Votive

‘GET DRESSED!’ GIACONDA SWEPT INTO TALLOW’S bedroom, followed by Hafeza, who flung open the shutters.

Startled into wakefulness, Tallow sat up quickly, rubbing her eyes and trying to shake the pall of sleep away. ‘Scusi?’ For just a moment, her escapade last night came back. Her hands fell away and she became very hot. She glanced at Hafeza, who was busy pouring scents into her washing water. Had she told? Did Giaconda know? There was nothing in Giaconda’s manner to suggest anger, only repressed excitement. Tallow turned towards her cautiously.

‘We have a huge day planned for you, Tarlo! Come on, get out of bed. It’s not like you to be so slovenly.’ She turned to Hafeza, who was sorting through some dresses in a chest near the screen. ‘No, not that one, it’s too bright. The dark one with the silver lace on the sleeves. That will do nicely. Brush down my black cape. Tarlo can wear that as well. It’s cold outside.’

Tallow looked from Hafeza to Giaconda, trying to clear her head. Outside? Giaconda was already fully dressed in an elaborate gown of deep purple and grey with hints of blue cut into the sleeves. Garlands of pearls were sewn into the bodice and along the cuffs. On her head, she wore a matching cap with a shadowy veil thrown back over her hair. As she collapsed into a chair, Tallow caught a glimpse of her zoccoli. They had the highest heels Tallow had seen yet. They were well over twelve inches. It was far too elaborate an ensemble for indoors. Tallow glanced at the window. It was raining heavily. Water thrummed against the windowpane. The day was dark and uninviting.

‘I don’t understand. Have I slept in? Why would I need a cape?’ Tallow climbed out of bed and picked up a cup of steaming cafe, grateful for its warmth as it slipped down her throat. Before she could have another sip, Hafeza snatched it out of her hand and whipped her nightgown over her head. Used to being naked, Tallow reached for the cup again, blowing across the surface before drinking. After a couple of swallows, her head began to clear.

‘You’re filling out nicely, Tarlo.’ Giaconda lazily studied her form, leaning back in the chair, appraising her in the same way Quinn would discuss the fishmonger’s fare before making a selection.

‘Your breasts have grown and your hips are also becoming beautifully rounded. It won’t be long before we’re able to seek offers for you – well, once we work out what to do with your eyes. You’ll fetch a wonderful price.’ Tallow gulped. They’d talked about this before. How once she was presented in public, they would both receive and invite offers from gentleman keen to bed her. Virgins fetched the most money. Giaconda herself had been a virgin many times over. It was to be their way of placing Tarlo in certain nobiles’ lives. After last night, Tallow had a better idea of what might be expected of her. It filled her with a mixture of dread and longing.

Hafeza lifted Tallow’s right arm in the air and rubbed the flesh vigorously with a cloth.

‘That’s cold,’ said Tallow, breaking out in goose bumps.

‘Sì. I told Hafeza not to bother heating the water. We don’t have time.’

‘Time? For what?’ asked Tallow, cringing as the cold washer was dashed over her breasts and between her legs. Hafeza indicated for her to sit, so she could wash her feet.

‘Today, my dear Tarlo, you leave the casa!’ Giaconda beamed.

Tallow’s jaw dropped. She didn’t even flinch as one after the other, her feet were plunged into a bowl and scrubbed. ‘Leave? But how? Why? My eyes …’

‘Ah, so many questions, Tarlo.’ Giaconda threw her hands up in the air. ‘All you need to know is that today I am your teacher and your lesson will take place outside. And for that to happen, you will wear a mask.’

‘But … I thought Carnivale was still weeks away?’ Hafeza began to dry her, running the towel up and down her body. Accustomed to the routine, Tallow held out one leg, then the other, talking around Hafeza’s bobbing head. She wanted to give the woman a sign of gratitude. Hafeza hadn’t exposed her.

‘Sì, it is. But it’s the nature of Carnivale that in the lead-up, we celebrate its approach with masks and it so happens that it’s perfectly appropriate for ladies to wear them this very day.’ Opening the purse tied to her wrist, Giaconda pulled a fabric mask out. She unfolded it and began to tug it into shape. Black with dark beads sewn around the eyes and along the nose, it was adorned with deep purple plumes. Giaconda stroked them back to life.

‘Why today?’

‘Something special is happening, Tarlo.’ She shook the mask in front of her. The black stones sparkled even in the dim light, but the feathers refused to cooperate, remaining flat. Giaconda frowned and kept fiddling with the strange cloth half-face. ‘This is a chance for you to learn a great deal. We aren’t going very far – just to the palazzo in Nobiles’ Rise. You, me and Papa. Jacopo will stay at home. The ride is difficult for him. But I promise you, what you’ll learn today is more than I could teach you in a month. Now hurry!’

Tallow felt her heart swell. She was to escape these walls, even briefly – and with the Maleovellis by her side. Would the mask be enough to disguise her? What was it she was going to see?

Hafeza continued to dress her, lacing her corset, pulling woollen stockings over her legs, wrestling her into the dress and pushing zoccoli onto her feet before finally pinning the mask securely into her hair so that it hid the entire top half of her face. Tallow couldn’t stop plucking at her skirt, fiddling with her locks. Hafeza had to slap her hands away a few times and chide her with an angry finger.

When she was finally ready, Giaconda stood up and slowly circled her, like a gull before it dives. Tallow’s throat grew tight. From behind her mask, she followed Giaconda and, standing in front of the mirror, she also took stock of her appearance. The mask was wonderful; sitting away from her skin, it concealed her eyes. They were just like the glittering jewels that arced in place of her eyebrows – lustrous and dark.

‘I thought you might need a veil, but you don’t,’ said Giaconda finally. ‘Good, It’s important you’re able to see everything today.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Come, Papa awaits us.’

With a grateful and knowing smile for Hafeza, Tallow followed Giaconda from the room.





THE RAIN HAD CEASED AS, along with Giaconda and Signor Maleovelli, I left the comfort of the gondola’s felze and stepped onto the fondamenta that led to the piazza outside the Doge’s palazzo.

Taking Salzi’s proffered arm, I followed the Maleovellis onto the cobbles, reorganising my long, black cape as Giaconda had shown me. Unable to see anything from the felze, as the Maleovellis had kept the window shut, I eagerly pulled the hood over my hair and drank in the sites.

It wasn’t what I expected.

It was not the buildings – they were as grand as I had hoped and my neck soon hurt from twisting to and fro. No, what astonished me most of all was the people.

As we mounted the stairs towards the Rise, there were hundreds and hundreds of figures all heading in the same direction, across the wide expanse of the main piazza and towards the Grande Canal. I had never seen so many people in my life. My eyes darted everywhere, drinking in the atmosphere, the sights. What was most astonishing was that they did not speak a word. A little voice of warning started to toll in my mind.

Sombre, the mass moved forward, the only sound the whisper of robes, the clack of heels, the splash of puddles as they all progressed towards a giant wooden platform erected at the lagoon end. From her great height, Giaconda was able to cut a swathe through the people and bring us very close to the stage. I felt a tingle along my spine. There was only one row between us and the platform.

I was relieved to see that many people were either masked or veiled. Giaconda was right; I would not attract even a second glance. As the jostling stopped and places were found, the mask also gave me a chance to study everyone, to absorb my surroundings.

To my right was the Doge’s palazzo. An enormous angular building, it still managed to appear light, rising from the fondamenta a blushing contradiction of delicateness and substance. An elegant balconette jutted out about halfway along, overseeing the crowds beneath. Red and gold curtains framed it, fluttering in the wind.

The press of the bodies made me feel warm, but since there was a chill in the air, I didn’t mind so much. The smell, however, was not so pleasant. Being accustomed mainly to the aromas of the Maleovellis’ casa and Giaconda’s scent, I found the odour of so many unwashed bodies difficult to stomach. I wondered at how much I had changed in so short a time. Underneath it, I could smell the tang of the sea. I tried to see past the platform, beyond the lagoon and the masts that keened against the clouds. Out there was the Mariniquian Sea and all the places Baroque had told me about.

The bells in the campanile began to toll. Their long, sonorous notes rang out over the piazza, forcing the crowd to complete stillness. An insolent flock of pigeons swooped overhead, cooing and chirping, defying someone to break ranks and shoo them away. They alighted in the eaves of the palazzo, twisting their pretty heads to study the human assembly.

