Belladonna

five

Cass and Siena left for the Rialto just moments after Donna Domacetti waddled down to the dock and disappeared into her own boat.

Summer was preparing for its arrival in Venice. Despite the breeze off the water, the late-spring air was still muggy and thick, the high sun obscured by a ribbon of clouds. Cass fanned herself with her favorite ostrich-feather fan as she settled in beneath the felze of Agnese’s gondola.

Siena gathered her muslin skirt around her as she scooted next to Cass. Behind them, Giuseppe—her aunt’s gardener and personal gondolier—hummed an unfamiliar tune as he expertly navigated the coastline of San Domenico north toward the lagoon that separated the Rialto from the outlying southern islands.

Cass fiddled with the rosary that hung from the waistline of her skirt. Her mind was whirling as she tried to remember all of Agnese’s instructions. Be polite. Stand up straight. Inquire about the possibility of a trial, but don’t be demanding.

“Are you all right?” Siena asked.

“Fine,” Cass said tightly. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. If only her aunt had felt well enough to accompany her.

“I wish I was up for the journey,” Agnese had declared as she told Cass what to say. “It’s a grim business for a girl your age.”

Murderers. Grave robbers. Cass was more familiar with grim business than her aunt ever would have guessed.

A fish jumped in the nearby water, sending a spray of droplets cascading through the air. Cass looked up. Stonemasons dangled from the roof of San Giorgio Maggiore, chipping and carving details into the façade of the grand church, while a flurry of men hollered instructions to them from the ground. The gondola bobbed slowly past San Giorgio Island, and she turned her attention to the tiny waves of the lagoon that sloshed back and forth against the boat.

Giuseppe docked the gondola just south of the Palazzo Ducale. The enormous palazzo loomed over the Piazza San Marco, bridging the gap between the basilica and the edge of the lagoon. Bricks in shades of brown and bronze glittered in the daylight. Elaborate friezes and bas-reliefs adorned the larger arched windows. A breezeway ringed the building’s perimeter, supported by Gothic columns, each topped with a clover-shaped cutout.

Cass had passed the Palazzo Ducale many times in her life and always thought of the building as a magical place where the Doge and Dogaressa lived and threw spectacular parties. She knew the palazzo was also home to Senate meetings and other official government functions, but she had never thought of the gleaming U-shaped building as a prison. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she must have always known about the pozzi, the tiny dank cells on the palazzo’s first floor, and the scorching-hot piombi, additional cells for “special” prisoners beneath the lead-plated roof of the building, but she had never really thought about it.

Until now.

She imagined the worst: Luca buried in blackness, locked away among dark and creeping things. Foul canal water rising up, threatening to drown him while he slept. Rats scrabbling through the bars, sinking their teeth into his flesh. She felt a sharp pain in her chest. It was hopeless. She was one girl against Dubois, against the Senate, against all of Venice. Would anyone even agree to see her?

She took Giuseppe’s hand as she alighted from the gondola. Siena followed her. Striding forward as if she clearly belonged there, Cass considered the Palazzo Ducale’s many doors and made for the porta della carta, the main entrance.

The wooden door was at least ten feet tall, with flower designs carved into the wood at regular intervals. A sculpture of a previous Doge facing a winged lion decorated the top of the door, an elaborate arched window above that. Towers of additional sculpture work flanked each side of the entrance. Cass recognized the figures of Charity, Fortitude, Temperance, and Prudence, their flowing gowns painted in brilliant blues and yellows. Where had those virtues been when someone was dragging an innocent man to prison?

Two soldiers dressed in scarlet and gold were standing guard. “What is your business today, Signorina?” the taller soldier asked gruffly.

“I wish to speak to the Doge,” Cass said, raising her chin. “Or to a member of the Senate.” In her chopines, she stood slightly taller than the soldiers, and for once her height didn’t feel like a liability.

The other soldier grunted with laughter. “Don’t they all,” he said. “Do you have an appointment?”

