewomen walked arm in arm, probably waiting for their husbands to finish up with a meeting.
“Keep your head down,” Siena whispered. “You want to be invisible.”
Cass kept her eyes trained on the ornate marble floor. She mentally mapped the space. Siena’s friend’s sketch had been very exact, and they made it to the wine room quickly. They slid through another door, which banged heavily shut behind them.
Instantly, Cass saw Palazzo Rambaldo’s wine room. Cristian. Pulling her forward. Her skin felt tight. Her heart stuttered. She reached out and gripped Siena’s forearm to steady herself.
“Are you all right?” Siena asked, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“Fine,” Cass said. She pushed away the image of Cristian, the idea that he might be lurking in the shadows, waiting for her.
Siena and Cass inched their way toward a back corner of the room. The casks here were thick with dust. Cass felt certain no one would come to tap them today. The floor was damp, but thankfully, there was no standing water or evidence of vermin. After crouching awkwardly for a few minutes, Cass dropped all the way to the ground, sitting crossed-legged in her simple skirt. Siena did the same.
“And now we wait,” Siena said.
Cass nodded. Six hours or so. An eternity.
“We should go over the plan again,” Siena whispered after a minute.
There wasn’t much to go over, but Cass knew she was just trying to pass the time. They would wait until it was late, and creep out into the corridor and down the hallway. According to Siena’s map, the adjacent hallway was called the Hall of the Three Chiefs. A service stairwell connected it to the lower prison. Cass and Siena would descend the stairs, find Luca, find the dungeon guard, get the key—
For a long time, they sat in silence as heavy as the darkness around them. The sounds of dripping, the echoes of voices from the hall, the occasional scrabble of a rat’s feet against the stone—all of it seemed amplified.
“I’m sorry,” Siena blurted out suddenly. “About Luca. About how I . . . about the way I . . .”
She trailed off. Cass reached out and squeezed Siena’s hand. Cass had caught Siena with one of Luca’s monogrammed handkerchiefs on Madalena’s wedding day. She had known instantly what the token—and Siena’s mortification—had meant. Siena was in love with Luca. Perhaps she always had been, even when she was a mere scullery maid and he was just a boy who visited San Domenico occasionally with his parents.
Cass had been shocked, but not angry. Stunned, but not jealous. She thought of the feelings that had developed so quickly between her and Falco. She was no stranger to forbidden love.
For a brief instant, Cass allowed herself to think of him. She still had feelings for him. If there had been any doubt, it had evaporated the instant she saw him in the garden with Belladonna. Falco’s hand lingering on Belladonna’s bare skin. Bella’s hungry look. The pain, the rage—it was a wave, threatening to drown her. But was that what love was supposed to be? Pain? Madness? Or was love something more like what she felt for Luca? Something that motivated a person to be selfless and even self-sacrificing.
“You can’t help how you feel, Siena,” Cass said gently. Her heart swelled, making her chest feel tight.
Several more beats of silence passed. When Siena spoke again, her voice was trembling. “Signorina Cass, you have been so good to me, so good to my sister. I just want you to know, in case anything happens, that I—” Her voice cracked. “That I love you. Like family.”
Cass squeezed Siena’s hand again. “Me too,” she whispered. Both girls were silent for a few moments. “You can try to sleep, if you like,” Cass said. “I’ll keep watch.”
“Sleep? I’m so nervous, I may never sleep again.”
“I feel the exact same way.” Cass leaned her head back against the wall. The room was completely dark. Even if a servant did come to fetch wine, the light from a single candle or lantern would not give away their hiding place.
“What do you think Feliciana is doing right now?” Cass asked after a minute. Anything to keep from thinking about everything that could go wrong.
“Probably breaking the hearts of peasants and schoolboys all over Florence,” Siena said, and Cass heard a smile in her voice. “If Signora Alioni thinks she’s a distraction to the serving boys now, just wait until her hair and her curves start to come back.”
The minutes crawled by, expanding slowly into hours. Periodically, Siena would creep from her hiding spot and open the heavy door just far enough to peek out into the corridor, to judge the time of day via the light from the hallway windows. The third time she did, she came back to where Cass sat and held out her hands. “I think it’s late enough,” she said, pulling Cass to her feet.
There was a damp spot on Cass’s skirt from where water had leached through the stone floor, and her legs and feet were numb from sitting for so long. She tucked a few stray tendrils of hair up under her simple gray bonnet and let the black silk veil fall in front of her face. She stamped her feet to try to regain sensation in them. Siena lowered the veil on her hat too. Cass couldn’t help but realize how odd her handmaid looked dressed in black instead of blue, with her pale face obscured. It was as if Siena had become someone else, a stranger. She had always thought of Siena the way she thought of Luca: steady, dependable, unchanging.
Maybe she was wrong—about everyone and everything.
They stood inside the door, listening for sounds in the hallway. Cass’s heart started galloping in her chest. Siena opened the door a crack and both girls peeked out. The hallway was dim. An iron lantern hung from a peg at the end of the corridor. It would give them just enough light to navigate by.
Cass took a deep breath and slipped into the hall. Siena followed, and the two girls crept down the wide corridor. Cass’s leather slippers made only the faintest
Siena nudged Cass toward the Hall of the Three Chiefs. They found the service stairwell that led down into the dungeons. With trembling hands, Cass reached up and slid the lantern from its peg. She was so scared, she nearly dropped it, and Siena reached out, steadying her hand. Cass didn’t know how Siena could keep so calm, but she tightened her grip on the lantern and choked back the fear in her throat.
The temperature dropped as the girls descended the stairs. The dungeon was black as death. The scents of mold and feces swirled around them, and tears rose in Cass’s eyes. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to run away. She wanted to scream. Clanking and moaning filled the air. Cass wondered if Belladonna had been right, if these twisting corridors were crawling with ghosts.
She forced herself to keep going.
At the bottom of the staircase, Cass and Siena paused, listening for sounds of patrolling guards. The water, Cass noticed, was already seeping into the prison. Her leather slippers were almost completely submerged. She struggled to walk without making sharp sloshing sounds.
The pozzi was shaped like a square, its block of cells arranged so that no prisoner could look out the tiny grate in his door and see anything but a blank wall. A single corridor ran around the perimeter of the prison. Each wooden cell door was recessed in the stone walls and held closed by a lock and two thick dead bolts.
