Fiona Paul - Belladonna

“I can stay afloat if it means staying alive.” Siena looked doubtful. “Can you swim?”

Cass had tried it once or twice as a child. Her parents had taken her on trips to the mainland where lakes and rivers were plentiful. “I think so,” she said. “There’s a wooded area behind the church. I’ll hide some supplies there so we can spend the night. You can find passage back here in the morning.”

“But I can’t just leave you,” Siena protested. “Luca might be ill. You might need my help.”

Cass’s stomach lurched. “We’ll figure something out, Siena,” she said. “But we can’t go back to San Domenico. The soldiers will come for us if we do.”

Siena nodded, but she looked crushed. “I could come with you,” she said hopefully.

Cass shook her head. “Staying on with us might be dangerous,” she said. “And we might live far away from Feliciana. I wouldn’t want to keep you from her.”

Siena bit her lip. Cass reached out and squeezed her hand. She knew what it was like to want two opposing things simultaneously.

“Why not wait?” Cass said. “I’ll send word to you somehow, once Luca and I are settled somewhere safe. You can decide then where your future lies.”

Siena nodded. She gestured to one of the parcels she had stacked next to Cass on the bench. “A servant’s uniform, black and gold for the Palazzo Ducale.” She pulled something sleek and silver from a package that was coming unwrapped. A dagger. Just looking at the sharp blade made Cass’s insides seize up. Would she be able to use it? She didn’t think so.

But she might not have a choice.

Agnese didn’t make it to the dining room for the evening meal. As much as Cass had been grateful to avoid her aunt’s hawklike gaze, she felt a sudden, pressing need to have one last conversation with her. After stopping to check her reflection—no, her plan wasn’t visible in her expression, it only felt that way—Cass requested two trays from the kitchen, then headed to Agnese’s bedroom.

“Come in,” Agnese said in response to her knock.

Cass pushed the door open just wide enough to admit herself. Her aunt was propped up on several pillows.

“Cassandra.” Agnese’s smile broadened, but then quickly faded. “You’re upset,” she said. “I take it there’s been no news of a commuted sentence.”

Cass shook her head. She pulled the chair from Agnese’s dressing table over to the side of the bed.

“I guess I’d hoped that perhaps . . .” Agnese’s voice trailed off. She reached out to take one of Cass’s hands in her own gnarled fingers. “No matter what happens, I’ll see to it that you’re taken care of. I can find you another match.”

“Aunt Agnese!” Cass frowned. “I don’t want a husband. I want Luca to go free.” Fearing she’d said too much, Cass dropped her eyes.

A sharp knock sounded from the corridor. “Come in,” Agnese said.

Narissa and another servant entered with a pair of supper trays. They handed one to Cass and helped Agnese balance the other on her lap. Cass looked down at the porcelain bowl of beef soup and platter of warm chunks of bread. She needed to keep up her strength, but her stomach hadn’t stopped churning since Siena had come back with the daggers. Narissa tucked an embroidered napkin beneath the loose folds of Agnese’s chin and draped a second cloth over her chest.

“That will be all. Thank you.” Agnese turned back to Cass. “I know this must be very hard on you, Cassandra.” Agnese bit into a crust of bread. “But just having you safe in Venice makes me feel stronger,” she said. “I know I told you to go, but I had the most awful feelings while you were gone, like I might never see you again.”

Cass set her spoon down on her tray. Had her aunt somehow sensed the danger in Florence? She felt a wrenching sense of guilt. What would happen to Agnese if Cass and Luca were forced to flee the Republic? It might not even be safe to send word that they were alive.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Cass said. “You raised me to be strong. I—I will always love you for that.” Cass blinked back hot tears. She rarely told her aunt that she loved her.

“Of course, dear.” Agnese, looking somewhat embarrassed, reached out and patted Cass’s hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just didn’t want anything to happen to you. As I’ve said, you’re all I have.”

The guilt was practically choking her. Was she doing the wrong thing, risking her life to save Luca? “I noticed several trunks downstairs,” she blurted out. “They’re locked. Do they belong to you?”

Agnese stiffened. “Those are my private belongings, Cassandra. I trust you have not been snooping.”

“No, no,” Cass said quickly. “The door was open. Perhaps a servant was cleaning.”

“That room is full of the woman I used to be,” Agnese said primly. Cass waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.

“So . . .” Cass swallowed. “The items in that room . . . they belong to you, and not to Matteo?”

“The items downstairs belong to whomever I choose, and I do not choose Matteo.”

“But . . . where did all of it come from?”

The suggestion of a smile passed across Agnese’s face. “It’s a long story, and our soup is getting cold. Perhaps we should save it for another time?”

“All right,” Cass said. Her heart ached. She knew there might not be another time.

Before Agnese had finished eating, her papery eyelids had drifted closed. Cass set both trays on the dressing table and removed the napkins from her aunt’s chest. Then she bent down and kissed Agnese on the forehead. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was the last time she would ever see her.

The next day, just after dawn, Cass crept out to the graveyard with the leather bundle of papers and her journal. She couldn’t bear to lose either item, and at least if she locked them in the Caravello tomb, she would know they were safe. She’d figure out a way to retrieve them eventually.

She had wanted to hide away one other thing—the portrait Falco had painted of her, the canvas he had started the night of their first kiss. Even though she knew they weren’t meant to be together, Cass didn’t want to relinquish the memory of everything they had shared. But the painting was too bulky to conceal beneath a cloak, and she’d have a hard time explaining it to Luca someday. Reluctantly, Cass had left it where it was, nestled at the very back of her armoire behind all of her skirts and bodices.

She tucked the bundle of parchment and her journal behind one of the high coffins, locked the crypt door, and rethreaded the lion key onto the chain around her neck. She touched the lily pendant gently. “Bring me luck,” she whispered.

Back in her room, Siena helped Cass into the servant’s uniform. The fabric was a little rough against her skin, but Cass loved being able to forgo her stays. She selected her most luxurious cloak—the black satin one with the white fox fur collar and cuffs—wrapping it snugly around her so that people would be less likely to notice the simple apparel beneath. She slipped into a pair of soft leather shoes and grabbed one of her shorter pairs of chopines. She planned on ditching the overshoes as soon as she could do so without attracting attention.

Siena pinned Cass’s hair into a secure bun and handed her a simple bonnet with a black silk veil that could be lowered as desired. Cass nodded approvingly.