Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,23
should be nervous!” Faustina’s voice protests. I dare not look round to face her; I must appear as a lady of Venice, entranced by the Ottomans’ arrival. “I’ve heard that all Turks are goblin-faced brutes. This Halim—their prince, as they call him—I’ve heard he can turn people to stone with his ugliness! Whatever you do, don’t gaze into his eyes, girls. I won’t be answerable for what happens.”
On the edge of my vision, I see Emilia’s shoulders shaking with contained mirth. A smile plays around my own lips, despite myself.
“You’re talking nonsense,” I murmur over my shoulder.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” is Faustina’s last shot. There’s no time left to speak. The ship has docked, and men are scrambling up the masts to let down the sails. A gangplank has been set against the side of the vessel. Men walk down it, gazing around them with open curiosity. I wonder how Venice appears to eyes that have never seen it before; the canals and piazzas, the colorful market stalls and soaring spires.
A sudden blast of trumpets sounds, and the crowd swells forward as a solitary figure appears at the top of the gangplank. He wears an outfit of dazzling white that almost seems to glow in the Venice sunshine. A thick silk sash circles his waist and his head is decorated with a turban, the coils of linen gleaming as they snake around his brow. On all sides of me, the crowd gasps in delight. The clean simplicity of the man’s outfit is in stark contrast to the luxurious embellishments in which most Venetian men indulge. His skin shines golden, and his broad shoulders shift as he raises a hand in salutation, smiling so that his teeth sparkle white.
This is no goblin-faced brute.
He stands on the pier now, and one of the Grand Council introduces himself. Prince Halim listens politely, but his eyes travel along the formal row of Venetian ladies. As he looks at each young woman, she dips in a curtsy. Finally, his gaze comes to rest on me. His eyes are a deep brown, chestnut rich. I lower mine and bob from the knees, fingertips grasping my skirts as I curtsy. But the girl to the left of me does not move. When I straighten back up, Prince Halim is still looking right at me. The sound of giggling has broken out and my cheeks flame as I realize that I am being singled out for attention.
“Don’t look into his eyes!” Faustina hisses from behind me.
Finally, thank heavens, the Doge steps forward to greet the Turkish prince, and the moment is broken.
“Have you turned to stone yet?” Emilia teases, to my right. I shake my head, to prove Faustina’s theories wrong. But I can’t stop watching the men as the Grand Council gather around Prince Halim, their heads close together, talking. One of the prince’s servants has drawn near and seems to be eavesdropping shamelessly. The bald skin of his head gleams, and I notice a slight hunch to his shoulders. As he listens, he watches the crowd. When his glance catches mine, he turns away.
There’s another trumpet call to tell the crowd to disperse. People make their way through the streets, noisily eating snacks and discussing the scene that’s just played out.
“He’s very handsome!” says an older woman gleefully. “Not at all what I expected.”
“Did you see that ship?” a young man murmurs to his friend. “I’ve heard the Turkish vessels are the fastest on the seas.”
“Such insolence!” mutters Faustina. “I saw the way his eyes wandered.”
My father comes over to speak to us. “You did well,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Prince Halim noticed you. Good girl.”
I turn my face away. He’s forgotten already that while people fawn over the visitor, Roberto sits in a filthy cell. Father notices my expression and draws his lips close to whisper in my ear.
“Don’t think you’re too good for all this, because you’re not. You were good only for the convent, until my eldest daughter’s death.”
Fortunately, Julius and Grazia de Ferrara draw near, before I forget myself and speak back to Father in public. Faustina has taken my hand and grips it gently, silently reassuring me.
“Ah, Julius!” Father says. He bows his head towards Grazia. “What news of Carina?” As if he cares about anyone but himself! I keep my glance firmly on the ground, unable to catch Grazia’s eye.
Julius sighs. “Still nothing. She always was a wayward girl. But we live in hope that one