The lie was on the tip of her tongue—of course she had an appointment—but she couldn’t manage to spit it out. She swore under her breath. Falco would have coughed up a lie without hesitation. “No, I don’t,” Cass admitted. “But I will wait as long as necessary.”

The soldiers laughed again, their tan faces turning pink with amusement. “We’ll send someone to fetch a chair,” the shorter one said. “It might be a couple of fortnights.”

Cass was tired of being laughed at. “Listen,” she started, trying her best to look menacing. “It’s imperative that I speak to someone, so if it cannot be the Doge, then let me speak to one of his associates. I’m here to discuss Signor Luca da Peraga. I believe he has been imprisoned on false charges.”

“Ah.” The taller soldier ran a finger through his beard. “Signora da Peraga.”

Behind her, Siena coughed. Cass started to correct the men that she and Luca were not yet married, but thought better of it. “That’s right,” she said smoothly.

The guards exchanged a look. Now she could tell that they pitied her. “I suppose we can find someone who can better explain to you the charges.” The guard motioned, and the girls followed him inside the Palazzo Ducale. Cass slipped out of her chopines and left them just inside the door. She and Siena were ushered up a staircase covered in gold leaf. Servants passed them on the way down, their chins tucked low, eyes toward the ground. The guard led Cass and Siena across a square vestibule to a large room with four doors.

The room was supported by black marble columns, with threads of white running through them like veins. The long walls were paneled in dark wood and embossed with gold. Paintings of religious figures adorned the ceiling: images of God and his angels.

“Wait here,” the guard instructed her, and then retreated back the way he had come.

Cass wondered where the other three doors led. Was Luca somewhere nearby? Would he hear her if she called out to him? She went to each door in turn, pressing her ear to the wood. She couldn’t hear anything. Did she dare open the door a crack? She tried the first one. Locked. She tried the others. Also locked.

Cass sighed. A hard wooden bench ran along one side of the room. She gathered her skirts and took a seat. Siena paced back and forth, wringing her hands. Cass watched her handmaid’s plain leather shoes cross the room, her worn soles temporarily obscuring shining specks of pink and gold embedded in the marble floor.

After what felt like an eternity, a short man dressed in black breeches and a bright purple doublet skittered out from one of the doors. He was about Luca’s age, with wire-framed spectacles and a hooked nose that made him look more like a bird than a person. “Signora da Peraga?”

“Yes?” Cass stood up. Siena stopped pacing and stood stiffly next to her.

“I am Giovanni da Riga, aide to the Senate. You will follow me, please.”

Cass followed Giovanni into an even larger room. Quickly she realized she was in the Hall of the Senate. If there were to be a trial, it would be here, with the room full of politicians and bloodthirsty citizens who were always eager to see a man condemned to die. The chamber was empty, but Cass could imagine how it must look when occupied—the elevated platform with ornate wooden seats for the Doge and the Council of Ten, the velvet cordoned-off chairs for other high-ranking Senate members, wooden booths for those in attendance but not part of the official proceedings.

Giovanni motioned for Cass to sit in the first wooden booth. Siena sat next to her, and Cass could feel her trembling. Giovanni stood in front of the girls, pacing back and forth, peering down at a half-unrolled parchment as he spoke. “Signor da Peraga’s situation is quite grave. The signore has been indicted and imprisoned on the charge of heresy, as accused by parties both anonymous and in person.”

Cass felt rage seething in her veins. “And who are these parties who have accused him in person?” Her voice came out hot and tight.

“I’m not at liberty to give out that information,” Giovanni said haltingly.

Cass couldn’t help it. She jumped up and ripped the parchment from the aide’s hands. She would see for herself just what kind of witnesses Signor Dubois had managed to buy. A bunch of starving lepers and mercenary prostitutes, undoubtedly.

Hortensa Zanotta’s name was on the list, as were several other names Cass didn’t recognize. She gasped. “All of these people accused Luca?”

“Signora!” Giovanni seized the list from her trembling fingers. “You must maintain order.”

