Heart of Glass

36





I make my way back to the house and slip upstairs to hide in my room, picking up a half-finished piece of lace without much enthusiasm. How different are the two lives I lead.

We drafted the letter quickly, and Paulina has promised it will be delivered tomorrow. I urged her to be careful, but there was something so desperate about her this evening that I fear for her life.

Around ten o’clock, Faustina’s face appears in the doorway. She’s panting from climbing the stairs.

“Your father’s back,” she hisses, “and he has a guest with him. You’re expected to dine with your brother and his wife.”

I sigh and put down my lace. A guest—at this hour? “I’m not hungry,” I say.

“Your father insisted,” says Faustina.

She opens my closet and takes out a high-waisted mulberry velvet dress with ermine trim. I think about being stubborn, but I know this is a battle I can’t win. Besides, perhaps the guest is one of the Council. If he’s drunk, there may be information I can glean that could prove helpful to the Segreta.

Dressing quickly, I paint a smile on my face and rush downstairs.

But the moment I step into the room, the smile falls. I want to turn and run.

A man stands before me with a mouth of crooked teeth splitting into a grin. His shoulders are stooped, and his thin frame sags beneath clothes too large for him. Liver spots are scattered across his face like splotches of spilt ink.

Vincenzo.

“Good evening, Laura,” he says, flecks of spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. He gives a deep, mocking bow before straightening up again—or straightening up as much as his twisted body will allow. My father watches from a corner of the room, his eyes dark as coal. Emilia looks aghast and Lysander not a little troubled.

“I … I don’t understand. How—”

“How is it that I’m back in Venice?” he says. “Let’s just say that the injustices of the past have been rectified. The Council have recalled me.”

But only one man had the authority to recall an exile—the Doge—and he would never have done so. The pieces fall into place. “Massimo must have summoned you weeks ago,” I say. Which means the rebel faction must have been in contact for some time.

“Let’s say our Admiral is a man of vision,” says Vincenzo. “He knows my fleet is second to none. Venice needs her friends now.”

This at least is true. I wonder if Massimo has already shared details of the defective gunpowder with people he trusts. If war comes, then Venice requires all the ships and ammunition she can muster.

“I look forward to dining with old friends,” says Vincenzo. He grins at me, and though he’s no longer a threat, I struggle to feel anything other than revulsion for him.

“Welcome back,” I say, lowering my body in a curtsy. Father smiles, and I know I have done well by him. It makes my insides churn.

Vincenzo steps closer, his robes rustling as he moves. Clearly, exile from his homeland has treated him well. His doublet is embroidered in gold thread and is deeply quilted. Sable lines his cloak, which he now throws over a shoulder, the better to reveal the heavy gold chain that sits on his chest. The Doge generously let him keep his fleet when he was banished, and business must have been good.

He takes my hand. Before I can snatch it back, he raises it to his lips and kisses my fingers. I feel the wet touch of his lips.

“Still no wedding band, I notice.” He drops my hand, his face full of wicked delight. My whole body is rigid with tension. “So like a dove,” he adds, his gaze traveling shamelessly over me. “Pure and white, cooing softly.” He laughs.

I look over his shoulder at Father. A servant speaks quietly to him, and he begins to stride over to the dining room.

“Let us all catch up over dinner,” Father says, leading us from the library. Emilia and Lysander follow, my new friend throwing me an alarmed glance.

I take my place at the long table. Of course Father has arranged to have me seated beside his old ally. I feel a foot tap against my satin slipper and hastily tuck my feet under my skirts.

As the servants pass around soup plates, Vincenzo takes a wineglass and gulps noisily from it. Then he leans back in his chair.

“I thought I’d never see the city of my birth again,” he tells us. “Despite what they said about me, I was always loyal.”

I choke a little on my wine. Emilia and Lysander look confused. They weren’t in Venice the day he was driven out of the city in disgrace, his machinations for the Duke of Milan exposed.

“I was honored when Massimo’s representatives contacted me. Now the Doge is taking a …” He pauses. “As he is resting, I will do all I can to ensure the city is safe from the heathens who threaten our shores.”

He bursts out laughing, the sound transforming into a hacking cough. We all wait in silence for the fit to end. Even Father looks a little discomfited. I see now that the challenges facing the Doge in his route back to power will be almost insurmountable. Too many are ranged against him.

