Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,33

these streets like a normal person. All the pomp and ceremony becomes fatiguing after a while. Have no fear—I will protect you.”

“That wasn’t really my concern,” I say. “We shouldn’t be seen without a chaperone.”

Halim’s face takes on an exaggerated crestfallen look. “Don’t you trust me?”

I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I find myself slipping my arm through his. “Of course,” I say weakly. I glance around one last time. I am alone with a prince.

We enter the cool of the church of St. Mary of the Friars and approach the high altar, where Titian’s Assumption adorns the wall. The church is empty but for an old man on a ladder replacing candles.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I say.

“It is,” he replies. I see his lips are slightly parted as he takes in the rich reds and golds of Mary’s ascent to heaven. “Christ’s mother is a sacred figure to Muslims too,” he replies, “but we have nothing as beautiful as … I wish my sister could see this.”

“Perhaps one day she will.” I take his arm again and together we walk along the nave. “It could be dangerous for us to be alone together,” I murmur.

“You mean, for our reputations?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, for our lives. Venice is full of assassins. Surely you know that.”

I don’t have to look at Halim to know that he is smiling. I’m teasing him, just a little bit.

“Then let’s live dangerously. I’ll run the risk of being killed. Will you?”

“I’m taking my life in my hands, you know, just being here.”

We turn to face each other, then begin to walk back down the center aisle.

“How reckless we both are,” he says.

We step out into the sun and for a moment I squint into the harsh light. Out of nowhere, five shapes resolve. Five men, all looking at us with cold expressions, and spread in a fan to block our route. They aren’t constables of the city; that much is clear from their ragged clothes. Two hold cudgels and two have knives. The fifth man has a sword at his side.

“What do you want?” I say.

“The heart of that dog,” says the central man, pointing his blade at Halim.

He throws himself at the prince, and I don’t realize what has happened until he sinks to the ground, clutching his stomach. His knife rattles on the stone as blood gurgles through his clasped fingers. Halim’s blade is bloody and his eyes are wild. “Run!” he shouts, shoving me aside.

I stumble as the men advance. Halim backs off in a crouch, moving towards the steps of the church, his blade turned over so it lies against the inside of his wrist. I hardly think before snatching at the hilt of the sword in the attacker’s scabbard and drawing it out.

“Hey!” he shouts, spinning around.

I level the blade. “Get away from him!” I warn.

Though he looks gobsmacked, one of his companions—the leader who spoke before—merely grins and raises his club. “Don’t make me smash your skull, woman,” he says. The other men have paused, suddenly unsure.

“Don’t, Laura!” says Halim.

I watch the man with the cudgel moving around to my left, but I keep my sword trained on the fellow in front. “Unless you want me to run your friend through,” I say, “I’d lower your weapon.”

The club-wielder scoffs. “You overestimate my loyalty,” he says.

He lunges to strike, but suddenly stops and clutches his throat, where a gold hilt protrudes. His legs give way and he collapses. Halim’s arm is still extended from the throw and he snatches up his first victim’s fallen dagger.

“Three against two,” he says to the remaining men. “Do you fancy yourselves our match?”

The leader of the attackers has breathed his last at my feet. Blood runs in rivulets between the paving slabs.

The remaining thugs look at each other but the fight has left their eyes. They’re scared. One makes a sudden break, heading for an alley.

“The odds get better,” I say.

“Who ordered you here?” Halim asks. “Tell me and you can keep your paltry lives.”

The two men are silent, so Halim tosses the blade over in his hand, ready to throw again. I press the point of the sword firmly into the ribs of my man and he gasps in pain. “Tell us!” I say.

“I can’t!” says the man. “Please, don’t kill me. I have children.” He throws his cudgel to the ground and then his companion lets go of his own dagger. “We’re unarmed.”

Running footsteps sound from the alley, and