Cass inhaled deeply, trying to cool the heat that threatened to boil out through her skin. She changed her tactics, forcing a demure smile as she returned to her seat, adjusting her skirts to show just a hint of her stocking. “Mi dispiace, Signore. I’m just afraid that my fia—my husband has been the victim of a terrible crime, and that unsavory people were paid in exchange for their testimony.” She arched her eyebrows meaningfully.

“You—you’re not suggesting—”

“Surely those who are desperate for a little gold might be persuaded to remember events in a certain way, don’t you think?”

“I understand your concerns, Signora, but Signor da Peraga’s accusers are from noble families. Well-known, God-fearing members of the community.” Giovanni’s spectacles started to fog over, as if his face had begun to sweat. “You can understand why the Senate took the accusations quite seriously.”

“Is there any chance at all of a trial?”

“My understanding is that Signor da Peraga has already been sentenced,” Giovanni said.

Siena made a tiny whimpering noise. Cass shot her a sharp look and she ducked her head, focusing her attention on the floor. Cass turned back to Giovanni and nodded. “I don’t suppose I can visit Signor da Peraga? Even to lay eyes on him just for a moment would be such a relief.”

Giovanni shook his head vigorously. “It is never permitted. Only his legal counsel is allowed to see him.”

Did Luca even have legal counsel? Perhaps Cass should send a message to his mother on the mainland just in case. No. He had mentioned that his mother was unwell. This was the sort of news that could kill a woman. Luca was industrious and prepared. Undoubtedly, he had gotten word to an attorney.

Cass shook a few gold pieces out of her purse. She transferred them from one hand to the other. “There is absolutely no way I can see my husband, not even for a moment? Not even from a distance?” She dabbed at her eyes with the back of a gloved hand, trying to squeeze out a couple of tears for the aide’s benefit.

Giovanni stared at the gold. “I would like to assist you, Signora, but it would be a grave risk for both myself and the jailer.” He licked his lips.

Cass doubled the amount of coins in her hands. Behind her, Siena inhaled sharply. It was probably more gold than she had ever seen all at once.

Giovanni removed his spectacles and polished them on his shirt. He glanced around the Senate Hall warily, as if he thought maybe the paintings were spying on him. “Return to the antechamber.” He gestured toward the door they had come through. “Let me see if there’s any possible way I can help you.” His voice wavered slightly.

He disappeared, only to return a few minutes later. “Exchange your cloak and shoes with your maidservant and put up your hood,” he said. “Someone will come for you.” He skittered back through the door like a nervous rat before Cass could ask who, exactly, was coming for her.

Probably someone to arrest me, she thought as she slipped out of her cloak and shoes. She secured Siena’s plain muslin cloak around her gown and lifted the hood so that it obscured her face and hair. She settled back in on the bench, watching with amusement as Siena awkwardly fastened Cass’s embroidered silk cloak around her neck and slipped her feet into Cass’s velvet slippers.

A different door creaked open, and a stumpy bald man shuffled through. He was almost as old as Agnese, with yellowing skin and a hump on his back that made him walk stooped over. He looked up at Cass with a pair of beady eyes that were set close to his crooked nose. He had the look of a man who had lost one too many tavern brawls.

“You.” He pointed at Cass and then rotated his hand until the palm of his dirty leather glove faced up. It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for payment. She deposited the gold coins into his hand. “Follow me,” he said.

Cass gave Siena’s hand a quick squeeze and then wordlessly rose from the bench. She nodded at the man, who did not respond except to turn his back and mutter under his breath. She followed him back through the door, across a gallery, up two narrow flights of stairs, and down a dingy passageway lit only by minuscule openings carved straight into the marble walls. The heat was unbearable, the sun on the lead-plated roof turning the entire corridor into an oven. The passage ended at a thick metal door. A tarnished ring of keys hung on a hook just outside.

“Keep your head down,” the jailer muttered as he reached up and grasped the set of keys. He shoved one in the lock and jiggled it. The door swung open with a groan.