The last note of the bells lingered, taken over by the steady slap of water breaking against the fondamenta. A gust of wind almost blew my hood off; I caught it just in time. As I lowered my hand, the crowd stirred. Behind me, there was a flourish of trumpets. We raised our chins to watch the Doge appear on the balcony. Swathed in his gold robe and cone-shaped hat, the corno ducale, he looked more like a frail old nonno than he did a ruler. Beside him was a small elderly woman – the Dogeressa. Drowned by her dark cape and a sea of servants who quickly surrounded her, I caught only a glimpse. Dwarfing both the Doge and the Dogeressa was another man. Dressed in scarlet like a senator, but with a high cap bordered with gold, he had a pale, lean face. His eyes swept the crowd. A huge golden crucifix encrusted with jewels hung around his neck. So, this was the Cardinale. The man who built a reputation on hunting Estrattore. I imagined his arm unfurling from within his wide sleeves to point me out among the thousands, demand my arrest.

Movement to my right drew everyone’s focus. Pushing their way through the crowd, which quickly opened a space to admit them, came over a dozen hooded men, climbing the rough-hewn stairs on either side of the podium. Their black togati swept their ankles, their hoods bobbed loosely about their heads, the slits for their eyes opening and closing with each step. I wondered if this was a new fashion, an extreme mask, until I saw what two of them carried.

One of the men had a huge, thick-bladed sword. He raised it when he reached the top of the dais. It gleamed in the grey light, its blade smooth and sharp. At the same time, another man dropped a large chunk of wood, slightly curved on top, in the centre of the platform. In front of that, he put down a crudely woven wicker basket.

The people before us moved back as the basket hit the stage. They didn’t stop, despite the murmurs of protest, until there was at least three feet between them and the platform. I almost tripped as I was forced to retreat. The man who had brought the wood laughed. It was a grim sound, muffled beneath the fabric of his hood. I noticed a small piece of embroidery on the shoulder of his togati – a rope twined around a crossed sword and axe.

In a flash, I knew who these men were: they were part of the Guild of Death – Scuola Morte. What was going on? I began to extract from the stones beneath my feet.

Excruciating pain, excitement tinged with bitterness, fear, terrible secrets, lust, unhinged thoughts and righteousness overwhelmed me as I naïvely absorbed the emotions of thousands of people, past and present. My knees began to buckle.

By God! My eyes flew to the platform. I knew what was happening. It had happened thousands of times over the centuries. The fondamenta harboured its memories – of that deadly contraption and many other stories. I had simply caught a glimpse and nearly lost myself.

‘Stop that immediately!’ hissed Giaconda, grabbing my arm and holding me upright. ‘That’s precisely what the Cardinale is looking for! You will give yourself away.’

I had been brought here not to be indulged, as I’d so stupidly thought, but to witness an execution. Why? I glanced at Giaconda and then Signor Maleovelli. But their faces revealed nothing as they stared ahead.

Giaconda let me go. ‘Control yourself.’

I did.

After what seemed like an age, there was a commotion under one of the arches in the Doge’s palazzo. Again the crowd roused, and people were pushed and stumbled into one another. A file of soldiers forced their way through, their spears glinting above people’s heads. In their midst was a prisoner.

The soldiers reached the platform and, using their weapons, prodded the criminal. A member of the Council of Ten followed.

The prisoner was brought to the edge of the rostrum and made to face the crowd. I could smell him from where I was. He was filthy. What had once been clothes were now rags, covered in blood and excrement. The wounds of his torture wept, turning his flesh into one giant canker. His hair was matted and glued with bodily fluids. He was tall and skeletally thin and he looked very old. I felt a wave of sympathy for this poor man and wondered what he’d done that his life should end in such a way. Where were his family? How did they feel?

His head was bowed into his chest as if ashamed to face not only his accusers, but also his fellow popolani.

My knees began to quiver and my heart to thunder.

The member of the Council, some nobile, let the crowd study the prisoner for a moment before, with a glance towards the balconette and a signal from the Doge, he stepped forward and unfurled a piece of parchment.

‘This man is condemned, before his Doge, the Church, his fellow citizens and, above all, before God as a heretic.’ His voice was loud and deep. ‘He has consorted with enemies of the Republic and has thus forfeited his life. After all, a dead man makes no war.’

If I had thought it quiet before, it did not compare to the utter paralysis now. It was like one of those black hoods, covering us all. I could hear my pulse sounding in my ears getting faster and faster, louder and louder. I looked up at Giaconda. Her eyes were glittering beneath the veil. A thin smile turned her lips. Signor Maleovelli just stood.

The nobile turned to the criminal. ‘You may say your last prayers.’

The prisoner gave the barest of nods and then in a clear, melodic voice, faced us and sang the prayer that I would often hear on a Sunday morning as I’d lolled about the rooftop in the Candlemakers Quartiere – the ‘Salve Regina’. A hymn to the Queen of Heaven, Mother Mary.

‘Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiae …’ began the prisoner.

I knew that voice. I began to pull at the laces against my throat, gasping for air. My head spun. No. This could not be happening. I stared through my mask, hoping that what I suspected was not true.

But beneath the filth and injuries, even more apparent now as the old man tilted his head proudly and sang forth, I recognised those dark eyes, the proud bearing, the firm chin. His grandson had them too.

The man about to die was Dante’s grandfather, Renzo Macelleria. The man who had welcomed me into his home. Who had shown me nothing but kindness and compassion. The man I saved from consumption and the Morto Assiderato. I threw back my head as the light around me narrowed into a pinpoint of darkness.

‘Oh, no you don’t,’ hissed a voice in my ear and I felt hands grab my elbows and hold me upright. Fingers pressed into my flesh so hard I nearly cried out. ‘You will watch this, Tarlo, and you will learn,’ spat Giaconda. ‘Here begineth your lesson.’

I wanted to screw my eyes shut, to retreat into the blackness swamping my mind, but I couldn’t. The Maleovellis gripped me so tightly, I was compelled to watch. To watch the dear man who had given me succour, as brief a time as it was, die a brutal death.

The words of the nobile suddenly became clear. I was the enemy of the Republic that this man had consorted with. He was being put to death because of me.

And Giaconda and Signor Maleovelli knew. They’d brought me here to witness this, to teach me a lesson … but what lesson? They were consorting with me as well – this could be their fate if they were caught! Why were they risking this?

I wanted to scream, to fight my way free of the crowd. To run and run and never come back. But I was trapped.

Renzo Macelleria finished his prayer and, without a murmur, knelt before the stump. His shirt was pulled away from his neck and the swordsman stepped forward, pushing Renzo’s head onto the block and twisting it to one side, away from the palazzo, away from the symbol of his country. The Republic that he was accused of betraying.

The executioner stood back and raised his weapon towards the sky. For what seemed like hours, he held it above his shoulder, frozen against the firmament, silver and grey, cold metal against soft, rolling clouds. I was transfixed. This was not real.

But it was.

Just before the sword fell, Renzo tilted his chin slightly and looked into the crowd. His eyes locked onto mine. I willed him to see through the mask, to know me, to understand how sorry I was. How I would never forgive myself for this.

With a swift rush of air and a heavy, wet thud, his head toppled into the basket. A fountain of blood rose into the air and then splattered all over the cobbles, spraying those in front of us and landing at my feet.

I began to extract. Feelings rushed into my body. Overwhelming sadness, resignation and a plea to … the gods! Not the God of the Patriarch, of the Church, but to the gods of the Estrattore! I could sense love, trust and a hope so strong … I tried to grasp hold of it, to distil it down to its core and thereby understand, but I was knocked from my feet as the crowd surged forward and a cheer rose. ‘Estrattore lover! Traitor!’ Missiles of fruit and vegetables exploded onto the stage, forcing Renzo’s executioner to jump backwards. The commotion hid the sobs that rose in my chest and exploded from my throat.

Swiftly, the Maleovellis grabbed me and propelled me forward, through the crowd, which was becoming noisier by the second, past the dais and onto the other side of Nobiles’ Rise, the fondamenta of the Grande Canal. Even in my distress, I recognised the gondola dipping on the waters.

