“I lived there for many years, incarcerated as a nun.” I wait for the words to settle, to see how he’ll react. He pockets the knife in a practiced move and brings his focus back to me.
“Incarcerated?” he repeats. “You did not dedicate yourself to your God?”
I incline my head. “It’s not uncommon in Venice for second daughters to be sent to convents, if they are in danger of being a financial burden on their family. I was one of many.”
“But still …” Halim’s words fade away as he glances at the small windows.
I point to one set high in the wall. “For five years, that small room was my home.”
Halim looks at me, then back at the window, as if unbelieving. “Five years?”
“And every day the same.”
We drift beneath the shadow of the monastery in silence. “But surely you received visitors. Your father? Your sister? You say you were a second daughter.”
“It was forbidden,” I tell him. “Visitors take away the mind’s focus, or so the Abbess used to say.” I won’t say her full name out loud. She belongs to the past.
“My sister used to keep a pet bird in a cage,” says Halim. “It was the most beautiful thing, and it used to sing every evening. I thought it very cruel that it was locked up like that.”
“We were allowed to sing,” I tell him, glancing upwards, “but only at prayer.” I’m in danger of becoming maudlin.
Halim reaches across and places a hand on my arm. His skin has the shade of varnished olive wood and there’s a scattering of dark hairs across his wrist. “How did you get out?”
“My sister died.” The truth, but only a fraction of it, like a painting made up of a million brushstrokes seen only from a distance. It is so simple when said like that. My voice does nothing to betray the pain I felt, looking into her coffin. He cannot understand.
Our talk turns to other things—the love that Faustina has shown me, the return of my brother with his new wife, the happy times. Halim listens quietly, nodding, smiling. The boat drifts on. It is as if we’re on our very own island of intimacy, the sun rising higher and higher above our heads. The sounds of the city have fallen away. Only the occasional slap of paddle on water reminds me the gondola is still with us.
“What about you?” I say eventually. “What was your childhood like as a prince? No barred windows for you, I’m sure!”
Halim shakes himself as though waking from a dream. “Maybe not, but there were other … constraints. My father …” He hesitates.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say.
“He was very strict,” Halim continues. His dark eyes cloud over. “For many years, my life wasn’t my own.”
I think back to my own father, either drunk at the dinner table or ensconced in his library or toadying up to the Doge and his Council. But always, always telling me what to do for the good of the family.
“I know all about strict fathers,” I say gently. “Why do you think I ended up in a convent?”
“But you escaped!” Halim says, his eyes brightening again. His hands grip the sides of the gondola. “You had it in you to forge your own path. Look at you now! That’s what I want too. I’ve emerged from the shadow my father cast—it was a long one. But now it’s time for me to make my own mark.” Color has rushed to his cheeks. He looks almost feverish.
“Are you feeling well?” I ask.
“Of course!” He grins at me. “Never better. Gondolier! Moor here, please!”
16
We pull up to the side of the canal and I glance over my shoulder to ensure that our sudden stop won’t cause a collision with the gondolas behind us, carrying the guards. But the other boats have disappeared down another canal.
“Your security …,” I manage to say. “The men have gone.”
“Never mind that.” Halim is already standing on the dock and reaches out a hand to me. I take it and brace my foot against the side of the canal. My corset constricts my breathing and I find myself panting slightly. I hop onto the bank and move apart from Halim, pulling my hand out of his grasp—I don’t want him to see how flustered I am.
“Aren’t they meant to be guarding us?”
Halim gives me a boyish smile and holds out the crook of his arm. “I dismissed them. I want to walk