ZARALINA, QUEEN OF FARROWFARE, looked down the long table at the faces of her Privy Council and quickly revised what she was going to say. Anxiety was thick in the room. Trying to ignore the rancid stench of the smoke and noisy splutter emanating from the huge candle closest to her, she brought the piece of paper she’d been given nearer to the light and swiftly read Lord Waterford’s latest communiqué again.
Delivered to her last night by her tired steward, Lord Rodbury, it had been brimming with news. Carefully coded, it told her what she wanted to know. An Estrattore had been sighted.
Holding their breath, the men watched their queen’s every expression, every movement. Behind them, lawyers sat cramped at small tables, buried behind stacks of paper, their quills poised over their inkwells, ready to record every word. Blank-faced servants hovered in doorways and corners ready to attend to the Privy Council’s needs. Aware of her Councillors’ earnest regard, Zaralina decided to put them out of their misery.
‘Gentleman, this letter came last night,’ said the Queen, waving the piece of paper in the air. ‘As you know, Lord Waterford arrived in Serenissima some months ago and was forced to weigh anchor and remain on board his vessel until the quarantine period the Serenissians imposed ended. Well, he’s now comfortably housed within the city, in one of their casas. Apparently it belonged to a victim of the Morto Assiderato.’
The Earl of Farwarn, Zaralina’s chief advisor, cleared his throat and asked to see the letter.
Zaralina passed it down the table. They all watched as he scanned it.
The earl pulled at the brocade collar of his black doublet. Zaralina could not help but notice how the slashes in the fabric served to emphasise his broad shoulders before tightening around a waist not yet affected by the rich diet so many of her other Councillors enjoyed. She looked at their flushed faces, their thick paunches and plump fingers reaching for their goblets and wondered at these men whose bodies yielded to temptation over and over. How they spread into old age. Only the earl, Rodbury, the absent Waterford and the younger nobles were exempt from such indulgences.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’ The earl put the letter down. ‘Waterford has detected two spies in his household and, according to this –’ he flapped his hand towards the letter ‘– suspects there are at least seven others. The Serenissian Council of Ten have endowed him with a great many helpers, it seems.’
The men laughed heartily and the queen allowed herself a small smile.
‘Of interest to us is the fact that, coinciding with Waterford’s arrival, was the discovery of an Estrattore. Despite the Cardinale employing the services of a special force of soldiers, the Estrattore has continued to elude capture but not, it seems, identification. The Estrattore is named Tallow Pelleta –’
‘So, what the Mortians uncovered during their sortie in Serenissima all those months ago is true? The Estrattore is a boy?’ interrupted Lord Halthorn. He directed his question at the queen, but glanced over his shoulder into the darker corners of the meeting room. They all did. The mention of the Mortians made them suddenly wary. The fire guttered, momentarily.
‘Yes, my lord, this Estrattore is a boy,’ answered Earl Farwarn.
‘The prophecy says nothing of a boy – nothing.’ Lord Halthorn rapped the pile of papers in front of him. ‘I have gone through it over and over, had it retranslated, had some of our finest minds combing the histories and the archives for other clues. There’s no mention of a male Estrattore anywhere.’
The queen drew herself upright. ‘Prophecies are like legends – both have been proved wrong before, my lord, and to the detriment of those who follow them blindly. Regardless, this does not change anything. All it means is, as we did before, we continue to search for a boy and a girl. We know the girl exists, we know she left the Limen. She’s there – she’s just biding her time. All we have to do is watch and wait.’
‘We’re perfectly poised to do that now,’ said Earl Farwarn. ‘What with Waterford so well placed.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed the queen sharply.
‘I would not put it past the Estrattore to play tricks, ma’am. To confuse us,’ added Lord Halthorn.
The queen raised her ice-blue eyes to his hazel ones. ‘Really? You’re so familiar with the ways of the Estrattore you can second-guess their actions? Their motives? Do your old scrolls and books tell you the future now?’
The lord blanched. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean –’
Zaralina waved him to silence. ‘Never mind.’ She sank into her high-backed chair and drummed her long fingers on the table. ‘You’re right. The Estrattore will do all they can to protect or at least distract attention from the child of the legends – that is, until they’re ready to use her. Nonetheless, I still believe the boy is a decoy. We will treat him that way until he’s proved otherwise. In order to do that, we must capture him too.’
‘Tallow?’ The Duke of Dunlilley pulled a face, trying to break the tension in the room. ‘What kind of name is that?’
‘Appropriate for one who makes candles for a living, I would assume.’ The earl frowned. He glanced at Waterford’s letter once again.
Father Morrison raised his hand. ‘Your Majesty, I must protest –’
‘Father Morrison,’ said the queen in a slow, sinister voice. ‘You must not protest.’ The father lowered his hand, burying it in the wide sleeve of his robe. ‘I will not be held to ransom by stories. Do you understand, gentlemen? The prophecy was written hundreds of years ago. Whatever happens, we have to ensure that we control the way it ends – not the Estrattore, the Cardinale, or the Doge; not the Bond Riders, but us.’
There were murmurs of agreement. Father Morrison didn’t move. The queen nodded at Farwarn to go on.
