an edge about him, a thinly disguised air of excitement. Tallow stood slowly and curtsied.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ said Signor Maleovelli, waving her back to her chair. ‘Signor Waterford! Ah, we’re to have the pleasure of your company again.’ He snapped his fingers at the young servant near Tallow. The boy ran to one of the many sideboards and acquired a glass. Gone were the old, chipped ones. New ones had been spun by special order. Mainly clear, the stems enclosed a spiral of gold, like the mythical unicorn’s horn that featured in so many tapestries. They were quite exquisite. A tribute, Signor Maleovelli said, to Signorina Dorata, and a reminder to those who came to the casa. Of the empire they were building – a golden one to rustle in a golden age, he’d said.
Tallow watched as Signor Maleovelli took a long draught then ordered his glass to be filled again. He sat back and sighed. ‘I have news,’ he said quietly.
At that moment, Jacopo entered the room. Tallow stiffened. She didn’t see him as he approached through the rear door, but felt his presence, his eyes boring into her back. He bowed towards Lord Waterford, his zio, Giaconda and, finally, her, before taking a seat nearby.
‘What news, Signor Maleovelli?’ asked Lord Waterford. His eyes were keen.
Signor Maleovelli leant forward. ‘Prince Cosimo has disappeared.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Giaconda. Tallow was impressed with how surprised she sounded. Tallow’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘When?’
‘They believe it was some time early this morning.’
Signor Maleovelli exchanged a long look with Giaconda who, in turn, rested her eyes upon Tallow.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Tallow said. ‘Why, I was only with him … when was it?’
‘The night before last,’ answered Giaconda. ‘We had dinner there. Remember, Beolin? You commented to me afterwards how sad the man looked.’
‘Indeed, I did. You attributed it to the loss of his son.’ Tallow glanced at Waterford as his voice broke on his last word.
She frowned. ‘But I thought that was years ago?’
‘Over two years,’ said Giaconda.
‘He has not been the same since that terrible day,’ added Jacopo.
‘Where has he gone?’ Tallow rose and pretended to stare outside. Instead, she saw her own reflection, the feigned interest, the affected concern seeming as transparent as the glass she now stood before. But it was expected of her.
‘He left a note,’ said Signor Maleovelli.
‘A note?’ Giaconda’s tone was sharp. Tallow’s eyes shifted so she could see everyone in the room, in reverse. She hadn’t expected this. Her spine began to tingle. Her body tensed. She became aware that Lord Waterford was studying her intently, thinking she wasn’t aware of his scrutiny. Her eyes narrowed, she listened.
‘Is the content known? What did it say?’ asked Lord Waterford.
Signor Maleovelli took another drink of vino. ‘According to my source, it laid out exactly where Prince Cosimo has gone.’ Signor Maleovelli waited.
Tallow turned round, resting her back against the window.
‘Where?’ asked Jacopo breathlessly.
‘The Limen.’
Giaconda almost started from her chair.
‘The Limen? Why in God’s name –’ Her face paled. ‘No!’
‘Sì.’
Giaconda fell back against her seat, her eyes wide in surprise, her mouth open. She stole a glance at Tallow. ‘I never would have expected that. It’s …’
‘Amazing,’ finished Lord Waterford, rising to his feet and joining Tallow by the window. ‘Are you saying, Signor, that he has become a Bond Rider?’
‘Sì. That is the talk in the Great Council, in the palazzo. If not a Bond Rider, then by entering the Limen he goes to certain death. Who knows? The poor man wasn’t in his right mind. Has not been for a long time. The truth is that an action like this is not, shall we say, unexpected?’ He looked at Tallow as he spoke, his voice heavy with accusation.
Seemingly unaware of the undercurrents, Lord Waterford nodded solemnly, rubbing his chin. ‘And his wife? The Principessa, what about her?’
Tallow could feel the tension in Waterford’s body. The excitement.
‘The dottore has been called. He has given her opium. She is wild with grief. Cannot understand what is happening. Neither can the Doge. These are terrible times.’
‘For the Dandolos,’ said Giaconda quietly, staring into her glass.
‘For the Dandolos,’ agreed Signor Maleovelli.
‘Doesn’t that mean that all the Doge’s heirs are now lost?’
‘Sì. Unless they find Claudio,’ said Signor Maleovelli. ‘And that is not likely to happen, not after so long.’
‘No,’ agreed Lord Waterford. ‘But the Doge has a daughter, does he not?’
Signor Maleovelli and Giaconda began to laugh. ‘What difference does that make?’ asked Jacopo. ‘She cannot inherit. Women cannot rule!’