Heart of Glass

17





When we arrive back at the gondola, Halim’s men have mysteriously reappeared. How could Halim possibly have gotten a message to them? But he ignores them and stoops to clean the drying blood from his forearm. This time, he doesn’t hold his hand out to help me, and one of the guards steadies me as I climb down. Halim has thrown himself back on the velvet seat, his hand to his chin. He is deep in thought, his eyes not seeing the waters of Venice that lie before him. I sit quietly by his side.

But as the boat moves out into the canal, he speaks.

“These happy times you were telling me about earlier. Do they involve a suitor?”

I’m startled by the line of questioning, so soon after we barely escaped with our lives.

“You want to talk about love and romance at a time like this?” The question’s out before I can stop it.

“Of course!” Halim says, sweeping an arm across the vista. “How could we not in a city as beautiful as this?”

I roll my eyes. “You can drop that act now. We can both stop pretending that we’re on a sightseeing tour. Those people tried to kill us!”

The Turkish prince folds his arms, the shot silk glistening. “That’s not quite true, Laura. Those men tried to kill me. You just got in the way.”

Is that supposed to make me feel small? As if I don’t count? Is he so full of self-importance that, that … “How do you know that?” I ask, ashamed at how high and squeaky my voice emerges.

Halim allows his gaze to travel down my body. It feels like a scorching bolt of lightning, and my arms move protectively around my waist. “How could anyone kill a creature as beautiful as you?” he murmurs. “Now, please answer my question. Lovers? Suitors? Would-be husbands? Will one hand be enough to count them?” He holds up a hand and pretends he’s about to list off my love interests.

I shake my head, more irritated than I know I should feel. “No one. There’s no one,” I say as we pass beneath a bridge. Thank goodness for the shadow covering my face. My cheeks flare with shame at my own lie. Why am I denying Roberto? Why don’t I tell Halim about my one true love? I fall into silence and reason with myself: Halim does not deserve to know my heart. And I do not wish to share Roberto’s current pain with anyone, much less a handsome prince who thinks he can charm the birds out of the trees. What Roberto and I share … it’s worth so much more than that.

I settle back against a cushion. Roberto gets out of jail today—even now, he may be soaping the dirt from his skin in water perfumed with oil, fresh towels waiting for him.

My darling, I think, and then I wonder if I spoke the word out loud, because Halim is staring at me.

“I think there may be someone,” he says, with a small nod.

Fortunately, the gondola is pulling into the port. Faruk waits there, still as a statue. His gaze bores into Halim as we climb out of the boat. He motions the prince to one side, whispering urgently. An emissary from the Grand Council in his official robes and flat hat stands by, his eyes dropped to the ground.

Halim strides over to me, his body language transformed. Gone are the smiles and warmth.

“I must go,” he announces. “Thank you for your time.”

I drop into a curtsy, stung by his dismissal. “I was only doing my duty,” I say, returning the insult. But Halim has already turned from me and is deep in conversation with the emissary, his hands gesticulating as he speaks. I can’t hear what they are saying and find myself standing alone, abandoned by prince and guards both.

At least my coach is still waiting for me. I climb inside as a church clock strikes the hour.

“To the palace,” I call up to the driver.

I don’t even look back at Halim as the coach pulls away.

My love is waiting for me.

Servants in uniform show me to the private apartments. The corridors and galleries seem endless, but finally I arrive at the doors to Roberto’s rooms. Two guards stand outside, each wearing a schiavona sword with a basket guard and double-edged blade. I approach them with my shoulders drawn back.

“Is Roberto here?” I ask.

The men exchange a glance.

“May I see him?” I ask.

“Who’s out there?” calls Roberto’s voice, faint from behind the doors.

My heart quickens. “It’s me—Laura!”

One of the soldiers sighs. “Go on inside, then,” he says.

I run between the guards and throw the doors open. Instantly, my smile fades. Roberto is sitting on the edge of the bed, stripped to the waist. His ribs are dark with bruises. The mark on his face has faded to a sickly yellow.

“Quite a sight, aren’t I?” he says. I walk to him, and he stands stiffly to enfold me in his arms. “Careful, now!” he says.

“They can’t treat you like this,” I say. “You’re the Doge’s son!”

“The rules in the Piombi are different,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I made the mistake of answering back.”

He presses his face into the folds of my dress. I wait, resting my fingers in locks of his hair. I can feel his chest moving with contained emotion. After a moment, he pulls away and smiles. “I hear you’ve been playing the tour guide.”

I blush deeply, and I’m not sure why. “It’s been a bore. I’ve been thinking only of you.”

Roberto kisses my lips, and in those few seconds, all is forgotten.

“I hear my father is playing the diplomat,” he says as we break apart.

I shake my head. “Never mind that. You’re out of that hellish place now. Soon, we’ll be able to prove your innocence.”

Roberto’s smile fades. He turns away from me to shrug on a shirt. “Do you think so?” he says. I can tell that he is listening carefully for what I say next.

“Of course!” I say. “In time, all Venice will know the truth.” I want to tell him that the Segreta are meeting, perhaps at this very moment—that there are people who can help. Instead, I pull him to me and press my lips against his throat. He kisses the tears from my eyelashes. I could happily stay right here forever, locked in our little room together.

A distant shout tears through our intimacy. A ragged voice of anger carries up the corridors. “Where is he?”

Roberto pulls away and stares at me. “What’s that?”

Before I can respond, he’s making for the doors. The shouts are close.

“You cannot enter these chambers!” one of the guards protests.

“Do not stand in my way!”

I clutch my hands to my chest, fear rolling over me. I know that voice.

“Halim,” I murmur. Why is he here?

“Who?” Roberto asks, turning to look at me. I don’t know how to respond. I don’t have to. The doors burst open, sending Roberto staggering back, and a figure appears in the room. Dark skin, darker eyes, hands clawed and face twisted with a fury I could never have imagined.

“You will pay!” Halim screams at Roberto. The veins stand out on his neck as the guards hold him back. “My sister’s blood stains your hands!”