Finally, Vincenzo draws a deep, ragged breath and continues as though he has not just made a fool of himself. “Of course, now that I’m here I can find out who was behind the trumped-up charges that saw me thrown out. I blame this conniving Segreta that everyone’s talking about. Only a gaggle of women could concoct such a monstrous lie, wouldn’t you agree?” He sends a long, meaningful glance around the table, his eyes landing at last on me.

“Quite so, Vincenzo,” my father agrees, bowing his head. “They’ll be ferretted out soon.”

“I hear they do good too.” Shy, gentle Emilia is standing up to this monster. “Haven’t you heard about the charitable homes for destitute women? Rumor has it that they’re funded by the Segreta.”

Vincenzo shakes his head dismissively and raises a soupspoon to his lips, slurping noisily. “Destitute women! What do we care for them? Throw them in the canals!”

“My sister died of drowning in a canal,” I say. “Surely you remember; after all, you were once engaged to be married to her.”

“Laura!” mutters my father.

“I’m sorry,” Vincenzo says, his eyes darting around the table as he realizes his mistake. “That was clumsy of me.”

Father nods his head. “No matter,” he says quietly.

Lysander is glaring at Vincenzo, anger narrowing his eyes. He turns to Emilia.

“I wouldn’t talk about the Segreta,” he advises her. “You know so little of Venice.”

Emilia’s face colors, and she suddenly stands up from her place at the table. “Please excuse me,” she says. As the dining room doors close behind her, I feel certain I can hear a muffled sob.

I stare at my brother. What’s wrong with you? I say with my eyes. I think of following Emilia, but I sense that she needs some time alone.

Dinner proceeds with dull conversation about shipping taxes. The bowls are taken away and the second course fetched in.

“Allegreza is close to cracking, I’ve heard,” my father says, suddenly shifting the subject back to the Segreta. “She’ll soon spill the names of her gaggle of harridans.”

At this, my spine straightens. As gently as possible, I lower my cutlery beside my plate.

Vincenzo shovels veal into his mouth as he talks. “The Bear knows how to get answers.”

“How can you talk of torture over dinner?” I say, my voice coming out high and strangled.

“Laura’s right,” says Lysander.

Vincenzo wheezes with laughter again, and taps his knife against his empty wineglass. A servant scurries to refill it. He stares at me, eyebrows raised in amusement, as though inspecting a fool. “We must do whatever it takes to keep our city safe.”

His hand disappears beneath the table and grips my thigh. I push him off, resisting the urge to call him a lecherous traitor. Father at least has the decency to look uncomfortable and clears his throat.

“And do you have a wife in your new home?” he asks.

Vincenzo rolls his eyes. “No wife, only lonely nights.” He rubs his hands together, looking from Father to me and back again. “But who knows what could happen now. Back in Venice, a return to power, happily ensconced in my rightful place. A new bride by my side?” He grins at me. A servant dips between our bodies to clear the plates, but when she steps away, Vincenzo’s leering smile is still there, waiting for my reply.

“I wish you good luck in finding a willing bride,” I say coldly. “My father will have told you that I’m engaged, I’m sure.”

“Indeed,” says Vincenzo, looking uncertainly at my father. “Engaged to a …”

There’s a cough in the doorway and when I look up, Emilia is standing there.

“Laura, could you come and help? There’s a moss stitch that I just can’t get right in this embroidery.”

Vincenzo snorts. “Embroidery? Yes, yes—go and keep your soft little hands amused with skeins of silk.”

For a moment, I picture his skull smashing against cobbles tones. I drag a hand across my forehead, clearing the image from behind my eyes. I push my chair back roughly.

“Of course,” I say, ignoring Vincenzo’s insults. “Let me see what I can do to help.”

Emilia holds out her hand to me as she waits in the doorway. I smile at her gratefully.

“Goodbye, sweet dove!” Vincenzo says as I leave the room.

In the doorway, I turn, my hands resting on the handles. “Good night, Vincenzo. May your return to Venice bring you everything you deserve.”

His smile falters, and he seems uncertain how to respond to my words. But I don’t give him the chance. I back out of the room, Emilia following, and shut the doors behind us.