‘The good news is that, on the basis of our unprecedented generosity in the aftermath of the plague, the Doge of Serenissima has ratified our new trading agreements. They’re allowing us to use the ports they control throughout the Mariniquian Seas.’
Murmurs swept the table. Smiles broke out.
‘This is very good news indeed!’ exclaimed the Earl of Grafton, the sponsor of most of the ships in the queen’s fleet. ‘Passage throughout those waters means we can start to trade in ways we’d only ever imagined!’
‘I have heard that in the lands to the south, there are silks as thin as spiders’ webs!’ A young lord who Zaralina had only recently elevated leant forward excitedly, his beard almost catching in the candle flame.
‘It’s the spices I’m interested in – paprika, salt, and that wonderful coffee bean. We could export throughout Farrowfare and the lands beyond the Wall.’
The Council began to talk over the top of each other. The queen tolerated them for a moment, amazed that their only thoughts were for the riches they could accumulate. They seemed incapable of understanding that the trade agreements were just a small step in a much bigger and more elaborate plan. Even Lord Rodbury, her steward, beamed. She glanced out the windows. Snow fell heavily, making the already gloomy room feel as though it were being suffocated. Not even the fire blazing at the other end managed to warm this chamber. She watched the steady fall of flakes, the way they hit the glass before sliding to collate on the sill, forming a lopsided triangle. There was a big world out there – a world that was almost ripe for the taking. It was a matter of timing, of ensuring that everything was in place before harvesting. Only the ultimate fruit was still proving to be elusive.
If the Cardinale should find the Estrattore before they did … No. She would not allow herself to think that way.
Glancing to a spot beside the fire, she saw the air waver. To anyone else, it was as though the heat from the flames was playing tricks with the atmosphere. Only she knew better. Shazet, her Mortian advisor and ally, was loitering in the shadows, watching her Council, reading their reactions, listening to the words they whispered behind their hands, between each other, words not meant for her ears. She wondered what he’d have to say about their short-sightedness. Farwarn looked at her steadily, raising his eyebrows. Of all the Council, only he seemed to understand what was at stake.
Fed up with the chatter, the queen stood. Immediately the room fell silent.
Her white gown, threaded with silver, glinted in the dim light. Her fiery hair shone, making her resemble the candle hissing in front of her. ‘I’m glad you’re pleased with this news, gentlemen. But you must realise that the reason for Waterford’s tenure as ambassador in Serenissima is not only to line our purses.’
The men nodded solemnly, offered reassuring murmurs. Fools! She saw Duke Dunlilley lean towards Lord Halthorn with the pretence of filling his glass and saw his lips move. Hopefully, Shazet will have caught whatever was said.
‘It’s time for us to make our next move,’ said the queen. ‘I had thought we could delay this, but Waterford’s news means we have to accelerate our plans.’ Her eyes alighted briefly upon each man. Most could not return her gaze. ‘I’m informing you now that we’re sending a ship to the capital of the Ottoman Empire, to Bursa, to open negotiations with the Sultan.’
There were gasps before conversation erupted. ‘Why now? The Ottomans! This takes time. We need to trade first, establish our credentials …’
‘Silence!’ said the queen.
The fire crackled, the candles smoked. Anticipation cast a long shadow over the table.
Zaralina waited until they were all focused upon her. Sweat dotted the brows of Father Morrison and Lord Halthorn and the odour of bodies and clothes in need of a good wash filled the room. Zaralina tried to ignore it. ‘As our first gesture of goodwill, we will promise them ships.’
‘They’re heathens,’ muttered Father Morrison. ‘Like the Serenissians, they can’t be trusted.’
‘When has trust ever had a place in politics?’ asked the earl. Scattered laughter followed. Father Morrison frowned and shook his head.
‘Are we to go to war, then?’ asked Duke Dunlilley, getting straight to the point.
Damn him! Zaralina picked up her goblet and took a measured sip. The liquid warmed her throat and gave her a chance to think. She ran the tip of her tongue delicately, but ever so slowly, over her lips. She could sense their longing for her, for what she had to say. Even Father Morrison’s desire was written all over his pale, bloated face. She would, as she always did, use this to steer them in her direction. ‘No. Not us. War is for others to engage in. It’s for the Ottomans. It’s what they’re best at, after all.’ She put her goblet on the table, her fingers dancing up and down its stem.
Quiet gasps broke the spell she’d cast. She held up her hand again.
‘But in order to ensure they don’t make war with us, we have to make friends with their ruler, Sultan Selim I. Good friends.’
‘How?’
‘Using the ships we provide, they’re going to sack the one city that Serenissima values almost above its own, the city that everyone on the other side of the Limen in Vista Mare wants. We’re going to help them take Konstantinople.’
The uneasy expectation erupted into questions and statements. Halthorn jumped to his feet followed by Dunlilley. Even Father Morrison was visibly shaken. After all, she was talking about forming an alliance with religious barbarians and starting a war. Zaralina sat back down, enjoying the confusion, the protests, and the quiet support. She knew it would shock them but she also noted that it excited them. She glanced towards the fireplace.
Finally, she called the men to order. Seats were returned to, drinks refilled, the fire stoked back to life. Outside, the snow continued to fall steadily.
‘So, ma’am, we’re to battle alongside the scourge of the Mariniquian Seas – the Ottomans – and help them sack Konstantinople.’