Salzi leapt off the prow and ran towards us. Without a word, he scooped me into his arms. I was crying now. I didn’t care that I was thrown into the felze, or that Giaconda and Signor Maleovelli squeezed in with me, shutting the curtains, shoving my legs off the seat so they too could sit. I curled into a corner, sobbing.

Salzi pushed into the current, but we were well on our way home before anyone spoke.

‘Here, drink this,’ said Giaconda, thrusting a flask that I recalled from my last trip in this gondola into my hands.

‘I don’t want any,’ I said brokenly. I searched for my handkerchief and blew my nose in a very unladylike manner.

‘I was not asking you,’ said Giaconda ever so softly and slowly. ‘If you don’t drink some, Papa will hold you while I pour it down your throat.’

I stared at Giaconda for a moment before snatching it from her fingers and taking a gulp. It burned, but I felt my nerves settling.

I tried to glare at both of them, but their faces swam in my tears. ‘You knew who that was, didn’t you? You knew he was executed because of what he did. Because of me.’

‘Sì. Vero. We did.’ Giaconda removed her hat and veil and regarded me steadily. Signor Maleovelli eased back in the seat, giving away nothing. Giaconda lit a candle. Its dim light only added to the stuffiness of the interior.

‘Why? Why did you bring me there? Why did you make me watch? He was a good man, a kind man, and he died because of me.’ I hit my chest.

Giaconda blew out the spill and shoved it back in the tinder box. ‘Esatto, Tarlo. That’s the point. To teach you a lesson.’

Signor Maleovelli reached for his pipe.

‘Papa, please,’ said Giaconda, placing a hand on his arm. ‘Not in the felze. Do you want us to choke?’

Signor Maleovelli sighed and put the pipe back in his pocket. The ordinariness of their exchange infuriated me. Here they were worrying about some smoke, when a good man, a man I knew, had just been brutally killed. I balled my fists.

‘What lesson might that be, Signorina Maleovelli? Please enlighten me, because I can’t see the gesture as anything but cruel. If you knew, why didn’t you tell me? I would have been prepared. Maybe I could have stopped it.’ Even I realised how foolish that sounded. ‘Helped him in some way …’ I saw how unmoved they were by my statements. ‘I don’t understand why you dragged me there.’ I pointed through the curtains. ‘I don’t understand what you hoped to achieve.’ I hiccoughed as another bout of weeping threatened to steal my resolve to speak.

‘What you have learnt today is very important, Tarlo.’ Signor Maleovelli faced me as he spoke. ‘You have witnessed that what we’re involved in is a deadly game. Lives are at stake. We have to be very careful or more people will die. But Tarlo, we can protect you and others from that …’ He searched for the right word. ‘… barbarity. If you help us to power, you need never see anything like that again. Do you understand?’

‘But that’s not all.’ Giaconda shifted from her father’s side and sidled towards me. ‘There’s another lesson to be taken from this, Tarlo.’

I waited.

‘Just as Renzo Macelleria paid the ultimate price for breaking the rules, so too today’s trip outside the casa serves as a form of punishment for you. We knew seeing the old man die would be … difficult for you.’

‘Difficult?’ I spluttered. ‘That was beyond difficult.’ I took a few deep breaths. I needed to master myself. ‘Why am I being punished? What have I done that …’ I stopped. My hand flew to my mouth. I knew exactly to what Giaconda was referring.

‘You were told very clearly never to extract from us, Tarlo, never to touch us in the way that your kind do.’

‘B– but I haven’t.’ I pulled the skirt of my dress around my legs so it did not touch Giaconda’s. ‘I know you forbid that.’ Colour flew to my cheeks.

‘Really?’ said Giaconda. ‘Well what do you call spying on us?’

Words froze in my throat.

‘You eavesdropped on our dinner last night; on the conversation we had with our guests. It amounts to the same thing as extracting. You wilfully broke our rules.’

My head reeled. Hafeza had told Giaconda after all. She’d betrayed me. First, the shock of Renzo, and now this. Grief became something solid in my chest. I pressed my face into my hands.

‘When you eavesdrop, you learn things about us that we’re not ready to share. Do it again, and I swear, someone else you care about will die.’

I lifted my head. Tears streaked my face. ‘What do you mean? Is that a threat?’

‘It’s no threat, you silly girl! The Cardinale is offering generous rewards and clemency for information about those who would hide an Estrattore. All it would take is one name from us …’

Pillar? They would give him Pillar.

‘After all, we have a whole quartiere from which to choose.’

I glared at Giaconda darkly.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Estrattore. I don’t understand why you would do this to us. We are not your enemy. What more do we have to do to prove that to you?’ She waved her hand so it included my clothing, the gondola, her father and finally, herself. ‘You don’t scare me. But what I am saying to you should terrify you to your very marrow.’

I slumped back against the wall of the felze. I didn’t want to admit it, but her threats did frighten me.

Taking me unawares, she threw back her head and laughed. ‘Such a heavy conversation; such a heavy day. We need to put this behind us. We need to look to what we can achieve, what we can change, do we not, Papa?’

‘Indeed we do, cara mia.’

Giaconda clapped her hands together. ‘Bene, bene.’

Signor Maleovelli excused himself and, taking his pipe out of his pocket, joined Salzi outside. Smoke soon drifted into the felze. Giaconda reached over and pulled the curtains tightly across. Sitting back down, she rearranged herself in the seat until she was facing me. ‘Tarlo,’ she began, the harshness of her earlier tone softened, ‘I know I must seem so hard to you –’ she delicately pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear – ‘but it is the only way to survive in this world. I’m a courtesan: I share my feelings, my heart, with no-one. I cannot afford to. Neither, my dear, can you.’ She traced my tears with a gloved hand. ‘You are an Estrattore – your whole being is created to feel – to understand emotions and enhance or weaken them. But Estrattore can also suppress them.’ She sat back in the seat. ‘Do you know what Jacopo told me he’d read?’

I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Her sudden kindness unnerved me. It made me want to cry more.

‘He told me that in the past, Estrattore would often help grieving families by taking away their sadness; or that they would help a love-struck youth forget the object of his love. It’s in their scope to stifle emotions as much as it is to extract and distil them.’ She leaned forward. ‘You need to do this for yourself – cut off your emotions. Make them disappear. Act as if nothing affects you. If you don’t, then you will be lost.’ She opened the window in the felze and stared out at the passing casas. ‘We’ll all be lost.’

I followed the direction of her gaze. Through the rain, which had started to fall again, all I could see was the patterns of mould and mildew that grew along the casas rising from the waterline. Grim, it formed a stark contrast to the colourful render. It occurred to me that my choice was like that. I could either be lost in a mire of emotions and sink into a pool of despair, or embrace the colourful life being offered to me and rise above it.

I became aware that Giaconda was studying me.

‘When we reach the casa, you are to remain in your room for the rest of the day. Papa, Jacopo and I have arrangements to make on the basis of the agreement we formed with the Moronisinis last night. We need Baroque as well,’ she added, her face a grimace. ‘I will have Hafeza bring food. I want you to think on what you saw today and what Papa and I have said. Then, tomorrow, your lessons will continue. Only from hereon in, I want to see more of Tarlo Maleovelli and less of Tallow Pelleta the candlemaker. Am I clear? We need to pick up our pace, Tarlo. Things are afoot; we have to be ready to act. Capisce?’

I nodded. My head was spinning.

‘Now that this unpleasantness with the old chandler is over, the celebration to welcome the new ambassador can go ahead and, when it does, we will use the opportunity to present you to the world.’

I barely heard her next words.

‘You had better be ready, Tarlo.’

Behind my mask, my eyes throbbed. Emotions I had never experienced before burned in my chest and rose in my mouth. ‘Sì, Signorina,’ I said, nodding to her. ‘It will all be as you desire.’

Giaconda tipped her head in response, her lips pouting just a tiny bit as they did when she was pleased. ‘Molto bene.’

The sip I’d taken from the flask was beginning to have an effect. I wanted to drink more, to rush myself into oblivion. Despite my outward composure, my insides were being eaten away. Renzo, oh God! Another Macelleria dead because of me. Forgive me, please, forgive me. I sent my thoughts spiralling to the world in which I hoped Renzo now rested.

