Fiona Paul - Belladonna

After loading all of their supplies onto the ship that would take them back to the Rialto, Cass stood at the edge of the deck with Siena, watching as the boat floated away from the shore. The sky was blue and clear. Grazie a Dio. If the fair weather held, they would arrive home just two days before Luca’s execution. Cass would need every moment of time she had left to come up with a plan. The farther the mainland receded into the distance, the more Florence felt like a dream. Soon they would be back in Venice, back on San Domenico, where things would return to the way they should be.

Only they wouldn’t.

A grizzled older man introduced himself as the ship’s medic and offered to take a look at Cass’s arm. Her wounds had not been cleaned or rewrapped in days, but the pain in her arm had all but faded. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see how things were progressing, just to be safe. The medic ripped off her bandages with his callused fingers. Cass squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, steeling herself for what she might see.

“You’re healing nicely,” he said.

She opened her eyes. The bruises on her forearm had faded to a yellowish brown. The torn flesh over her biceps had grown together, but her whole arm was ghost-pale and smelled sour. Cass wrinkled her nose.

The medic laughed. “Nothing a scrub or some sea air won’t cure.”

Later, after everyone else was asleep, Cass made her way to the top deck of the ship. The wind twisted the tail of her cloak as she stared out across the Adriatic Sea. Cass knew the boat’s captain stood just on the other side of the snapping sails, but for the moment she felt completely alone. In a few hours, the sun would rise and they’d dock in the quay behind the Palazzo Ducale. From there, Cass and Siena would catch a ride out to San Domenico Island.

And then what? Time was slipping through her fingers. Cass felt confident she could gain admittance to the Palazzo Ducale. But what match were two girls for an armed dungeon guard?

The boat pitched, and she grabbed on to one of the ropes to steady herself. The rough fiber bit into her skin. Above her head, a torn sail slashed out at the wind. Cass watched the flapping fabric stab the sky repeatedly.

Two girls would be no match at all for an armed guard.

Unless they were armed too.

Weapons?” Siena asked incredulously. “You mean to hurt someone?”

They were finally home: in Agnese’s villa, using the storage room that had previously housed Feliciana as a private place to talk. Cass hadn’t been able to sleep or eat since she’d gotten off the ship at daybreak. She couldn’t think about anything except Luca. She would do anything to save him. Surely Siena understood. Cass looked up at her from where she sat crossed-legged on Feliciana’s makeshift bed. “Not if we don’t have to. Just in case.” Luca’s hourglass was running low. Only two days until his scheduled execution, at noon, in the Piazza San Marco.

Siena paced back and forth in front of her. “Could you really do it? Stab a man?” She stared at the paring knife Cass was holding, as though it were a serpent that might lunge from Cass’s fingers and bite her.

No.

“Yes,” Cass said.

Maybe.

She thought of Cristian. “If my life was in danger,” she amended. She tucked a tendril of hair behind her left ear, enjoying the feel of being able to bend her arm without pain. “What if something goes wrong, Siena? Are you ready to spend the rest of your life as a prisoner in the Doge’s dungeons?” Cass knew she would rather die than suffer that horrible fate.

Siena didn’t answer. “You should return that to the kitchen. Cook will flay the whole staff alive if even a single knife goes missing.”

Cass shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking of stealing. A kitchen knife isn’t ideal anyway. We could buy proper daggers at the market, or a blacksmith’s shop.”

Siena rubbed her forehead, as if she still couldn’t believe they were even discussing it. But she asked, “And what else?”

Cass glanced around the storage room. Unfortunately there was nothing of use in the boxes and trunks, not the ones that were unlocked, anyway. “Masks, maybe?” she offered. “Or veils?” There would be no chance for Cass to resume her normal life after they helped Luca escape. Even if she wasn’t recognized, Luca would never be able to return to Venice without risking arrest. But it was different for Siena. Only Cass—and likely Feliciana—knew of her feelings for Luca. Siena would not immediately be a suspect. If no one recognized her, she would be able to remain Agnese’s servant if she so desired.

Cass realized, suddenly, that helping Luca escape meant starting a life with him. Had it come to that? Was Cass ready to be Luca’s bride? Did she have any choice?

She imagined Belladonna stripping Falco from his paint-spattered clothing. She thought of them naked in the garden, covered only by a handful of those bizarrely giant roses. Her stomach laced itself into knots.

“Are you all right?” Siena asked. “Are you . . . are you scared?”

“No,” Cass said shortly. “I’m not afraid.” There could be no second thoughts. She pushed Falco from her mind. Luca was her future. She would make things right. She wouldn’t give up, no matter what the cost.

Dinner was a struggle. Cass knew her aunt was overjoyed to see her again, but deep lines framed Agnese’s gray eyes, and she seemed to be purposely hiding her concern about Luca’s situation under a veil of light questioning about Cass’s stay in Florence. She wanted to hear everything. What did Cass think of the great marble Duomo? Had she gone for Mass? Had she visited the Uffizi, one of the oldest art galleries in the world? What about the Boboli Gardens? Were they as lovely as everyone said?

Cass didn’t have the heart to tell her aunt that between being attacked by dogs and having her blood drained in her sleep, she hadn’t had much time for sightseeing. Part of her wanted to flee the gloomy dining room immediately to avoid Agnese’s incessant questioning. The truth was right there, rolling around in her mouth. Every second she sat facing her aunt, it crept a little closer to her lips. Cass knew that if she didn’t escape soon, she would blurt out the whole insane plan.

But at the same time, Cass didn’t know how many more conversations she would have with her aunt. The old woman’s voice was music, bringing back a flood of memories: Agnese chastising Cass for falling asleep during her studies, Agnese chastising Cass for her posture, for not wearing her chopines, for falling in the muddy streets and wrecking one of her dresses, for sneaking out of the house at night, for wandering off and getting attacked at Madalena’s wedding.

Cass swallowed back a lump in her throat. Living with her aunt hadn’t been just a series of lectures. She also remembered the way in which Agnese welcomed her into the villa when Cass was just ten, the way she allowed Cass to have thirteen-year-old Feliciana as her handmaid, even though at that time Feliciana was just a kitchen servant who could barely dress herself. Cass thought of her new journal that she’d barely gotten to write in because of her injuries in Florence. Agnese had given it to her after the excitement of Madalena’s wedding and the attack on Cass had settled down. She had never felt more connected to her aunt than she had at that moment.

And now she was going to sever that connection, willingly, to try to save Luca.

“You’re so quiet, dear,” Agnese commented. “I suppose you’re still exhausted from your journey.”