Zaralina gave a slow half-smile. ‘Exactly. Only we won’t be seen to help. We’ll be operating quietly in the background. Invisible.’
‘But that will infuriate the Serenissians,’ said Duke Dunlilley. ‘They’ll not sit back and watch their prize possession being snatched away.’
‘No, they won’t. I’m relying on that. And history tells me that I am not being unrealistic. Others have tried to take it from them before and failed. As the Serenissians have always done when Konstantinople is threatened, they’ll declare war – only this time it will be upon the Ottomans. And, when they do, the enemies of Serenissima will flock to the Ottomans’ side. This means that all the rulers who’ve been forced into an uneasy truce with the Republic they loathe – the Jinoans, the Phalagonians and the Hellans – will, when they see the colony of Serenissima besieged by a vast enemy, ally with the Sultan. It’s their chance to defeat Serenissima and win back all the lands, ports and tarrifs the Republic has taken from them over centuries of war.’
‘I’m not convinced.’
‘It’s not you we need to persuade, your grace,’ said Zaralina. ‘Serenissima may be rich, but she has many enemies in Vista Mare. People always hate that which they most desire to be – and Serenissima is a constant reminder of what they are not – wealthy, powerful and in control of all trade in the Mariniquian Seas. Why, they possess colonies all along the coast, from Byzantium to Moroko. Part of our role as friends of the Ottomans will involve familiarising them with Serenissima’s enemies. We will even broker the treaties if we have to. Then we can stand back and watch. Once Serenissima commits to war in that region, once she empties her famous Arsenale of ships and soldiers, she’ll be vulnerable.’
‘We’re not entertaining taking Konstantinople for ourselves, then?’ asked Duke Dunlilley.
‘We have much bigger goals, your grace, much bigger.’ Her eyes glinted in the candlelight, her voice resounding as her thoughts deepened. The men waited, suspended in time, at the mercy of her ruminations.
Aware of the sudden silence, she became businesslike. ‘Farwarn, I want you to set sail for Bursa. I trust no-one else but you to handle these delicate negotiations. You leave within the week, before the ice floes from the north move in and make the channel impassable.’ Her eyes flicked to the snowstorm outside. ‘I want you to take as few men as possible – an interpreter, a bodyguard, some spies, darker skinned so they melt into the local populations. They are to remain. I will send two Mortians to act as messengers. They can move through the Limen much faster than humans.’
‘Ma’am, that’s not neces –’
Zaralina stopped his protests with a look. ‘Nonetheless, they’ll be going.’
The duke nodded resignedly.
‘The fewer men you take, the better. We don’t want to alarm the Sultan, nor do we want to alert any Serenissian agent to our presence or our purpose. I want the Serenissians to believe that we’re simply testing our new port privileges – especially with the island of Krete. Bursa is such a short distance from there, it’s natural we would explore … other options. With that in mind, take furs to trade. Dunlilley, can you organise them to be brought down from your estates?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty, immediately.’ Dunlilley beamed.
‘News travels fast in those waters – remember that. Always back to Serenissima. My dear Farwarn, you’re to take whatever steps are required to ensure that your tracks are covered. Am I clear?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I want to know how the land lies, the size of the Sultan’s armies and navy, and his intentions – before we tell them what they will be, that is,’ she smiled. The Council broke into polite chuckles. ‘Your grace, you’re to offer the Sultan whatever it takes to ensure he accepts our friendship and our help.’
‘Your Majesty.’ Lord Halthorn rose awkwardly to his feet, his huge stomach resting on the table. ‘I am afraid I don’t see the point in all this. If Serenissima is our ultimate goal, why don’t we just put our cards on the table and sail right on through the Limen and take her? Why waste time sending Waterford? Why all this bargaining with heathens?’
‘I’m afraid I have to agree with Halthorn, ma’am,’ added Father Morrison, also rising. ‘It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, the idea of forming treaties and alliances with those whose spiritual beliefs so conflict with our own. Nothing good can come of it.’
Queen Zaralina flashed them both a look of disgust. ‘Sit down, my lord, father. You are bigger buffoons than even I believed if you cannot see the sense in getting others to do work on our behalf. You want to send our men to war? Lose lives, ships, bankrupt Farrowfare, and against a country that is unparallelled on the oceans? Get this straight, gentleman: on water, we don’t stand a chance against Serenissima.’
Lord Halthorn started to bluster.
‘Do not bother responding, you fool!’ spat the queen. ‘Think about this – not only do we buy Waterford the time he desperately needs to find the Estrattore, but we come closer than ever to conquering Serenissima without lifting a finger or losing a thing. What we get in return is a Serenissima that is fighting a war with another country far from her own shores. A Serenissima that is undamaged by looting soldiers, cannons and death or disease. But we also take a Serenissima that has sent all her soldiers to protect her interests elsewhere. A defenceless Serenissima by any other name … Not even the Cardinale can keep focused on what’s happening under his very nose if his city is plunged into war. In the meantime, we continue with our original plans. The Serenissians will never suspect that their real enemy is also their newest friend. And that is why Waterford is there – to allay any suspicions and to make sure that godsforsaken place falls to us unscathed.’
The men did not speak. Zaralina felt their emotions. They permeated the table, running along her fingers, being absorbed into her flesh. She relished every sensation, allowing it to fill her from within. She glowed in their esteem.
