Belladonna

so.

“Cassandra, you poor dear.” She leaned in and grasped Cass’s bare hands in her own. “My heart goes out to you.” Dressed all in red with her gray-streaked hair twisted into a high pair of horns, the donna looked more like an obese devil than Venetian nobility.

“Grazie.” Cass curtsied stiffly. Her eyes dropped to the donna’s fingers. In addition to a fat ruby and a diamond-encrusted circle of gold, the woman still wore the ring with the six-petaled flower design.

The donna gathered her wide skirts around her as she took her seat on the chair again. Cass noticed the scarlet gown was embossed with shiny metallic threads—gold, undoubtedly. Agnese was still seated stiffly on the divan, a blanket covering her legs and waist. As a kitchen servant appeared with a pot of tea and several cups, Cass realized she was the only one still standing. She pulled a chair over from the far side of the portego, passing by the life-sized depiction of The Last Supper as she did so. Cass shivered. She liked the work of da Vinci, but she always felt like the figures in the giant mosaic were watching her.

“We’re so grateful you took the time to come,” Agnese said. “A dreadful, dreadful business.”

“Indeed.” Donna Domacetti drained her tea in a single drink, leaving a smear of blood-red lip stain on the rim. “I was shocked. Luca da Peraga, taken to the Doge’s prison by order of the Senate. My husband and I could hardly believe it.” She lifted her hand and twisted her wrist at one of the serving boys. The boy hurried over and refilled her cup.

Cass set her cup gingerly on the table and glanced over at her aunt. She had plenty of questions for the donna, but it would have been rude for her to speak before Agnese.

“It’s absolutely absurd.” Agnese clucked her tongue. “Trumping up some charges against a good Venetian man who’s returned home for a betrothal ceremony? Exactly how do we go about getting him released?”

Donna Domacetti shook her head sadly, her multiple chins jiggling back and forth. “I wish it were that simple, Agnese. Not only was Signor da Peraga implicated through the bocca di lione —”

“The bocca di lione?” Cass nearly upset her cup. “They’re holding him based on anonymous accusations tossed into the mouth of a sculpture? I’ve seen children throw parchment in there as a joke.”

“You didn’t let me finish, dear.” Donna Domacetti took a long drink, swallowing slowly and dabbing at her crimson mouth with one of Agnese’s good napkins before continuing. “It seems there are also eyewitnesses to your fiance’s heresy. Nobles who came forth to give testimony.” She said this with such undisguised enthusiasm that it took all of Cass’s self-control to keep from flinging her untouched cup of tea at the woman’s smug face.

“And who exactly are these confused nobles?” Agnese asked, shooting Cass a warning glance. Cass knew she was one comment away from being ordered to her room. She reclined in her chair and gave Donna Domacetti her most daggerlike scowl.

“I really shouldn’t say anything,” the donna demurred, “but rumor has it Don Zanotta’s own wife is one of the accusers.”

“Hortensa Zanotta?” Cass had met her when she visited Palazzo Domacetti for tea. What she remembered most was the deep gouge of smallpox scars on the donna’s cheek. That and how she had spoken so cruelly about the murdered women, as if they had deserved their fates. Scarred or not, a wealthy donna with a powerful husband could have whatever she wanted. Why in the world would she condemn an innocent man to die?

“Will there be a trial?” Agnese asked. Her swollen hands dropped to her lap. Cass realized her aunt was working the beads of her rosary. She watched Agnese’s fingers push a bead along the golden chain.

“I’m afraid not,” Donna Domacetti said. “That is why I came immediately, so that you both would know the gravity of the situation. The Senate has ordered Signor da Peraga to be executed, exactly one month from today.”

For a second, no one spoke. The room started to dissolve before Cass’s eyes, individual tiles of the da Vinci mosaic winking out like candles that had been extinguished. She fanned herself with one hand. Her bones felt weak, slippery. She had the strangest sensation that she might slide right out of the cushioned chair and onto the floor. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice was that of a stranger, tiny and timid. “Executed?” she managed to squeak out. “What—what do you mean?”

Donna Domacetti cleared her throat to say more, but Agnese cut her off. “That’s preposterous.” She reached out to pat Cass on the arm. “Luca is an innocent man, a devout Catholic. Once the Senate has ample time to contemplate the facts, I’m sure they’ll reconsider.”

Cass inhaled sharply, and then again. It felt like someone had stabbed her in the chest. “But if there’s to be no trial, when will anyone contemplate anything?” she asked. The room started to come back into focus, but things were still a little off, like she was viewing everything through a smudged wineglass.

She watched her aunt struggle to her feet and motion to the donna. The two women slowly crossed the portego and hovered at the top of the spiral staircase. Their lips were moving, but Cass couldn’t hear their words. She wanted to get up and move closer, but her bones still felt soft, her muscles useless. She rested her head in her hands and tried to replay the parts of the conversation she remembered. Luca da Peraga . . . Doge’s prison . . . order of the Senate . . . eyewitnesses . . . heresy . . . executed . . .

Executed.

Luca had gone to meet with Joseph Dubois and now he was in prison. Executed. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. If he was arrested because of something he’d said to Dubois, it probably had something to do with Cristian. Which meant it had something to do with her. Executed. Cass touched the lily necklace through the fabric of her bodice. Luca had saved her once. Now it was up to her to save him.

five

“Applied properly, the rope or the blade will break all men.”

—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

Cass and Siena left for the Rialto just moments after Donna Domacetti waddled down to the dock and disappeared into her own boat.

Summer was preparing for its arrival in Venice. Despite the breeze off the water, the late-spring air was still muggy and thick, the high sun obscured by a ribbon of clouds. Cass fanned herself with her favorite ostrich-feather fan as she settled in beneath the felze of Agnese’s gondola.

Siena gathered her muslin skirt around her as she scooted next to Cass. Behind them, Giuseppe—her aunt’s gardener and personal gondolier—hummed an unfamiliar tune as he expertly navigated the coastline of San Domenico north toward the lagoon that separated the Rialto from the outlying southern islands.

Cass fiddled with the rosary that hung from the waistline of her skirt. Her mind was whirling as she tried to remember all of Agnese’s instructions. Be polite. Stand up straight. Inquire about the possibility of a trial, but don’t be demanding.

“Are you all right?” Siena asked.

“Fine,” Cass said tightly. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. If only her aunt had felt well enough to accompany her.

“I wish I was up for the journey,” Agnese had declared as she told Cass what to say. “It’s a grim business for a girl your age.”

Murderers. Grave robbers. Cass was more familiar with grim business than her aunt ever would have guessed.

A fish jumped in the nearby water, sending a spray of droplets cascading through the air. Cass looked up. Stonemasons dangled from the roof of San Giorgio Maggiore, chipping and carving details into the facade of the grand church, while a flurry of men hollered instructions to them from the ground. The gondola bobbed slowly past San Giorgio Island, and she turned her attention to the tiny waves of the lagoon that sloshed back and forth