And Hafeza. I’d foolishly thought we had a bond – that we shared something as outsiders in the Maleovellis’ household. But Hafeza was one of them. I couldn’t trust her. I couldn’t trust anyone. Baroque was right. I needed to grow up. My future, the future of my old friends and of my people and even Serenissima should the Maleovellis be successful, depended on it.

When we reached the casa, I went straight to my room, shut my door and fell into bed. I stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, reliving every word, everything I’d seen and felt. Hafeza came and went. I ignored her. I had nothing to say.

After she left the third time, I managed to nibble some bread, cheese and cold game. Climbing back under the covers, I watched the fire burn down. Outside, the rain lashed the window and the wind howled through the cracks. I imagined the world outside being washed clean, clean of today’s terrible death, of Renzo’s blood that had soaked the cobbles, of the pain of the Macelleria family who would not even have been allowed to bury him. Instead, like all traitors to the state, his body would have been dumped far out at sea.

Most of all, I imagined the rain carrying away all the connections to my old life, scouring me clean of past obligations and duty. I would do what Giaconda said. She was right – the Maleovellis were not my enemy and I could not treat them that way. But neither were they my friends. If I could use them in the same way that they were using me, I would. If that meant obeying them, then so be it.

Giaconda would have her wish. I would go to sleep as one person and tomorrow, I would wake up as a different one – Tarlo Maleovelli, the woman who would one day bring the Estrattore back and change the world.





WHEN I JOINED BAROQUE IN THE WORKSHOP the following day, I was subdued. As I pulled the apron over my head and tied it around my waist, he gently touched my arm. ‘I heard about Macelleria. Mi dispiace, Tarlo. I know that would have been hard for you.’ His eyes flicked to the upper storeys of the casa.

I bowed my head, fighting back the tears I felt welling.

‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ he said. I stared at him glassy-eyed.

‘I’m beginning to know how your mind works, that you would believe his death to be your fault.’ He gave me a gentle smile. ‘The Cardinale, he is a ruthless man. He had to punish someone. Unfortunately, Macelleria was his scapegoat. But Tarlo, you need to know, it’s not over yet. He won’t stop. There will be others, and some of them will be dear to you. You must be strong.’

‘Sì,’ I said, moving away so his hand fell. ‘And I must be quick. The sooner this ceases the better, and that means helping the Maleovellis. So, let’s get on with what we have to do. Enough talk.’

I stood before Baroque and clasped my hands. I had learnt my lessons well.

‘Sì, Signorina,’ he said, and bowed exaggeratedly. He shot me one last look of concern before he began to place the items we needed on the table. This time, Signor Maleovelli wanted candles that would engender feelings of generosity and sanguinity. More forthcoming than usual, Baroque whispered to me that Giaconda had a liaison with Nobile Pisano, one of the Council of Ten and a wealthy man who made his soldi importing spices from Marrakech.

‘No doubt the success of the Signor’s colleganza with Moronisini has prompted him to seek more such arrangements. A small investment on his part for large returns.’ Baroque lifted a handful of tapers onto the table. ‘The Moronisini colleganza is the talk of the city. Most think he’s mad throwing his lot in with Maleovelli.’ He held up a candle, examining it in the light filtering in the door. ‘In a sense, he isn’t in his right mind, but who knows, Maleovelli’s notion to send only two ships to the Contested Territories may just work. There are others watching this venture with great interest.’ He sighed and moved to his usual position on the other side of the table, closer to the fire. ‘This is a dangerous game we play, Tarlo. A very dangerous game. But then, as I have learnt over the years, it’s those with high stakes that are most worth playing.’

That was something I was learning too. Only sometimes, I thought, as the memory of Renzo refused to disappear, they are too high. I sighed. This was perilous – only not for me, not yet.

Baroque’s eyes were upon me as I picked up the candles.

‘Please, Baroque, can you pass me –’ I glanced at the variety of objects on the shelves, objects that were familiar to me. ‘That old Carnivale mask and …’ I searched for what might make someone act with unstinting generosity. It was not a common trait among Serenissians. Then I saw what I needed – a coin from a beggar’s bowl. Baroque passed the mask and coin to me.

I held them loosely in my fingers and began to extract, sorting through the emotions and sensations I found there, drawing what I needed into myself and distilling it into its purest and most virulent form. My body went hot as I held the mask, its colourful feathers tickling my wrist. I felt laughter begin to bubble inside me as I captured the joy and earthy delights of those who had worn it. The coin told a different story and in its dense composition I found many things, but it wasn’t until I felt the generosity of the padre who, torn between feeding those who relied on him in the orphanage and the plight of the sickly young street boy, gave his last soldi to the child. In his heart was such faith and love for fellow humans and a deep conviction that God would provide, and I drew on all this too. That the child later died before he was able to use the coin was something I stored for later. A chilling reminder that even kindness could not prevent the cruelty of life from striking.

When I’d finished, I sat on the stool, a mug of vino from Baroque’s own store in my hand. He packed the candles away carefully then, from under a piece of cloth, pulled out the plant that I had tried to fathom earlier – the belladonna.

‘Do you want to try again?’ he asked me.

‘Baroque, I don’t think I want to deal with any more death today,’ I sighed.

‘But it’s not for its deadly properties that I’m giving you this.’

‘What then?’

Baroque sat back down and with great care picked up the plant. It was quite dry now and brittle. The petals of its flowers had curled and some had dropped. ‘Once, a long time ago now, I had a woman –’ He chuckled at the expression on my face. ‘Oh, don’t look so surprised. I wasn’t so bad in my younger days and, even as a spy, I had some status.’

I tried to imagine him as a young man. The creases in his face vanished, the pouches beneath his eyes reduced and the gold teeth became creamy and whole. I suppose he wasn’t unattractive. Not handsome, but there was something. It was his eyes that I liked best. Grey, bright and sharp. I wondered what sort of woman she’d been.

As if sensing my thoughts, he moved out of my reach. ‘No, you’re not going to do that!’ He shook a finger at me.

I frowned and sat up straight. I wouldn’t have dared put my hands upon him and was astonished he thought I would. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ I asked, to cover my confusion.

‘Well, Zonia, that was her name, Zonia Cucitta, she would use belladonna – not the way I was accustomed to employing it, of course, but as part of her toilette.’

My mouth dropped open. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Sì. Many women did. They would pound down the flower, the root – all parts – and turn it into a liquid then, they do the most strange thing of all. They would place drops of it in their eyes.’

‘Why?’

‘In order to enlarge the pupil – to make their eyes brighter and more shiny.’ He put the plant back down carefully. ‘It got me thinking –’

‘That perhaps I could use it in the same way.’

‘Esatto,’ he said, pleased. ‘What do you think?’

By way of an answer, I reached for the belladonna again. Its swollen buds resembled the sky before a storm. Locked within them was something equally dangerous and wonderful. I would know what that was.

Baroque remained still.

I pressed the flower of the belladonna between my fingers. Viscous ooze escaped and stuck to my fingertips. My pulse quickened. Baroque was right. There was something there. A property that, if used in just the right way …

Abandoning my earlier caution, I tore the plant apart, dropping it into the enormous wooden mortar ready for grinding. I’d cleaned the vessel thoroughly yesterday, but even so, I could detect traces of feverfew and beyond that, the original ash tree from which the mortar had been carved.

I pounded furiously for a few seconds before being overtaken by the sensations running up and down my arm, the icy tingle along my spine. I was repulsed by what I sensed – a desperate longing within the plant itself to be released, to sigh into an unsuspecting system and weave its spell. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and kept grinding.

After five minutes, I became aware of two things: firstly, that my shoulder was aching with almost unbearable intensity and secondly, that Baroque was standing beside me, peering into the smooth velvet potion I had created.

‘What do you feel?’

I put down the pestle carefully and cupped my hands around the bowl of the mortar and shut my eyes. This time I didn’t hesitate, but dived into the sensations emanating from the vessel.

Waves of relaxation swept over me, making the tension fall from my body. The tightness in my shoulder eased. I searched further, allowing the essence of what I’d mixed to mingle with my system. My skin began to grow cold and my eyes to burn. I screwed them shut as tears fought to escape. I wanted to focus on the contents of the bowl. Broken images of women, laughter and huge, glistening pupils spun behind my eyes.

‘Stop!’ cried Baroque and snatched the mortar out of my hands, dumping it on the bench with a thud. Some of the liquid splashed onto the surface. Baroque jumped out of the way.