‘If this works, it’s genius,’ said Duke Dunlilley, his chest expanding. He stroked the fur that lined his doublet.
Murmurs of agreement flew around the table.
‘There are no “ifs” anymore, Dunlilley. Only “whens”.’ Zaralina raised her eyes to Farwarn, who nodded solemnly. ‘But this will, like all good plans, take time.
‘For now, I will construct a response to Waterford and explain to him what our intentions are. The Sultan’s ambassador in Serenissima will suddenly become his friend too.’
‘Seems we are making friends everywhere, Your Majesty,’ said the young knight. Zaralina glanced at him, noting the whiteness of his teeth as he smiled, the intelligence behind his pale eyes. She remembered now, that like Waterford and Farwarn, he came from the north.
She returned his smile. ‘Indeed we are, Sir Kay, we are. In the meantime, I want our ships to continue to move around the Mariniquian Seas. I want us to go about ratifying our new agreements with Serenissima by engaging in trade – Grafton, ensure our ships are well equipped.’
Lord Grafton raised his goblet in acknowledgement. ‘Ma’am.’
‘We will buy and sell and move about the ocean – a great friend indeed. All the while, I want us to listen carefully, and when we talk it’s to whisper in the right ears. We will appear to be the best friend Serenissima has had – that is, until we reveal ourselves for what we really are.’ She paused and stood, picking up her goblet. The men clambered nosily to their feet. She signalled for them to raise their vessels. ‘The greatest threat Serenissima has ever faced.’
‘To Farrowfare.’
Zaralina watched as the men drank.
‘Gentleman,’ she said finally, placing her goblet firmly down on the table. She waited patiently as they drained their drinks and, one by one, bowed. ‘Time to attend to our duties,’ she said. In a cloud of whispers, they began to leave the room.
‘Rodbury!’ she called. In seconds, her steward was by her side. ‘Change our candle supplier, will you?’ She reached over and snuffed out the candle in front of her as she spoke. ‘These are poorly made.’
‘I hear there’s a good one in Serenissima,’ said Sir Kay as he bowed to the queen. Zaralina stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter.
Sir Kay’s eyes twinkled as, with a deep bow, he left.
As Rodbury drew the door closed behind him, conversation broke out in the hall. It gradually faded into the distance. The meeting had given the men a great deal to think about.
Zaralina waved a young boy over to refill her goblet, watching as the ruby liquid splashed into the bronze. ‘You may leave us,’ she said to the lawyers and servants. Hastily, they withdrew. Only then did she bring her cup to her mouth, moving to the window to gaze into the encroaching darkness, noting the way the snow glistened as she took small sips. She sighed deeply. ‘Where are you?’ She whispered the words against the glass. It momentarily frosted before clearing. ‘Why can’t I find you?’
A chill gust blew through the room. ‘She’s not lost, Your Majesty, only misplaced.’ Shazet materialised beside her, causing an involuntary shiver to wrack her frame. ‘We will find the Estrattore. We will find her.’
Zaralina turned to regard the Mortian. ‘You sound almost sympathetic, Shazet. What’s come over you?’
An expression that might have been humour crossed the creature’s grey features. ‘It’s not just your cause that is lost if we fail, Your Majesty, but that of my people.’
‘Your people?’ She arched a brow and held his regard before breaking into a smile. ‘You’re right, Shazet. You’re right. So much is bound up in finding her, I am losing sight of our ultimate goal.’
‘Easy to do when explaining our plans to those regarded as the finest minds in the land.’ He glanced scornfully towards the door.
Zaralina gave a small laugh. ‘Young Kay is smart – I will watch him. And Farwarn is clever – very clever. What he lacks is Waterford’s ready acquiescence; I do miss that.’
‘But you’re cultivating it in Rodbury, I note.’
Zaralina swept past Shazet and went to stand in front of the fire. It had burned low in the grate and the radiance turned her face into gentle slopes and smooth planes. She felt Shazet’s great, mournful eyes upon her.
‘How go our plans, my friend?’ she asked softly.
‘We make inroads every day, Your Majesty.’
‘The Bond Riders, those who would baulk at what is happening, do they suspect anything?’
‘Perhaps, Your Majesty. But they don’t act – I surmise they’re too afraid. They have not placed any additional guards on the entry points into the Limen – our allies have assured us of that at least. We believe there are internal troubles keeping them occupied.’
‘Internal troubles? What’s the nature of these?’
‘The same that beset you and yours, Your Majesty: the Estrattore.’
‘Ah. How strange that those who share so little can attract a common enemy.’
‘Most Bond Riders still regard them as both saviours and threats. They are divided about how to deal with them. If anyone has lost sight of their goal, it is them.’
Zaralina smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. ‘Yes, it’s one of the lovely ironies of their existence, isn’t it, that they continue living only because of the Estrattore, and yet they don’t understand the nature of that so-called existence. Of what the Estrattore have really done to them.’
‘They may one day find out, Your Majesty.’
‘Oh, indeed they will, Shazet. They will.’ She emptied her goblet and placed it on the mantel, picking up a poker and prodding the hot embers, throwing sparks into the chimney. ‘Making sure those interfering soulless bastards find out just how cursed they are is something that will afford me the greatest pleasure.’
