ever seen. Hair like the evening sky, skin like melted snow –’
‘Melted snow?’ said another man, slapping his drunken companion on the back. ‘How can one’s skin be like melted snow?’
‘Because you want to stick your tongue into it!’ quipped another. Raucous laughter followed.
‘What I wouldn’t give to be her tailor – working with golden fabric – designing for her. What I’d give to know who got that commission.’ There was much nodding and chinking of mugs after that statement.
Dante turned back to the bar, musing over the name. Signorina Dorata. How odd that someone should be given a title so like that he’d bestowed on Tallow. Dorato, he called her – his little golden boy. All because of her strange glasses, the ones she would wear to disguise her eyes. It seemed so long ago. Another lifetime. He looked down at his hands, gripping the mug. They possessed fresh scars, given by knives, swords, and angry trees. His youthful calluses and burns had been replaced by a warrior’s roughness. And now a new courtesan bore Tallow’s old name. Katina was right. Serenissima was not the same place; he was not the same person he once was. What had happened to Tallow, he pondered. Had she changed too?
With a silent laugh, he took a swig of the drink, forgetting his earlier conviction not to have more. Courtesan, he scoffed as he replayed the men’s conversation. A whore by any other name.
He wondered if there were any there tonight; if he might be able to acquire their services. His stool creaked beneath him as he twisted and cast a look around the room. Gazing through the haze of wood fire and tobacco smoke, he became aware he was being watched. In a far corner, near the main door, he spotted a man sitting by himself. A group was close by and he’d arranged his chair to appear part of them, but Dante could tell he wasn’t. He wore a mask so large it covered most of his face. The slits glittered, and Dante knew they were fixed on him.
Dante frowned. It was time to leave. He downed the last of the drink and was about to stand when he felt a tugging at his elbow.
‘Signor, signor.’ He looked down. It was one of Signor Vestire’s daughters. ‘The lady …’ her dark eyes were wide with fear. ‘You must come quickly. She asks for you.’
Dante threw the cup down and followed the child from the room, taking the stairs two at a time, cursing himself for how much he’d drunk.
He flung open the door. Katina was not alone.
Standing over the bed, back to the door, was a cloaked and hooded figure. Dante raced to his scabbard and pulled out his sword. The little girl squealed and ran to a corner, cowering.
‘Get away from her,’ he ordered.
The figure did not move.
‘Now!’ he said and stepped closer, his sword held before him.
Slowly, the figure turned and threw back the hood.
Dante gasped and almost lost hold of his weapon.
Signor Vestire’s daughter yelped and went to run from the room.
‘Stop her,’ the figure said.
Dante grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her back. The little girl struggled and began to whimper.
‘It’s all right,’ soothed Dante. ‘This is a friend.’ He looked at the elderly woman standing before him, with her white hair and pink cheeks. ‘You are a friend, aren’t you?’
The old woman smiled, and bending down in front of the girl, took her hand. ‘Sì, indeed I am. A very, very old one.’ Dante watched as the little girl stared into the great silver eyes gazing into her own. He saw the fear leave her body. Her shoulders drooped and a smile replaced the panic. She threw herself in the old woman’s arms.
The old lady hugged her and then released her. ‘Go and shut the door and then sit over there, cara.’ She pointed to a chair by the fire. The little girl did as she was told, her face shining.
Dante watched the exchange and then put his sword back in its scabbard and replaced it on the table.
‘You’re an Estrattore, sì?’ he asked as the woman returned to Katina’s side. He joined her, kneeling by the bed.
‘Sì,’ she said softly and took Katina’s hand. Dante felt the power radiating from her.
‘Who are you?’ he asked quietly as he saw the colour return to Katina’s cheeks and her breathing become less laboured. Dante found his head cleared and his heart returned to normal.
‘My name is Constantina.