‘What? What is it? I asked, my eyes flying open and the tears I’d been withholding pouring down my cheeks. I couldn’t see properly. ‘Oh, my eyes are stinging!’ The candlelight, the dimness and Baroque’s face were all blended. I went to wipe the back of sleeve across my face and then remembered my handkerchief. I dabbed at my cheeks and eyes.

‘You’ve gone deathly white.’ He examined me intently. ‘By God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Tallow!’ He sometimes used my old name when he was excited. ‘Your eyes.’

‘What do you –?’ I began, but he dragged me out into the courtyard and over to where the light was the strongest. His earlier tenderness with me forgotten, he took my chin in his hand, forcing me to look up into the light.

‘What? What is it?’ I was scared, blinking rapidly to alleviate the burning, wanting to screw up my eyes, shut them against the sunlight, but I wanted to know what was wrong more.

Baroque let go of my face and began to laugh. He slapped his thighs. ‘Sì, sì, sì!’ He did an awkward dance around me, looking like a jester at Carnivale.

I began to smile. ‘Did it work? What is it?’ I pressed my fingers gently against my eyelids. The pain was subsiding.

He pulled me over to the well and made me wait while he lowered the bucket and filled it, heaving it to the top. He unhooked it, water sloshing over the sides, and banged it on the ground, losing even more on the cobblestones. ‘Look for yourself,’ he ordered.

I shook my head at him and bent over obediently. At first the water fractured my face into hundreds of wavering lines. But gradually, it stilled. I stared into the depths and what I saw took my breath away. ‘I did it!’ I fell to my knees, my hands gripping the edges, and looked at what I had done.

In the centre of my silver eyes, two huge black discs had formed – pupils. The silver had fled to the edges, looking almost grey against the onyx in the middle. I could not believe the transformation. Why, I looked almost normal.

Baroque clapped his hands together.

‘What has given you cause for so much … joy?’ Giaconda’s voice cut over Baroque’s as she appeared at the top of the stairs. Holding the railing, she began to descend. Close behind her was Hafeza. Jacopo appeared as well. Seconds later, Signor Maleovelli emerged from the ground-floor offices, followed by the ever-present Salzi.

‘What’s all this commotion about?’ asked Signor Maleovelli calmly, tapping his way across the cobbles, stopping only when he was inches from where I knelt.

Giaconda and Jacopo flanked him while Salzi and Hafeza remained in the background. Only Jacopo revealed his curiosity; he was doing his usual hand-wringing and his tongue moistened his lips. They stood around me, blocking the light.

‘Look at what she’s done,’ said Baroque, his hand gesturing to my face.

I slowly raised my head.

‘My God!’ Jacopo stepped backwards, colliding with Hafeza. In one graceful movement, Giaconda knelt down and took my chin in her hands, her nails digging into my flesh. She twisted my face first one way, then the other, peering deeply into my eyes. For just a moment, I was reminded of Quinn and winced. She softened her hold. She stared and then turned to her father, allowing him to see for himself. ‘Papa, look.’

Signor Maleovelli studied my face and then smiled. ‘Bene. Molto bene. Is the change permanent? Does it affect her abilities?’ He fired the questions at Baroque.

‘I don’t know, Signor. It’s only just happened.’ Baroque spoke in a measured way. I could hear the amusement in his tone.

‘I don’t think it’s permanent,’ I said softly. The stinging had almost stopped. I blinked a few more times. Giaconda grabbed hold of my face again.

‘No, her eyes are changing back.’ Her disappointment was palpable.

‘If she can do it once, she can do it again.’ Signor Maleovelli nudged me with his cane. ‘Your talent?’

‘I … I can still use it.’

‘Bene. Now, all you need to do is experiment with whatever it was you did until you can disguise your eyes for a much longer period.’

‘It was belladonna.’

‘Ah,’ Giaconda smiled. ‘Of course. How appropriate,’ she murmured, but didn’t elaborate. I didn’t know what else to say.

Signor Maleovelli flicked his fingers towards Baroque. ‘Well done, Scarpoli.’ Without another word, he turned and limped back inside the casa, Salzi in tow.

Giaconda let go of me and rose to her feet. ‘Tarlo, do not kneel on the ground like a peasant. Remember whose name you now carry.’

I tried to stand up with as much elegance as I could muster, almost twisting my ankle on the zoccoli. ‘Sì, Signorina Giaconda. Mi dispiace,’ I said, dropping into a curtsy.

‘The candles Papa asked for, are they ready?’

‘They’re ready, Signorina,’ said Baroque.

Giaconda gave us one last look before making a noise of approval. She took Jacopo’s proffered arm and sauntered back inside, as if nothing momentous had just occurred. Hafeza, after a shy smile, followed. I turned away from her.

Baroque waited till they were all out of sight. ‘What has Hafeza done to deserve such a look from you?’

I brushed down my apron. ‘Turns out you were right. I can’t trust anyone.’

‘I see,’ said Baroque thoughtfully. Then he changed the subject. ‘I knew if you delved deeply enough, you would find the means to effect your disguise! Belladonna.’ He started to usher me back in the workshop. ‘Come on. We’ll work on quantities and determine how much you can take. I am not going to have you ruin your eyes, no matter what the Maleovellis say.’ He disappeared through the door, muttering away.

I paused and peered into the bucket again. I blinked. The colour had almost fled but for just a brief few minutes I’d possessed a pair of eyes from which people would not turn in fear or disgust. Dark like the night sky, they’d reminded me of someone else’s, someone who had once stared at me with such love and devotion; not in the calculated way that the Maleovellis just had, or as Baroque was wont to. I shook myself. This would not do. I fixed a smile to my face and tilted my head. In the doorway, Baroque waited.

‘When you’re ready, Signorina,’ he said drolly.

‘Sì. Vero. It’s true,’ I said, more to myself than Baroque as I passed him. ‘This will change more than my eyes. I think if I use the potion directly, drop it into my eyes as your lady would, instead of extracting, it will last longer. I will try that.’ My voice was confident, but my insides were quivering like the houses Jacopo made from cards. With practice, I could, if I was careful, enter the world of Serenissima.

The puzzle of what to do about my eyes had been all that was ever going to prevent me from being seen in public; it was all that had been holding back the Maleovellis’ grand plans. Now that obstacle was all but removed.

Baroque had been right: even something that on the surface seemed evil contained some good. Another lesson learnt.

Not only had I solved a very serious problem, I had unwittingly engineered the next step in my education.





DANTE WIPED THE SWEAT FROM HIS BROW and adjusted his stance. He lifted his sword in challenge. ‘Again,’ he demanded. ‘I want satisfaction.’

Alessandro bent over, hands gripping his knees, his blade lying at his feet. ‘No.’ he panted. ‘I surrender. I don’t know how you came up with that manoeuvre, but you’ve bested me once more.’

‘Alessandro,’ reasoned Dante, ‘you can’t surrender. I haven’t drawn blood.’

‘Not this time.’ Alessandro scooped his sword off the ground and wiped his hand across his brow. Dark streaks marked his forehead. ‘But you’ve still managed to shred my shirt.’ He held it away from his body and groaned. ‘Are you sure you never learnt to fence in Serenissima?’

‘You keep asking me that!’ laughed Dante and, with practised smoothness, sheathed his sword. He ran towards Alessandro, giving him a friendly slap on the back. ‘I tell you, I never lifted a sword until I came here. I was a chandler … and not a very good one. You just don’t like the idea that you’ve had hundreds of years to practise and a novice beats you.’

‘I wouldn’t describe you as a novice, Dante, not anymore,’ said Alessandro stiffly, but the twinkle in his eyes belied his apparent offence. His eyes followed Dante as the young Rider strode to one of the numerous ponds that dotted the landscape. Kneeling at the edge, he unlaced his shirt and pulled it over his head. He dipped his face into the water and threw handfuls over his chest. The water flattened his dark hair and trickled over his torso and arms. Alessandro noticed how sinewy Dante was becoming; his daily workouts with the sword and general hand-to-hand fighting with daggers and a battle-axe were changing him. While his skin had taken on the hue of the Limen, it lacked the sickly pallor that defined so many of the Riders. His shoulders had filled out, his back had hardened and his muscles were becoming more pronounced. The scars that marked his body were also healing nicely, even the large puckered one across his palm, the one Katina had given him.