Zaralina felt Shazet’s form waver before he moved closer. The chill that emanated from his body made her flesh quiver, despite the proximity of the fire. She shut her eyes in anticipation of his cold embrace when a noise at the door startled her.
Shazet stepped back just as it was flung open. In ran a small boy followed by a large woman.
‘Claudio!’ exclaimed Zaralina, spinning round, the poker clattering to the floor. She cast a look of both warning and frustration at Shazet, who quickly merged with the shadows. She bent down and flung out her arms.
The dark-haired child, dressed in a long cream nightgown with a soft pointed cap atop his curls, darted around the table, ran the length of the room and threw himself into her outstretched arms. ‘Zaralina!’
‘Ma’am, I am so sorry,’ panted his nurse, curtsying between stumbles as she tried to catch the child.
‘Never mind that now!’ snapped the queen. She gave Claudio a quick embrace before holding him at arm’s length.
‘What is it, my love? Why are you running? Why have you left your room? I’ve told you not to do that. You must always wait for my permission.’
‘But Zaralina, it’s my bedtime and you promised me you would come and kiss me goodnight. Nurse tried to put me to bed, but I wouldn’t let her till I’d had my kiss.’ The little boy pouted prettily.
‘Ah,’ said Zaralina, shooing the nurse away behind Claudio’s head. ‘Now I understand.’ She stood up, holding his hand tightly. ‘Lady Mary, wait outside.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ said Lady Mary, dropping into such a deep curtsy that she had trouble rising. Zaralina waited until she was on the other side of the door and out of sight.
‘Come,’ she said. She sat down and patted the pool of loose material in her lap. Claudio climbed into the space, pressing himself against Zaralina’s body. She entwined her arms around him, noting how fast he was growing as the top of his head was almost level with hers. The new diet and exercise evidently agreed with him. He was filling out already and he was only, what? Seven? Eight? They all looked the same to her at that age.
‘How did your riding go today, my love?’
‘It was belliss … good. Lord Brin allowed to me to jump Jed this time.’
That dreadful accent that made every word sound like a song and aroused uncomfortable memories was still apparent. She would have his tutors work harder.
‘Really? And what about your sword practice?’
In answer, Claudio held up his thumb. There was a small gash across the top. Zaralina placed the thumb in her mouth, kissing it gently, allowing her tongue to brush the tip. Claudio shivered. ‘You will have to improve. How can you protect me from my enemies if you cannot fight?’ She let Claudio’s thumb fall from her lips. His own quivered.
‘I can fight. I will not let you be hurt. Not ever.’ He tilted his face and regarded her earnestly.
Zaralina glanced at where she could detect Shazet before gripping Claudio’s chin.
‘But you have hurt me, my love.’
Claudio frowned and tried to wriggle out of her grasp. She tightened it, his tender flesh reddening beneath her fingers. He stilled. ‘What have I told you about disobeying me?’ she said softly.
‘That it will make you very angry,’ lisped Claudio.
‘Indeed, it will. And what happens when I am angry, Claudio?’
His face momentarily darkened. ‘I have very bad dreams.’ He tried to bury his face in her breasts, but she held him steady. Tears began to form in the corner of his eyes.
‘You do, don’t you, my love? But, what happens when I am happy?’
Claudio smiled, his huge brown eyes lustrous. ‘You kiss me!’
Zaralina’s lips hovered inches from Claudio’s. ‘I do. So, what do you think I am now? Angry or happy?’
Claudio gave it some thought. ‘I think you’re both. You’re angry with me for disobeying, but you also want to kiss me.’
Zaralina looked at him in surprise. There was a tone in his voice and a look on his face she hadn’t seen before. Perhaps the dreams she’d been sending him were a little too old for his young mind. ‘I think you’re right. I am very angry with you, Claudio. But, just for today, I will forget my anger.’
‘Will you kiss me?’ he pleaded.
Zaralina stared at the full pink mouth. ‘I will,’ she said, and pressed her lips gently against his young ones. She watched as he shut his eyes as their kiss deepened. She saw the colour fill his cheeks, felt his heart begin to race, the heat that infused his body, the conflicting thoughts that raged in his head.
After a full minute she drew away. Claudio’s eyes were still closed and he swayed.
‘Lady Mary,’ she called quietly.
‘Ma’am?’ Lady Mary peeped around the corner.
‘You may come and collect your charge.’
As Lady Mary scooped the half-unconscious boy out of the queen’s lap, she met Zaralina’s eyes. Her look of concern was replaced by an icy fear.
‘Do not let that happen again, Lady Mary. I don’t care what it takes – do not let him burst in on me again.’
‘Y– yes, Your Majesty.’
‘Leave me,’ ordered Zaralina and turned to face the table.
The door shut and Zaralina felt the comfortable frostiness of Shazet’s touch brush her shoulder.
‘Will I ever be able to feel a kiss like that, Your Majesty?’ The words tickled her ear.
She reached up and cupped his face, feeling his shudder right through her own body. ‘Get me what I want, Shazet, and I’ll make sure you feel that … and so much more.’
