“A mysterious benefactor purchased my freedom,” she says, arching her eyebrows at me. “I wonder who that could have been?”
I smile at Roberto as he arrives by our side.
“I’ve heard much about you,” he says. He takes Annalena’s hand and kisses it, making her cheeks blush furiously. I wonder if those are the first lips she’s ever felt.
“Come and see me at the palace,” I say, hugging my friend. “I’m sure we can find work worthy of a former conversa. A lady-in-waiting, perhaps?”
Annalena gasps with delight, but Roberto is already gently steering me away. There are so many people to see and thank.
“Thank you!” she calls after me, and I smile to myself. I know what it is to have one’s first taste of freedom.
Roberto and I arrive in the center of the square. The palace looms before us, and up above it, the Piombi. Despite the sunshine and the happiness of the day, I shudder. Somewhere, up there, in the heat and stench, Massimo languishes. His trial is to take place in a month’s time. A whole month of enduring those cells beneath the leaded roof. He won’t be exiled like Vincenzo; his fate will be far worse. I take no joy in his suffering.
The crowd presses around us, cheering and throwing more flower petals over our heads. My eyes linger on Roberto’s face as I press my body close to his.
“Happy?” he asks.
“Never more so,” I say. I wish that I could stay in this moment forever, all our troubles behind us and who knows what joy in the future.
I look around me. At the palace, the canals and their gondolas, the people in their ornate outfits and the shifting colors of Venice’s buildings.
The city I love is safe. The man I adore is by my side.
The Segreta remains. There will be other trials to face. But when Venice calls, we will be ready, of that I am sure.
All we need is a secret.
50
That night, I brush the last of the flower petals from my hair as I gaze at Roberto’s sleeping figure. He’s draped across the bed, his arms thrown wide, his face buried in the pillows. I draw a satin-edged blanket across him and lightly kiss his brow. He shifts his body a little and buries himself deeper into the mattress. I smile and tiptoe out of the room, my silk stockings silent on the marble tiles. From my dressing table, I take out a black velvet sack.
I pull the door gently behind me and smile at the servant who waits outside.
“You can retire for the night,” I tell him. He throws me a grateful smile and goes up the stone stairs that lead to the servants’ quarters in the palace attic. I need to be alone for what happens next.
I follow the double stairway down to the ground floor of the palace. Candles burn low in the gold sconces that line the walls. The eyes of men in oil paintings watch me as I walk down a wide corridor towards the dining room. On the way, I take out the mask and place it over my face.
I open the varnished door, leaning on the ornate handle, and slip inside.
My friends are waiting for me. I catch the glimmer of a cat’s eye, a peacock feather rising high above a head, the white feathers of a swan’s visage.
Masks are everywhere, and there’s the rustle of silk as people rise to greet me. I pat the air, sending them the message to sit back down, and the women of the Segreta lean back in their seats, waiting for me to take my place at the table.
Silence.
Then an older voice speaks: Grazia.
“You missed the initiation,” she tells me. I look around and see that a woman has a bandaged hand. I remember my own initiation and the drag of a knife’s point across my palm. Her wound will heal soon enough.
She’s wearing a mask I haven’t seen before: the hooked beak of an owl, tawny feathers sewn over the surface of the mask. But I know who hides behind it, taking her rightful place at last.
“I am honored to join you,” says Aysim.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “it was difficult to get away.” Gentle laughter fills the room and my cheeks blush.
“So, to business,” says Grazia. “We have word that—”
There’s a sudden glow of light as the door opens a second time and someone else enters the room. I recognize the proud stance, but