Alessandro couldn’t help the stab of betrayal that pierced him every time he thought about what she’d done, how she’d deliberately concealed her plans. He knew it was to protect him and Debora. But he’d thought their relationship was different, that they shared everything. He should have known better. Once the possibility of a Bond being fulfilled is realised, a Rider is subsumed. Everything else, even lovers, become secondary.

Watching Dante revelling in the water, unaware of the looks of admiration and envy he attracted, he knew the young man had a role to play yet. What he feared most was that it might be all too brief. So much rode on what the Council would decide. That they entrusted Dante’s care to Alessandro and Debora and that Elder Dandolo himself had ordered Dante be trained was a positive sign, surely? Elder Maggiore had taken a particular interest in how Dante was being instructed, which also struck Alessandro as unusual.

Alessandro wasn’t sure of anything anymore. All that had been solid was now as ephemeral as the mist that defined their existence.

‘How was the session?’ Debora emerged out of the shifting veils of fog and joined Alessandro, giving him a kiss before pulling at his shirt. ‘You don’t need to answer, I can tell. Another one ruined. It will take you ages to stitch this back together.’

Dante waved to her and ducked his head in the water again.

‘He’s very good,’ said Alessandro quietly, though his heart lightened to have one of his partners there. ‘I would swear he’s done this before.’

‘I know.’ Debora looked over towards their charge. ‘It’s like he’s born to this life. His body has adjusted faster than anyone’s I have ever seen. Even his horse skills – it usually takes weeks for a Rider and horse to properly bond. With Dante and Argento, it was merely hours.’

‘And he was so anxious, after what happened on the ponticello back in Serenissima.’

‘Until he saw her.’

A slender silver mare broke away from the grazing herd and trotted over to where Dante knelt by the pond. She nudged him until he stood up and wrapped his arms around her neck and scratched her ears. They saw him slap her powerful flanks, running his hands over her smooth coat.

‘He named her for the Estrattore.’

‘How could he not, with that silver colour? She practically glows in the mist.’

‘Do you think it’s something to do with the Obbligare Doppio? That somehow, he’s absorbed Katina’s skills when they shared a Bond?’

Debora shrugged. ‘Who knows? That’s what the others are saying.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘They’re jealous, you know. Of what he can do – of how easily he’s adapted.’

Alessandro followed the direction of her gaze. Clusters of Bond Riders cleaning weapons or grooming horses could be seen through the haze. Their tents rose like a swelling ocean. A few were turned to observe Dante. When they caught Debora and Alessandro looking at them, they hurriedly returned to their tasks. ‘Aren’t we all?’ said Alessandro wistfully.

The thunder of hooves broke the relative calm. Alessandro and Debora spun round. Dante was immediately alert, his hand moving over the pommel of his weapon. Bursting through the trees came a mounted Rider. He pulled at the reins, the horse skidding to a halt sending detritus into the air.

‘We’re summoned to the palazzo,’ he cried. ‘The trial of the traitor begins.’ The Rider wheeled his horse and disappeared through the trees, the fog swallowing him in seconds. His voice carried as he made the same announcement over and over, mustering Riders to the Council of Elders.

Alessandro and Debora exchanged a long look.

‘They’re calling her “traitor” openly now,’ said Alessandro grimly.

‘It’s as if they’ve already condemned her,’ agreed Debora.

Dante pulled his shirt back over his head and joined them, Argento in tow. ‘They’ve made a decision then, have they?’ His great black eyes sparkled.

‘Sì,’ whispered Debora. She reached for Alessandro, twining her fingers around his.

Dante nodded gloomily. A rough hand gripped his shoulder.

‘Prepare yourself, Dante’ said Alessandro. ‘For it’s not only Katina’s fate that’s about to be decided.’

Dante fell silent. His eyes grew distant.

‘Come on,’ said Debora, aware the other Riders were on the move. ‘Let’s get to the palazzo. Katina needs us now more than ever, no matter what the outcome.’





DANTE SQUEEZED BETWEEN ALESSANDRO and Debora, sitting on one of the crude benches that lined the cave walls. As the brown-garbed Bond Riders filed past him, jostling for a seat, he was astonished at how many people there were. Looking around, he saw well over five hundred men and women grabbing chairs and stools and facing the long, stone table behind which sat ten sombre-faced men and women. Eight for each of the casas on Nobiles’ Rise and two extra to mirror the Council of Ten back in Serenissima. Bond Riders might eschew the titles that Serenissians so enjoyed – the hierarchy that ordained daily living – and pretend that bloodlines didn’t matter, but that didn’t stop them replicating it. Life in the Limen was governed by many rules, by petty power struggles and, he thought as he looked around, complex sexual ones as well.

Most of the Riders cast virulent looks in his direction. Of those he’d encountered, none had spoken to him with the exception of Cristoforo – only he hadn’t seen him since the first day. Jealous lest he upset an existing arrangement or longstanding relationship, most ignored him, grateful the responsibility for his well-being and training had fallen to Debora and Alessandro. But whereas the Bond Riders had mostly been indifferent to him, Santo and Stefano had not. They didn’t talk to or threaten him again – not with words, not when they could do it with their eyes. So often he felt their gaze, boring holes of hatred into him.

As if conjured by his thoughts, Cristoforo appeared, a female Bond Rider in tow. He looked around and saw Dante, giving him the briefest of nods. The woman shot him a baleful look and whispered something to Cristoforo, who nodded and covered her hand with his own. They seated themselves next to a couple who smiled warmly at them and faced the front.

Dante resisted the urge to sigh. For the first time in his life, he’d found a place where he was at ease with his choices, deft with the skills he was learning. Only, the community didn’t want him. He studied the render burns on his arms – remnants of his old life, marks of experience or of failure. Back in Serenissima, he was a member of a large family, a trade and a tradition. Apart from his family, it had meant nothing to him. He’d hated being a chandler. Here, despite the coldness of the Riders, he felt he had found his place. This new life and his Bond consumed him – he didn’t care what the others thought. It made no difference to his pledge.

Pulsing away, deep inside him, was not only his link to Katina, a vague awareness of her presence, her state of mind – which was surprisingly calm – but of Tallow. With every breath he took, every movement he made, every sigh and heartbeat, was Tallow. She burned deep inside him like an unfulfilled urge.

That was another reason the Riders didn’t speak to him. He had not only rendered their Bonds void until his and Katina’s were fulfilled, but he was not like them. He could discuss his Bond – with Katina. They shared not only this life, but their mutual pledge and that, he gleaned from hints that Debora and Alessandro dropped, kept it strong and meaningful. He’d been in this strange, complex world long enough to recognise how important sharing was. Bonds separated and individualised Riders, but love and sex gave them a chance to reconnect. And reconnect they did. Even now, as they filed in, Dante could identify couples, threesomes, and more. Same sex, opposite; it didn’t matter in this world. God could not condemn a soul if the sinner didn’t possess one. But Dante couldn’t think of these people as sinners. Not now he was one of them.

The shuffling of feet and the scrape of benches gradually slowed as stragglers entered. The only light, apart from the weak one filtering through the yawning cave mouth, was provided by spluttering candles melting in their wall brackets and in holders on the main table. They smoked badly.

Moving his feet out of the way so a tall woman could pass, Dante caught sight of Santo. Unaware of Dante’s gaze, he sat with his legs outstretched and his ankles crossed, a barrier that people were forced to negotiate. Dante noted the way he pulled his hair off his face, the care that had gone into his grooming; his shirt opened just so, his boots shined to a high gloss. His face was the same washy colour as those who sat on either side, but his eyes were cold and his chin weak. Scanning everyone who entered, he was clearly on the lookout for his partner. There was something about Santo that plucked at Dante’s memory. He knew Santo was young in Rider terms, that he’d crossed over only about thirty years earlier. He shouldn’t be familiar to him at all … and yet. Santo’s face lit up as another man appeared before him and he quickly drew his legs in and straightened his body with the eagerness of an apprentice welcoming a beloved master. Stefano squeezed into the small gap beside Santo, forcing the people already seated to rearrange themselves on either side. Their heads came together as they whispered, their eyes darting around them before they landed on Dante. Dante looked away, but not before he’d seen their triumphant smiles.