Cass raised one of her gloved hands to her mouth, willing herself not to vomit from the overpowering scent of urine and feces that wafted into the hallway. Holding her breath, she ducked her head low to enter the room. No wonder the jailer walks hunched over, she thought. The ceiling couldn’t have been higher than five feet.

She stood inside a garret, the roof of the Palazzo Ducale just above her head. A single high window cast a beam of scattered light across the dusty enclosure. A row of thick iron doors with circular vents cut in the middle ran along the edge of the room. So these were the infamous piombi—cells so cramped and sweltering that men sometimes went mad from being imprisoned in them.

Cass tried not to look at the dark holes centered in each of the cell doors. She didn’t want to make eye contact with any of the prisoners, at least one of whom was moaning. Instead, she focused her attention on a long wooden table that ran against the far wall of the room. On it sat coils of rope and scattered pieces of silver that reflected the scant light. Cass squinted. Were those . . . knives? She took a tentative step forward, and then another. Sure enough, an assortment of daggers was displayed on the table, their tips smeared with rust.

Or blood.

Horrified, Cass spun around to glare at the jailer.

He ignored her accusing look. “Last one.” He pointed toward the corner of the room. “You have five minutes.”

Cass gathered Siena’s cloak around her body and strode toward the cell at the end, slouching low to account for the sloping roof. Mindless of the grimy floor, she crouched down and peered through the circular grate, into the cell beyond. “Luca?” she whispered.

The blackness seemed to recede into forever, as if Cass were staring at a pit that went all the way to hell. A blurry figure materialized from the dark.

Luca knelt before the grate, his soft eyes peeking out at her with surprise. His beard was a little unkempt and there were bluish circles under his eyes, but otherwise he looked unharmed. His hair glistened with sweat, and the fabric of his doublet clung fast to his chest. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “They’ll kill you if you get caught. Besides, there’s nothing you can do.”

Cass pressed one hand against the grate. She cast a glance back over her shoulder at the wooden table. “Are they hurting you?”

“No,” he said.

Not yet. Cass couldn’t shake the feeling that his predicament was her fault. “There has to be something. You’re innocent. Tell me how I can prove it.”

Luca shook his head. “You can’t, Cass. The testimony has been bought and paid for. No one will go against Dubois. He owns half of the Council of Ten.”

The Council of Ten was a group of senators elected from within the general council. Hortensa’s husband, Don Zanotta, sat among them. They were some of the most powerful men in all of Venice. They and Joseph Dubois.

“But I know the names of your accusers,” Cass said, fanning herself with her free hand. Rivulets of sweat were beginning to trickle down the sides of her neck. “Donna Hortensa Zanotta, for one.”

Luca frowned. “I’ve never even met her.”

“If I could persuade her to recant her statement, do you suppose you might go free?” She let the tips of her fingers curl their way through the grate.

“Unlikely,” he said. “It’s my understanding she is one of several accusers, all of whom probably gave false testimony at the behest of Dubois.” Luca reached his own hand up so that his fingertips met Cass’s. “Promise me you won’t go threatening Dubois. There’s no point in both of us dying.”

Cass twined her fingers through Luca’s, their hands separated only by the network of steel bars. She leaned forward until her forehead rested against the grate. “But I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What did you do to make him so angry?”

Luca lowered his voice to a whisper. “Dubois is a member of a group called the Order of the Eternal Rose. When my father died, he gave me a key that unlocked a hiding place to certain papers relating to this Order. I told Dubois I would make these pages public unless he sent Cristian away, but then Dubois demanded I relinquish the papers to him. I told him I had burned the papers, but he didn’t believe me.”

“What’s so special about these papers?” Cass’s eyelashes flicked against the metal grate as she blinked.

“Dubois thinks the papers incriminate him in crimes perpetrated by the Order.”

“What crimes?”

“That’s exactly it. I have no idea,” Luca said, shaking his head. “I only know the Order must be involved in something terrible. Unfortunately the papers aren’t quite as incriminating as I let on.”