THE WEATHER GREW SO BITTER, not even the crackling fires burning in every grate could dissipate the icy draughts that whistled up and down the corridors and through the cracks of Casa Maleovelli nor keep away the damp that began to seep into the walls as the constant rains lashed the casa. We all seemed to race from room to room, shutting doors, clutching shawls and coats about us, and loitering before the fireplaces in an effort to dispel the chill that, once it entered your body, was almost impossible to expel. With mid-winter came shortened days bookended by darkness – the black sky and the illumination of candles now accompanied most of our daily rituals.
It wasn’t only the change of season that brought an adjustment to the rhythms of the casa. I could feel something in the air – a growing excitement – not only delivered every time a fresh missive arrived from Jacopo, who had now reached the Contested Territories and successfully negotiated trading rights, but from beyond. Something was happening outside; as if the city were holding its breath. I longed to find out what it was but at first I was too caught up by the transformations within.
The quiet canal that ran along the back of the casa had become a busy thoroughfare. Craft laden with merchandise appeared daily, unloading onto the ground floors. There were now frequent visitors and the house began to ring with accents, pungent smells and the noise of workers scraping barrels, boxes and bales across the floors below.
The changes beneath soon made their way to the first floor. Variety crept onto the platters of food that were painstakingly prepared by a new cook the Maleovellis employed and who took up residence on the floor above, along with a growing band of servants. Where once there were spaces on the walls and floors, fresh pictures and tapestries were displayed, dusted by the additional helpers who had also been found to restore the casa to its former glory. Giaconda’s wardrobe also altered. Gone were the unfashionable dresses I’d first seen her in, and which so impressed me, to be replaced with the latest trends sewn from lush, ornate fabrics.
When Giaconda brought to my room a gown designed especially for me, I first sank into a low curtsy. ‘Grazie mille, Signorina,’ I said, and tried not to show how great my pleasure was at receiving such a gift. The dress was a deep violet, much like the belladonna I would crush and drop into my eyes, so often these days I’d become accustomed to the sting. It would not do for the new servants to discover what I was.
I’d hastened my wash and, with Hafeza’s help, stepped gracefully into my new dress. Snug over my breasts, it clung to my waist, its full sleeves slashed to expose silver and pearl inlays. I’d never possessed anything so beautiful in my life. I’d never possessed anything, apart from my spectacles, that was for me alone. I could not stop admiring myself. Wherever there was a reflection – the glass of the windows, the sheen of a knife, the gilt mirrors that decorated the dark hallways, I would take the opportunity to look.
I knew it was my candles and the power they contained that had helped to turn the Maleovellis’ fortunes. They were well pleased with me. Over time, new clothes, shoes, masks and even some jewellery became more frequent and, I confess, expected. I, who had once appreciated hand-me-down britches and thought a scrap of paper from the canal and a piece of myrtle wax precious, began to covet these expensive things.
Dinner in my room became a more frequent occurrence, and I would both hear and sense laughter and movement in other parts of the casa long into the night. I stifled my natural curiousity. Ever since I was caught eavesdropping, I’d done nothing to make the Maleovellis doubt me again. I felt confident that my good behaviour would soon be rewarded in other ways.
I was right. Only it wasn’t in the manner I anticipated.
Now that Jacopo had left, my lessons in reading and writing also ceased. Not that I needed them anymore. I was able to shape my letters well and reading was no longer difficult as I simply absorbed the author’s intentions as I touched the parchment. I would look at the words, and the ideas and purpose behind them would form a context in my mind. It was not reading in the true sense, I guess, but it more than sufficed. Not only that, but it opened a world to me that my confinement within the casa denied. I devoured the various pamphlets and books that Giaconda allowed. I quickly graduated from shopping lists and household invoices to religious texts, philosophical treatises, ancient history translated from Hellenic into Serenissian, and what I loved best: poetry. There was something about the arrangement of the words, the pictures that filled my head and darted in and out of my heart that set my imagination afire.
Giaconda would draw me into discussions about what I was learning. I was astonished at how much she knew and, I admit, impressed. Able to recite poetry, remember important dates and events, even in other countries, converse about the merits of a particular artist or singer or quote lines from a popular play, she would challenge me to do the same. She also told me about the triumphs and misdemeanours of other nobiles, of courtesans and traders. It may have been gossip, but it was different from that I used to hear poisoning Quinn and Francesca’s tongues or even the bits Baroque would periodically divulge. She would quiz me about everything afterwards – test my memory. It became a game between us and, as the days went by, I became a worthy contestant.
She did maintain my lessons in deportment, dancing and dress and continued to work on softening my accent and developing my singing voice which, it turned out, was reasonably melodic. As I had sworn to myself after Renzo’s death, I remained compliant, and with that my confidence grew. Any doubts I had, any misgivings or uncomfortable memories, I simply extracted and distilled into the harlequin. My past faded into a piece of glass as, day by day, I grew into someone else.
In order to become her completely, one last lesson remained.
THE DAY BEGAN IN SILENCE AS SNOW fell softly, secretly, blanketing the casa and cocooning us from the outside world. I attended to my ablutions, dressed and joined Giaconda in Jacopo’s study for cafe. We sat facing each other in the old armchairs, the candles flickering, the little window admitting only a dull light, the books and scrolls with which I was becoming so familiar neatly stacked on shelves. The fire blazed, but the room refused to warm. I sipped my cafe, concentrated on not shivering too much, and waited for Giaconda to begin.