Finally, hundreds of faces were fixed on the older group behind the table. ‘Are they the Elders?’ whispered Dante. His last word was captured and bounced off the walls – Elders? Elders? Elders? – his intonation casting a question over their authority.

Dante held his breath. A trickle of sweat carved a passage between his shoulder blades. Already, the air was growing warm, close.

Alessandro pressed his lips against Dante’s ear. ‘Sì. They’re our Elders, like the Doge’s Council in Serenissima, they’ve kept peace and order here in the Limen ever since the Bond Riders came into being.’ Alessandro glanced around then continued. ‘Here, we’re all senators – whether we’re from a nobile line or not. We all have a say – we’re all kept informed. In the Limen it’s what the popolani think – what we think that counts.’

Before Dante could challenge this, a shadow filled the cave entrance and, as one, the crowd stood as a thin, ancient man dressed in a gold togati, draped with an ermine cloak and wearing a cone-shaped hat appeared. For just a moment, Dante thought the Doge had left Serenissima and entered the Limen. His heart caught in his throat.

The old man moved behind the table and took the central seat. As he sat, the other Elders took their places and the Bond Riders, after a suitable interval, followed suit.

‘Bring in Katina Maggiore,’ said the man. His voice was clear and deep.

From a recess in the cave that Dante hadn’t noticed before came two guards. Between them walked Katina. Debora drew her breath in sharply and Alessandro stiffened. Dante wished he hadn’t sat between them, but it was too late to move.

Neatly groomed with a clean shirt and leggings, Katina looked refreshed. Age appeared to have sloughed away from her. Dante had met her only once, but he’d remembered her as older. Not this tall, relatively unlined woman who stood before the Council. She hadn’t been languishing in a cell as he’d imagined.

‘She looks good. They must have been feeding her.’ Debora’s lips barely moved.

Alessandro gave the barest of nods.

As Dante understood it, only the sick were fed. Food and drink functioned like restoratives. The air of the Limen was enough. If they were providing Katina with nourishment, surely that was a good sign – it meant they cared about her well-being. That would explain the lilt in Debora’s tone.

Katina crossed the floor, her head held high. All eyes were upon her yet she glanced straight at Dante, picked him out of the crowd. His heart responded. He felt her, felt the strain beneath the outward show of composure. She gave him the barest of nods. He returned it.

Debora and Alessandro sat on the edge of the seat.

The guards brought her to a standstill in front of the wide stone table and left her, retreating to the entrance, their swords still drawn.

One of the Elders, the one who had ordered Katina’s capture when he first entered the Limen … Nicolotti? rustled some papers. He found what he was looking for and passed it to the Doge-like man.

After scanning the papers for a couple of minutes, the Elder in gold finally spoke.

‘Katina Maggiore.’ He raised deep-set eyes to hers. ‘You have been brought to the palazzo today to hear the judgement of the Council of Elders.’

‘Sì, Elder Dandolo. Grazie.’ Katina’s voice was low but firm.

The head Elder had the same name as the Doge.

‘This has not been easy, Katina. You have been a Bond Rider for over three hundred years. You’re one of our oldest, our finest and, furthermore, you’re linked to the prophecy.’

A dull murmur swept the room. Dante’s ears pricked up. Prophecy? He glanced at Debora and Alessandro, but their eyes were fixed on what was happening in front.

‘We’ve never had any reason to doubt your loyalty,’ continued Elder Nicolotti. ‘You have remained true to the Riders’ ways, obeyed all our laws. Until recently.’

Another round of muttering blew through the room.

‘While we can understand that not all the tasks to which we set our Riders will be successful, ‘continued Nicolotti, ‘your recent antics now cast your other, more recent failures in a different light. Was this fiasco a result of bad planning or unforeseen circumstances? Or was it deliberate?’

A candle spat. Someone coughed.

‘You will answer, Katina Maggiore.’

‘It was never deliberate, Elder Nicolotti. Never. Things happened that could not be predicted. We were forced to respond to the situation as events arose, to change our plans accordingly.’

Elder Nicolotti nodded grimly and turned to Elder Dandolo.

‘So, this changing of plans, Katina Maggiore –’ Elder Dandolo lowered the papers – ‘plans that were clear and agreed upon by all involved in your mission, meant breaking our laws, did they?’

‘All I can do is repeat what I said before: it was not preconceived; I did not set out to break them.’

‘Who did you discuss this with? Your partners?’ Elder Dandolo indicated Alessandro and Debora. ‘Your team?’ He gestured to where Santo and Stefano sat.

‘As I have explained, Elder Dandolo. No-one else was involved. I made the decision myself. I had very little time to act in case the chandler died. Despite what the Estrattore had done, he was not completely healed. Not at the time I was required to make a decision. I did what I thought was best. To me, it was the only viable solution.’

Nicolotti struck the table. Dante jumped. Dandolo shifted in his chair.

‘A solution that undermined our authority but brought you closer to fulfilling your Bond,’ he said darkly.

Katina lowered her head.

A female Elder leant over and whispered something to Elder Dandolo. He nodded.

‘You also forcibly pledged an unwilling subject –’

‘I … I don’t mind. Not now –’ began Dante. Debora clutched his knee and squeezed it hard, hushing him mid-sentence.

Elder Dandolo frowned. ‘You do not speak unless you are directly addressed, do you understand?’ His words hung like lead in the air. Dante almost bowed under their weight, shrinking back onto the bench.

‘Sì, your … your eminence. Mi dispiace.’

There was a quickly stifled laugh from the assembly.

Elder Dandolo held Dante’s eyes for a moment longer before resting his gaze upon Katina again.

‘Katina Maggiore, our laws are designed to keep us civil, to protect us, not only here within the Limen, but outside its borders. If we allowed every Rider to flout these, whether they believed it was for the best, or because of their Bond, then anarchy would erupt. Do you understand?’

‘Sì, Elder Dandolo.’

‘While what we ask you to do may not always make sense, it’s because we understand the bigger picture, the greater context. You do not. Therefore, your actions, while seeming to be harmless or helpful, often have the opposite effect.’ He paused to let the words sink in.

‘As a consequence, we cannot let this most serious transgression go unpunished.’

‘You have left us with no choice, Katina Maggiore, but to make an example of you.’ An Elder sitting at the end of the table with a shock of white hair and grey eyes spoke. His voice was so soft, so grave with sadness that Dante had to strain to hear. ‘We do this so everyone here today understands what it means to be a Bond Rider.’

Katina lifted her chin. ‘I understand, Elder Maggiore.’ She held his eyes for a beat longer than she had the others.

Dante looked from the Elder to Katina. They had the same surname. What was their relationship?

‘No longer can we be assured of your loyalty, Katina Maggiore,’ said Elder Nicolotti. ‘Not now that you have placed your own Bond above the welfare and Bonds of all other Riders. In renouncing your first Bond with an Obbligare Doppio, you have made us all beholden to you and to his young man.’ He indicated Dante. Dante tried to shrink as he felt all eyes swing towards him. ‘And to your mutual Bond.’

‘It is with great sorrow that we have reached a decision,’ said Elder Dandolo. ‘Elder Errizo, would you please stand and read the punishment? Dante Macelleria, you will come forward. Because of what Katina has done this is your punishment as well.’

Dante’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to stand. Debora and Alessandro helped him. His legs felt weak. Faces spun in his vision as he stepped over a space created in the bench in front and stumbled across the sandy floor to join Katina. He glanced at her, but her eyes were fixed on Elder Dandolo. She appeared so solid, so stalwart; he would not disappoint her by showing how nervous he was. He drew back his shoulders and stood erect.

Elder Errizo gathered his robes and came to his feet slowly. Shorter than the other Elders, he nonetheless wore his togati with aplomb, the faded red setting off his dark hair. With a sense of ceremony, he unrolled the yellow piece of parchment and held it in front of him. ‘Katina Maggiore, you are charged with breaking section four eight of the Code of the Bond Riders with the intent to gain personally. You are hereby banished from Settlement –’ There was a gasp. ‘And the Limen.’ Exclamations and cries escaped; there was a hum of anxiety as whispered words were exchanged. Elder Errizo waited until they’d all but stilled. ‘You are not to enter Settlement again until either your Bonds are fulfilled or you die trying.’