“It was all a bluff,” Cass said, starting to understand.

Luca sighed. “Dubois’s name is on them, but there are no crimes mentioned. They’re largely chemical formulas and research notes. They’re part of a larger book—the Book of the Eternal Rose. That’s what he’s really looking for. According to my father, the complete set of pages describes enough atrocities committed by Dubois and the other members to have them executed several times over.”

“So this book is the only way to fight Dubois? Do you know where it is? I’ll bring it to you. I’ll . . . ,” she trailed off.

“Cass.” Luca squeezed her fingers, and her insides went a little weak. “You owe no debt to me. Have your aunt arrange another match, perhaps with someone of your own choosing. Go be happy. It’s what I want for you.”

“Luca!” Her voice rose in pitch. “Don’t even speak like that.” Once upon a time she’d dreamed of those words. Go be happy. Luca releasing her so she could be with Falco. But she hadn’t meant for it to come to this. It couldn’t come to this. She could never be happy with someone else, knowing that only Luca’s execution had made it possible. And what exactly did he mean, someone of her own choosing?

“Quiet,” the jailer growled. “You have one more minute.”

“Tell me more about the book,” Cass begged. “I can find it.”

Luca exhaled deeply, touching his forehead to hers. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Cass.” His voice threatened to break apart on the last word. He reached his other hand up to stroke Cass’s cheek with a single fingertip.

“I don’t want you to die,” Cass whispered. A droplet of sweat fell from her chin and landed on the dusty floor in front of the cell. Inside of her, a wound opened, spilling sadness and rage throughout her body. Luca was brave. Luca was innocent. Luca would never let her rot away in a prison cell.

Their fingers were still intertwined, their foreheads touching. Connected. So close. Their eyelashes practically weaving together.

Cass realized she could kiss him. She could just tilt her head slightly and their lips would meet. For the first time she wanted to. She wanted to show him that she cared for him, that she was a good and decent woman, not the kind of person who would just let him die because it was convenient to do so.

Luca reached up with his free hand again. Cass felt certain he was going to angle her mouth toward his. Her eyelids started to flutter closed, but then stopped when she felt a point of pressure against her throat. She realized her cloak had fallen open, and that her lily pendant was exposed. Luca was touching it.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing it,” he whispered, his voice growing hoarse. “It’ll be something for you to remember me by.”

Cass swallowed down a lump in her throat. She touched her lips to the corner of his jaw, exhaling hard against his skin. “Stop it this instant. I will not give up on you, Luca da Peraga.”

Luca turned his mouth so his lips just barely brushed against hers, so quickly her mouth formed an O of surprise. Her legs wavered and her body threatened to crumple to the floor. She didn’t know if it was the unbearable heat or her uncomfortable position. Or the kiss. She closed her eyes for a second, holding fast to Luca’s hand until her bones went steady again.

He chuckled, an actual laugh. “Now, no matter what happens, I’ll have that to remember you by.”

Cass leaned forward and felt the metal bars of the grate digging into her skin. She didn’t care. Suddenly she wanted to be as close as she could to Luca. Luca, who now wanted her to forget his death and find someone else with whom she could be happy. Cass had never known such selflessness before. She pressed her mouth hard against his, ignoring his sweat and the stubble of his beard digging into her skin. His whole body tensed in response. For one sweet moment, the filth and the stench and the grimness of the situation dissipated. All Cass felt was herself and Luca, connected.

When they broke apart, she struggled to catch her breath. “Now stop talking of remembrances and tell me where to find this book.”

Luca touched his free hand to his lips. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright. “My father believed the book was in Florence, the birthplace of the Order.” He dropped his voice. “But I can tell you for certain where to find the pages.”

“Where?” Cass asked. Around her, the prisoners’ moaning seemed to fade; the whole room fell quiet.

“Locked inside your family tomb.”

“What?” Cass wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him right. “The Caravello tomb?”

“Yes.”

“But why would your father put them there?” Cass asked.

“He didn’t,” Luca said. “Your mother did.”