Putting down her cup on the little side table, she regarded me for a moment.
‘You look well, Tarlo.’
‘Grazie. I feel well, Signorina.’ I nursed my cup in the palm of one hand as I had been taught.
‘Bene.’ Over the next five minutes, she questioned me about our conversation the day before – the descendants of the Doge. I answered her without making a mistake.
‘Ah.’ She smiled and picked up her cafe, taking a drink. ‘Your mind will gratify the most difficult and demanding of men, Tarlo. It is sharp and quick. Your memory is faultless. But the mind of a courtesan is only useful if she also knows how to use her body.’
My heart began to beat very quickly. Colour infused my cheeks.
‘Combined, the mind and body of a courtesan can afford a man untold pleasures. You are learning to master one; it’s now time to begin studying the other.’ She gave me a knowing smile over the rim of her cup. She finished the contents, placed it back on the table and smoothed her skirt.
‘Words are one talent courtesans have – but there are many more arts we use. There’s also our lips, tongues, fingers and even our toes.’ As she spoke, she touched the relevant body part before closing the gap between us and stroking mine as well. The sateen of her gloves sent shivers along my spine. ‘There’s also our legs.’ She lifted her dress slowly, like a curtain. My eyes widened when I saw she wasn’t wearing any pantaloons. Her creamy legs looked smooth and inviting. She lowered the skirt. ‘And arms,’ she continued, reaching over and running a finger along mine, pushing the fabric into my skin as she did. I remained completely still less she stop. The pleasure of her touch sent waves of longing through me. ‘And let’s not forget the beauty of our breasts –’ Her fingers danced over my décolletage, goose bumps marking their passage ‘– and naturalmente, the rest of our form.’ Her hand rested lightly over the place where my dress dipped into my lap. I was holding my breath.
‘With that in mind,’ she said, slowly removing her hand and drawing away from me, ‘I want to give you this to read.’ She reached over the desk and picked up a tattered pamphlet. ‘This is an infamous piece by a rather clever man whom I hope you will meet one day. His name is Pietro Aretino – he calls himself a poet. Others call him a peddler of pornografia.’ She shrugged. ‘No matter what he’s called, he’s very popular and his work is … enlightening. Certo, it’s appropriate for our needs.’
I knew his name. He’d been mentioned over dinner a number of times, causing Signor Maleovelli no end of delight. Apparently his work had caught the attention of the Cardinale and not in a welcome way. I didn’t always understand the nuances underpinning much of what Signor Maleovelli said – he often spoke in cipher – but I found it interesting and more than a little thrilling that I was being allowed to read the work of someone so … notorious. I took the bundle of yellowing parchment Giaconda offered, my hand shaking slightly, my insides very warm.
‘Of course, the best way to learn how to please a man is to be with one.’ She stood up and leant over, caressing my cheek as she spoke. ‘Your time approaches, Tarlo.’
Clutching the parchment tightly, I did not trust myself to speak,
‘Do not fear,’ she said, leaning closer. ‘I know you disapprove of Signor Moronisini. I will make sure your first is not so … old. I will also ensure he is gentle.’
I opened my mouth to protest then shut it again.
I shivered – from fear, excitement or premonition, I did not know.
Happy to have dinner in my room that night, I lay on the bed and thought about what Giaconda said. I could not change what for me was inevitable. It was clear that, in order to work towards the greater goal of bringing the Estrattore home, I had to be in a position where I could advance the Maleovellis, and the best way for me to do that was as a courtesan. Giaconda had explained that, as a courtesan of a particular calibre, I would have access to the nobiles’ casas, to their bedrooms and to their minds. Once she had enjoyed the same sort of entrée, but time and the reduction of the Maleovelli fortunes had meant that doors previously open had closed, and they’d been forced to rent accommodation in other sestiere to maintain business. For me it would be different. Once inside the casas, I could burn my candles. No-one would suspect a courtesan of that type of manipulation, let alone of being an Estrattore. Not if I was as careful as I intended to be.
I threw aside my concerns and wild imaginings and opened the bound pieces of parchment. The title, ‘School of Whoredom’ should have prepared me for the contents, but I still found myself blushing and giggling and feeling very hot as I read a fictitious dialogue between an older woman and a young courtesan. They were so graphic in their descriptions of what happened between a man and a woman, so open in their conversations. I had to keep putting the pamphlet down as pictures flew into my head, and scenarios that I found quite arousing formed. I rolled from my back onto my stomach and kept reading. When the first candle burned to a tiny stump, I lit another. The fire smouldered, its heat no longer necessary. My fevered imagination kept me very warm.
It wasn’t until I fell into an exhausted sleep in the early hours of the morning, that the images of men and women, flirting, taking pleasure from each other’s bodies, feeling sated and satisfied by the transaction between courtesan and gentleman, translated into a vivid dream. A dream in which I was a courtesan, and my lover a tall, broad-shouldered man with thick black hair and night-time eyes that regarded me with such intensity it took my breath away. I knew this man. He was as known to me as my own face.
It was Dante.
Every kiss we shared, every caress, made me ache with desire for more. I moaned and half-woke to find myself clutching my pillow. I buried my head and tried to return to that place where Dante was alive and he was mine. It was fruitless.