Dante didn’t understand what everyone was so upset about. This was a good outcome, wasn’t it? Katina wasn’t being put to death – he wasn’t being put to death. They were simply to return to Vista Mare – to Serenissima. That meant they could find Tallow, get her away from those who would cause her harm. He knew that somehow Tallow was the key to his Bond, to the one he shared with Katina. Best of all, when they’d done this, they could return. He knew he’d bring Tallow with him. They’d be together again after all.

‘There’s one more thing.’ No-one moved. ‘Your partners, Alessandro and Debora, are forbidden from joining you, from crossing the Limen until your sentence is carried out. You will bear this punishment with Dante Macelleria alone.’

There was a long wail from the back of the cave. The sound was eventually muffled. The Riders began muttering again; their voices rising and falling.

‘Silence!’ roared Elder Nicolotti, standing so quickly, the candle in front of him blew out. A finger of dark smoke curled its way towards the ceiling, dividing his face in two. He had to thump the table a few times before everyone finally stopped talking. During the commotion, Elder Errizo sat down and began rolling the parchment with great care.

‘Do you have anything to say for yourself, Katina Maggiore? Any last words?’ asked Elder Dandolo.

Katina looked from one Elder to the other, her eyes lingering on Elder Maggiore. ‘No, Elder Dandolo. I do not.’ There was a catch in her voice.

‘Bene. You have fourteen rests to get your affairs in order, to say your farewells, to prepare yourself, then you will leave. In that time, you will be provided with food and water. Is that understood?’

‘Sì, Elder Dandolo.’

Elder Dandolo indicated the other Elders should stand. They climbed to their feet and waited for Elder Dandolo to do the same. As one, they all bowed to the Bond Riders who stood and lowered their heads. The Elders turned and filed out from behind the table, passing through a dark opening and disappearing deep into the mountain.

Dante turned to Katina as soon as they’d left, questions tripping off his tongue. She shook her head. ‘Not now,’ she said between clenched teeth. Her eyes were glassy.

With barely a word or glance at Katina, the Bond Riders exited the cave, shaking their heads, holding hands, talking in fraught snatches. A movement in the corner caught Dante’s eye. Only Stefano and Santo remained stationary, the throng being forced to move around them. In the spaces between heads, they nodded towards Katina, their eyes cold, their mouths twisted in sneers. Katina bit her lip. Knowing she’d seen them, they turned and departed.

Debora and Alessandro waited till only the guards at the entrance remained. They jumped over the benches and ran to Katina, their arms held out. Debora was crying, tears streaming down her face. Katina fell into their embrace. They stood there for a long time, not talking or moving, but Dante could see Katina’s shoulders were shaking. He wanted to comfort her, to offer her something to make her feel better, but he knew he didn’t have the right.

‘Look, perhaps I don’t understand what happened, but isn’t that good? I mean, you have to leave here – yes – but only until your Bond, our Bond is fulfilled. That means you can come back – doesn’t it? It’s not goodbye! Why are you so sad?’

Katina slowly drew away from Alessandro and Debora. Pale, Alessandro pulled Debora against his chest. Her face was red and puffy; she sniffed loudly. Katina’s state was not much better. She shook her head at Dante, a sad smile on her lips. ‘You’re right – you don’t understand, Dante.’

‘Explain it to me then.’

Katina sighed, a long shuddering sigh that ended with a fresh bout of tears.

‘I’m such a fool. I thought, I dared to hope when they fed me, brought me water and vino, that I would be forgiven …’

‘Who brought you food?’ asked Alessandro quietly.

‘Elder Maggiore. I was so … grateful. It has helped me enormously. I thought …’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘I now know he knew what the outcome was. They all did. That’s why they waited so long to go to trial. They were giving me a chance, buying me time – not here in Settlement, but for when I am exiled out there.’ She nodded towards the cave mouth.

Dante swung round and stared. What did she mean? ‘Katina –?’ he began.

Alessandro started to answer, but Katina placed a finger against his lips. ‘Hush, my love, let me tell him.’ Alessandro bit back what he wanted to say. Debora began to sob. Alessandro drew her even closer, his hand pressed against the back of her head.

‘Come, let’s sit on the bench.’ Katina moved towards one of the wooden seats and patted a place next to her. Dante joined her, full of questions. He waited patiently for her to begin. Her eyes strayed miserably towards her partners and she almost lost her ability to speak. She shook her head and stared into space for a moment before beginning.

‘Dante, you heard yourself, in Serenissian terms, I am over three hundred years old. There are so many rumours and stories about Bond Riders floating around Vista Mare. Many are true, but most are not. Some think we’re immortal, that surrendering our souls to the pledge stones gives us eternal life – not in the Great Patriarch’s heaven, but here, on earth.’ She made a small sound that was meant to be a laugh but resembled a groan. ‘More like the Limbo that the padres speak of from their pulpits. The truth is, we don’t live forever. We live on borrowed time. Our lives are extended – but only while we remain in the Limen. Each time we return to Vista Mare, what we’ve been given catches up with us. Little by little, we age. The more often we cross the boundary, the quicker it overtakes us, until one day –’ She snapped her fingers. Dante started as the sound echoed in the cave. ‘Our lives end. It is quick. That’s why so many Riders don’t leave anymore; even once they have fulfilled their Bonds. There’s no point if the choice to go back to their old lives, to return to Serenissima, only means eternal death, death without a soul.’ She stood up and stretched her back, hands on hips.

‘Unlike some, I have moved in and out of the Limen over the years and, every time that I do, my body ages, taking back what the Limen gives to me.’

‘I don’t know – you look pretty good for a three-hundred-year-old.’

‘This isn’t funny, Dante. You see, once I leave the Limen forever, it won’t take long for my body to catch up to my chronological age.’

Dante stared at her. His mouth formed an ‘O’.

‘Oh, indeed.’

‘But you said food and drink made you better. Can’t we just make sure we eat and drink back in Serenissima?’

Katina gave a harsh bark. ‘Dante, Dante, Dante.’ She sat back down. ‘You really do have so much to learn. When Riders enter Vista Mare, our bodies become human again. We have to eat and drink to survive. It’s only in the Limen that we don’t require that kind of sustenance. Food and drink are used in emergencies only and then at the discretion of Elder Dandolo. It helps us heal, to prepare a Rider for a mission or, in my case, for exile. What they’ve given me, what Elder Maggiore pleaded with Elder Dandolo to provide me, has bought me some time.’

‘For a society that Serenissians believe flouts all conventions, you have so many.’

Alessandro and Debora joined them, sitting down heavily. ‘Today you witnessed how harsh some of those can be.’

‘It’s not fair –’ began Dante.

‘No, Dante. It is fair.’ Katina rested her hand over his. ‘Completely fair. I knew what I was doing.’

‘Then why did you do it?’

Alessandro stared at her. ‘Sì, why?’

‘You all know why.’

Alessandro looked away first.

Dante swallowed. He did know. It was because of Tallow. The air suddenly felt dry. His stomach churned. A chill entered his heart and began to spread. ‘How … how long do you have?’

Katina shrugged. ‘Days, weeks. I don’t know.’ Elder Maggiore has ensured I have longer than I would have otherwise.’

Dante traced a pattern in the wood of the bench, his mind racing. ‘So, I was wrong. The punishment isn’t good at all, is it?’

‘Not for me, no. For you, there’s still hope. Which is just as well, for there’s a great deal riding on what you have to do.’

Dante started to ask what she meant, but she grabbed his hand and squeezed it, shaking her head slightly.

‘Later,’ she mouthed. She continued in her normal tone. ‘You can come back here; reclaim your time. Our population is dwindling; they can’t afford to ignore the benefits of a young, hale Rider joining the ranks. For me it’s a different story. I doubt I’ll return.’ Her mouth began to quiver. ‘I doubt I have enough time to do what must be done …’

‘Amore mio,’ said Alessandro, reaching out and stroking Katina’s hair. ‘It’s worse than that. What our Elders have done is condemn you to hell.’

Katina’s eyes filled until they were brimming pools, the little silver flecks shining like glass. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. She grabbed Alessandro’s hand, wrapping her long fingers around it. She brought it to her lips and then rested her cheek against it. ‘Then it’s up to Dante to make sure that it takes a very long time for me to burn.’