Fiona Paul - Belladonna

Because no one in Florence can be trusted. Cass slid out of bed, undid the bolt, and opened the door.

“Signorina Cass! It’s true. You’re here!” Siena’s face lit up.

Cass smiled too. “I can honestly say, I have never been so happy to see you.” She fought the urge to wrap her handmaid in a one-armed embrace.

Siena turned from the doorway. “I’m going to get my sister and Signora Madalena,” she called over her shoulder, her face flushed with excitement.

“It’s still early.” Cass yawned. “You don’t have to wake them.”

“Wake whom?” Madalena glided into the room, fully dressed, her hair impeccably braided and pinned high on top of her head. Her smile was dazzling; she looked as happy to see Cass as she had looked on her wedding day. “The butler informed me of your return as soon as I opened my eyes.”

Feliciana entered behind her, carrying a tray of fruit and bread. “Look who’s back.” Her lips formed a perfect heart-shaped smile. She set the tray on the washing table and stepped back to scrutinize Cass. “You look so thin. Have they been starving you?”

“I felt quite ill for several days,” Cass said, happy to see that Feliciana, for her part, was starting to look less emaciated. Her skin and lips were completely healed, and her hair even looked like it might be starting to grow back, just slightly. “But I’m ready to make up for it.”

She realized all three of them were staring at her, undoubtedly waiting for her to explain why she had returned home at the break of dawn without telling anyone of her plans. She took a deep breath. “Close the door, Feliciana,” she said. “I have something to tell you. All of you.” She began to describe the events of the past night, starting with the fight between her and Falco.

Siena’s eyes grew wide, and she crossed herself when Cass got to the part about Belladonna stripping naked in front of the crowd.

“And you’re certain the book has been stolen?” Mada asked. Her fingers fiddled with the crucifix that dangled from her belt.

Cass nodded soberly. “And without it, Luca will almost certainly be executed.”

Siena’s eyes filled with tears. She fled from the room and Feliciana went after her.

Mada reached out and wrapped Cass in a loose hug. “Don’t give up,” she said. “Luca is one of the most honorable men I know. He can’t die. The Lord will intervene.”

Cass couldn’t answer her. Why would God spare Luca if he hadn’t spared Tatiana de Borello? Perhaps Hortensa Zanotta had committed other crimes besides falsely accusing Luca of heresy. Perhaps she had deserved her punishment. But Tatiana had been young, innocent. Like Liviana, she had died before she even had a chance to live.

Cass could not put her faith in a God that allowed the Order of the Eternal Rose to flourish. If there was the slightest chance that Luca could be saved, it would be she who had to make it happen.

“I’m returning home immediately. I’ll inform Siena and Feliciana of our pending departure,” Cass said, a bit of the heaviness seeming to clear from her limbs. “Unless you think your aunt might consent to keep Feliciana on for a while. There’s no reason for you and Marco to hurry back with us. I know you were planning to stay on.”

“Nonsense,” Mada answered immediately. “I’m sure Stella will hire on Feliciana, at least for the summer. And I want to return with you to Venice, to be there if . . . you need me,” she finished.

Cass shook her head, her throat thick. “I’d feel better if you stayed here. You could make sure Feliciana stays safe. Perhaps you could even continue investigating the Order of the Eternal Rose for me.” Would Cass still care about the Order if Luca were executed? Yes. She wanted to know exactly who her parents had been, to what end they had forsaken her for evil. Had they ever created a successful elixir? Was that why Belladonna looked so young? Or was she maintaining her perfect skin by bathing in human blood? How many people were involved? How many supporters of the Order knew of its true purpose? How wide was its influence? Cass needed these questions to be answered.

“If you want me to stay here,” Madalena said, “I won’t fight you on it. But I’m not like you, Cass. I’m not as brave or as smart. I may not be able to find your book, even with Marco’s help.”

Cass smiled tightly. “I’m going to get my things together,” she said. “Would your father be able to assist me in arranging passage back to Venice? I suppose tomorrow is the earliest I can leave.”

“We’ll make the necessary arrangements.” Madalena patted Cass’s hand, not unlike the way Agnese sometimes did. Her voice was low, soft. It was the voice of someone who knew there was no hope. “I’ll see to it immediately. Let me know if there’s anything else that you need.” Her skirts swished as she crossed the room to the door.

Too overwhelmed, for the moment, to even think about packing, Cass took refuge on her bed, resting her injured arm gently at her side, tunneling her face into her pillow. A twinge of pain moved through her biceps, nothing compared with the wound that tore her chest open. Would she ever lay eyes on her fiancé again? Would she carry his death around with her like she carried the death of her parents?

Cass tried to imagine Luca gone, but couldn’t. Even when he had been in France studying, he had always lingered in the back of her mind, his letters arriving with almost mechanical regularity. Even though Cass had spent most of her life away from him, she couldn’t fathom being completely and utterly without him. He was her future, a promise left to her by her parents: a life that was safe, steady, dependable.

Falco had stormed away from her after their fight. Luca would never do that. If she told him to go, as she had told Falco, he might quietly take his leave, but not without letting her know that he would still be there—always—when she needed him.

Cass had always viewed Luca’s differences from Falco as weaknesses, but she was starting to realize she’d been wrong. Falco was passionate, but he was also volatile and opinionated, so quick to get angry or frustrated. Luca was simply different, so staid and calm, except when the situation truly called for it. He had spent years away from her, but he understood the woman she was becoming. That was why he hadn’t pressured her about the wedding. He knew she needed time for the decision to become her own.

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.