When I finally roused, I felt tired as well as unfulfilled and restless. I trembled, and not only from the chill in the room. I rose, and after first blowing on the fire to stir the glowing embers into flames, went to the bowl that rested on the cabinet and splashed water on my face. I picked up a drying sheet and rubbed my face vigorously, as if shedding the residue of my night memories. I caught my reflection in the mirror and went and stood in front of it.
Instead of seeing myself, Dante stood before me. The sheet fell from my fingers. His hair was tousled, his face smudged with dirt, his teeth so very white. His eyes sparkled and he wore that knowing look of his – the one that bespoke mischief and something else besides. Then, it all swam and changed. I was looking down on him. He stared back at me and I lost myself in the depths of his gaze, indifferent to the blood pouring out of his mouth and over those firm, full lips.
I threw myself against the mirror, clutching its sides, pressing myself against the glass, trying to merge with it, with Dante. It was no good. I hit my head against its hard surface. Fool, fool, fool.
No matter what I did, no matter how much I tried to shut myself off from my old life, from Dante, above all the others – Pillar, Quinn, Renzo, Zia Gaia, even Francesca and our neighbours in the Candlemakers Quartiere – he continued to haunt me. I rested against the mirror, staring at my feet – white and frozen, and at their reflected twins. Why could I not forget him? It would make all of this so much easier.
Out of the corner of my eye, the harlequin glinted in the flames that now crackled in the fireplace. Despite what I had placed in the tiny statuette, and in spite of my resolution not to feel in that way anymore, I did. I felt so strongly, too strongly. I sighed and pulled away, dropping my arms and studied myself again.
My eyes were shadowed and my face drawn. I ran my fingers through my hair. It was long now, tumbling down my back.
Why could I not block Dante out? It was as if something was preventing me … why?
‘Go away,’ I whispered. ‘Please. I need you to leave me alone. How can I become what I know I must if you are still with me?’
I stared intently, hoping that somehow my own soul would open up to me. But I could not see the truth inside myself, only suffer it.
Dante would never go away. And I did not really want him to. I didn’t need my abilities as an Estrattore to tell me that. But the time had come for me to take the next step. Reading that pamphlet had made me more aware than ever of the desire I was trying to repress, of the urges that were enhanced every day I spent in Giaconda’s company, in this casa, with its lush fabrics, musty scents, and the insatiable lust and greed that clung to every surface.
I was not immune to it – on the contrary, I was absorbing it bit by bit, taking it into myself, deliberately, effortlessly, anything to block out the feelings that warred within me. What I knew was that I could no longer be denied.
‘I want more.’
‘And so you shall have it, Tarlo, cara.’
I did not hear Giaconda enter. I spun at her voice, curtsying and blushing that she should catch me so. She simply opened the door wider and stepped into my room. She indicated for Hafeza, who was close on her heels, to begin my morning bath.
‘Today, Tarlo, you and I are celebrating,’ she said, crossing to the window and flinging open the shutters. Feeble light crawled its way across the bedroom.
‘Sì? Why is that?’ I tried not to pull away as Hafeza dragged a wet cloth over my breasts. I noted the water had been scented with the heady fragrance Giaconda favoured. I inhaled it, trying to shut out my fevered thoughts. It didn’t help.
‘Carnivale.’
My eyes widened. ‘Carnivale! It starts today?’ I had been anticipating its arrival for weeks now.
‘Sì, it officially begins tonight and with that, so does some freedom for you. But since you cannot partake in tonight’s festivities –’ My face fell. She gave a small laugh and continued. ‘I have decided that instead, to make up for this, we will go on a trip so you may have a taste of what to expect.’
My stomach flipped, my hands fluttered. ‘I need the belladonna.’
She tipped her head. ‘Perhaps a little. But you will be masked and caped. This is a chance for you to see without being seen.’
I raised my arms as Hafeza pulled the camicia over my head.
‘Am I to be presented, then?’
‘Today we’re going to buy fabric for the dress you will wear for your first public appearance.’ My head spun.
‘Where? When?’
‘Sooner than you think. How else can we field offers for your most precious of gifts if the nobiles do not glimpse what it is they are bargaining for?’
I knew she wasn’t talking only about my talents as an Estrattore. Bids for my virginity would be seriously considered and the man with the most in terms of connections as well as soldi would be my first paramour. A sense of inevitability tinged with sadness rose. I quashed it immediately. I wanted this. I needed this. The Estrattore needed me to do this.
Giaconda watched me as Hafeza helped me into my gown. ‘No need to hurry. Make sure her hair is dressed well, Hafeza. It’s windy and snow is threatening. And put her in those zoccoli we bought last week – the ones with the exceptionally high heels. Salzi can help her if she finds it too difficult to walk.’ She added something else in Hafeza’s language. Hafeza paused then nodded. A little nub of resistance within me tightened. I wondered what was said.
‘When you’re ready.’ Giaconda reverted back to Serenissian. ‘I will meet you in the portego for a light breakfast. You will need your energy today, Tarlo. It will be a very long one.’
I curtsied as Giaconda, pausing to pick up the pamphlet by my bed, cast me a meaningful glance and, accompanied by a half-smile, swept from the room. I looked coldly at Hafeza. ‘You had better be quick then,’ I said, ignoring the hurt that flashed in her brown eyes.