Fiona Paul - Belladonna

Agnese was still sleeping as the two girls prepared to set off for the Rialto. Cass paused at the bottom of the staircase, just inside the front door. If only she could run up the stairs and peek at Agnese one last time. But no, it was too risky. Her aunt might wake and see everything reflected in her eyes. Perhaps, if everything worked out as it should, Cass could send her a note someday.

She inhaled deeply, trying to quell the sadness and terror that welled up in her chest. She wasn’t just saying good-bye to Agnese. She was saying good-bye to the only life she knew, to whispered conferences with Siena, to teasing Bortolo for falling asleep standing up, to sneaking bits of chicken up to her room for Slipper. Cass almost burst into tears at the thought of never seeing her cat again.

But she was doing what she must.

Giuseppe rowed them across the lagoon. He raised an eyebrow when the girls requested a quick stop at San Giorgio Maggiore, but didn’t question them. Cass had a package of clothing and coins tucked under her arm. She and Siena made their way to the back of the church. Cass slung her parcel from a tree branch, hoping no one would find it before nightfall.

They returned to the gondola, and Giuseppe rowed to the Rialto, where he dropped them off near Luca’s family palazzo. Cass had announced loudly the day before that she was going to spend the morning circulating a petition among Luca’s neighbors asking for mercy on his behalf. Not as if the Senate would care about sentiments gathered from the district if they didn’t care they were executing an innocent man, but it was a proper story—just the sort of thing a distraught fiancée might do.

Instead, the girls headed to Piazza San Marco. There was no point in spending all day huddled behind casks of wine, especially when it increased the likelihood of being caught. Wandering the piazza was a good way to pass time. The area around the Palazzo Ducale and the Basilica San Marco was teeming with people dressed in brightly colored dresses and cloaks. The snap of sails and the shout of fishermen from the quay behind the piazza punctuated the buzzing chatter of vendors and buyers roaming the crowded square. Scents—the sharp jasmine of perfume and the sweetness of honey—mostly obscured the stench of the nearby canals.

Cass had never been so dazzled by the piazza before. She felt as though she were seeing everything for the first time—ironic, since she was no doubt preparing to see it for the last time. A dark-skinned old man hobbled by with a box of freshly baked bread for sale. She bought a loaf and some honey for dipping to share with Siena, although she found that she could choke down only a few bites.

One corner of the square was filled with foreign vendors selling costume jewelry and swatches of silk. Cass and Siena browsed the booths, pretending as if they were, like many of the people in the square, just out for a day of pleasure and fun.

“Look.” Siena elbowed Cass and pointed toward the main entrance of the basilica. A conjurer was performing for a throng of people.

Cass’s stomach tightened. Maximus the Miraculous. He lifted his hat from his head and bowed low before the crowd. The breeze off the water whipped through his dark hair. A stream of rose petals blew from his hat, and several women began to clap.

Cass had learned the identity of the murdered courtesan after speaking with the conjurer. For a while, she had even considered him a suspect. She didn’t know whether seeing him here was a good or a bad omen.

“Let’s walk by the door,” Cass said lightly. The dazzling sun, the people, the shouts of laughter—all of it felt like a dream. Could she possibly be here, now, contemplating risking her life? Was she really about to break into the Palazzo Ducale, the seat of Venetian government?

They passed the door that Siena’s mysterious friend had indicated. They looked out at the sparkling quay as they walked, but Cass was making plans in her head. It was only a few feet from the door to the water. When they escaped—if they managed it—they needed to hit the ground running. It would take just seconds for them to disappear beneath the water’s surface.

If they were discovered, the palace would send soldiers after them on foot and in boats. They’d search the piazzas and the canals. Cass, Luca, and Siena would have to hide out in the fetid water, tucked away beneath a dock, invisible in the shadows. Then, when the soldiers spread out, they could swim to San Giorgio. The outline of the great church loomed just across the Giudecca Canal. Cass looked fearfully at the water. She could make it. She would have to.

She and Siena circled twice around the entire Palazzo Ducale: two girls out for a summer stroll. Then they once again threaded their way through the crowded Piazza San Marco. One last look at a Venice Cass might never see again.

When she was certain no one was paying her any attention, Cass slipped out of her chopines. She unfastened her cloak and draped it across the stone railing that ran along part of the piazza. A vendor would undoubtedly find them and offer them for sale.

She glanced up at one of the clock towers. Its golden hands indicated four o’clock. It was still early, but she didn’t want to wait too long and risk the servants’ door being locked before she and Siena made their way inside the palazzo. They would not get a second chance. “Ready?” she asked Siena, finding that although she was not wearing her stays, she still could hardly breathe.

Siena nodded. “They won’t expect servants to be coming and going after sunset. We might as well get inside and find the wine room.” Her hand went to the pocket of her skirt. She was feeling for her dagger. Cass did the same. It was there—heavy, wrapped in kitchen cloth. Reassuring.

They headed for the wooden servants’ door, slipping through it without hesitation, as though they belonged there.

Inside, a long hallway ran the length of the palazzo. Servants milled past carrying armloads of clean linen. A pair of noblewomen walked arm in arm, probably waiting for their husbands to finish up with a meeting.

“Keep your head down,” Siena whispered. “You want to be invisible.”

Cass kept her eyes trained on the ornate marble floor. She mentally mapped the space. Siena’s friend’s sketch had been very exact, and they made it to the wine room quickly. They slid through another door, which banged heavily shut behind them.

Instantly, Cass saw Palazzo Rambaldo’s wine room. Cristian. Pulling her forward. Her skin felt tight. Her heart stuttered. She reached out and gripped Siena’s forearm to steady herself.

“Are you all right?” Siena asked, dropping her voice to a whisper.

“Fine,” Cass said. She pushed away the image of Cristian, the idea that he might be lurking in the shadows, waiting for her.

Siena and Cass inched their way toward a back corner of the room. The casks here were thick with dust. Cass felt certain no one would come to tap them today. The floor was damp, but thankfully, there was no standing water or evidence of vermin. After crouching awkwardly for a few minutes, Cass dropped all the way to the ground, sitting crossed-legged in her simple skirt. Siena did the same.

“And now we wait,” Siena said.

Cass nodded. Six hours or so. An eternity.

“We should go over the plan again,” Siena whispered after a minute.

There wasn’t much to go over, but Cass knew she was just trying to pass the time. They would wait until it was late, and creep out into the corridor and down the hallway. According to Siena’s map, the adjacent hallway was called the Hall of the Three Chiefs. A service stairwell connected it to the lower prison. Cass and Siena would descend the stairs, find Luca, find the dungeon guard, get the key— somehow —and open Luca’s cell.