Fiona Paul - Belladonna

Also no help. A giant mural depicting Judith holding a sword to Holofernes’s neck was painted on the wall opposite her seat. Drops of blood were just beginning to fall from her silvery blade. The painting appeared to be as old as the palazzo. Cass wondered about Signor Alioni’s ancestors. Why would they have wanted such a gory picture in their dining room?

After what felt like two lifetimes, the servants cleared the bowls of soup and brought plates of roasted duck and herbed potatoes. It was without a doubt the most delicious-looking food Cass had seen come up from the kitchen at Palazzo Alioni. She felt as if she were the one who had been condemned, enjoying a last meal on Signora Alioni’s finest, only slightly chipped, gold-rimmed porcelain.

Across the table, Marco and Signor Rambaldo were still debating. “If Luca confesses to this trumped-up charge, the Senate will reconsider the sentence,” Signor Rambaldo said.

“What if he doesn’t confess?” Marco asked.

“Perhaps we should speak of something else.” Mada dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I hear the cook has prepared some sort of pastry for dessert.”

Another course to suffer through. Cass sipped her wine, wondering whether she should plead illness and flee to her room.

Signor Rambaldo swallowed hard. “Luca da Peraga is no fool,” he said, spearing another bite of potato with his fork. “He isn’t stubborn enough to die. He has his mother to think about, and Signorina Cassandra.”

“Cass.” Mada tried again to change the subject. “Did Stella tell you she’d be delighted to keep Feliciana in her employ for the time being?”

Cass felt a momentary rush of relief. Feliciana would be safe. She nodded at Signora Alioni. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Signora Alioni nodded in return. “She’s a fine worker, though I fear she may distract some of the boys.” She smiled and arched an eyebrow.

Marco barreled on. “Yes, Signore, but even if Luca confesses, there is no guarantee that he’ll ever go free.”

Madalena cleared her throat loudly and shot a meaningful glance at her new husband. “I received a message from Prudentia today,” she said.

“Who?” Cass asked.

“I don’t believe you’ve met her. She’s married to Marco’s cousin.”

“Right,” Marco said. He finally seemed to have understood that Cass could not bear to sit through any more discussion of Luca’s fate. “Teodor’s wife. They were planning to spend some of the summer in France, were they not?”

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.

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.