Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,38

into something else. Despite everything, I feel a wave of sympathy for him. It is grief that has brought him to this.

Roberto shakes his head. He keeps his face neutral, neither mocking nor full of pity. There’s a flicker to one side and I glance over to see a woman whispering into someone’s ear. Already this scene has become gossip. Halim must notice too, and something passes behind his eyes. All of a sudden the anger has returned. He shoves Roberto hard in the chest with his hand and draws back his sword, ready to strike.

“No!” I shout. The servant who rescued Roberto’s sword stands beside me and I snatch it from him. My hand slides around the hilt and my feet slap against marble as I rush forward. Ringing metal echoes as my blade parries Halim’s.

“Get back!” Roberto hisses to me. I don’t respond. My eyes are trained on Halim’s. There’s respect there, but confusion too, as if he doesn’t understand my gesture.

“Step away,” I urge him, my muscles straining as I hold back the weight of his blade.

“My sister’s spirit watches,” he tells me. “You step away!”

I shake my head. “There’s been enough killing today.”

“Laura,” the Doge protests. It is the first time he’s said anything. But it’s too late.

Halim gives a sudden twist of the wrist, bringing his sword beneath mine. Another jerk and my weapon goes clattering to the floor and I stagger sideways. Halim raises his sword into the air and steps towards Roberto, his face implacable. Roberto jerks sideways to avoid a lunge. Halim swipes and just misses his throat.

“He’s unarmed!” The shout comes from Nicolo, who throws himself forward, panic twisting his features. His eyes lock onto Halim’s face, widening in recognition. I drop my glance to his chest and see what everyone else has already witnessed: Halim’s blade between his ribs.

Nicolo sinks to his knees as blood trickles down the curved metal, spattering in fat droplets on the floor. Howls of shock and sudden grief fill the room. Nicolo’s mouth hangs open, and scarlet rivulets run between his fingers. I hear a scream and realize it’s my own.

19

With a grunt, Halim pulls his blade free, and Nicolo tips forward to fall facedown on the marble, his blood spreading quickly in a crimson pool. The Ottoman prince stares at him, an appalled expression on his face. He looks up at Faruk, as though seeking guidance. But the older man gives nothing away. He closes his eyes and lowers his head, murmuring under his breath. A prayer, I suppose.

My first thought is for Paulina. My friend is too young to be a widow. This will kill her.

Roberto pushes past us and kneels beside Nicolo, gently cupping a hand behind his brother’s head. A woman throws herself down beside him, murmuring reassurances. I recognize her as one of the Duchess’s closest servants. The Duchess! How will she find the strength to bear this?

People are crowding round now, leaving me standing alone on the outskirts.

“Get back! Give him some air.” Roberto’s voice cuts through the wails.

“Leave us!” calls the Doge.

Slowly, the courtiers seep away, casting horrified glances as they retreat. Roberto turns Nicolo onto his back, and his brother’s head hangs awkwardly to one side, blood frothing at his mouth. I hear a ragged breath. Nicolo gazes at his brother, eating up the sight of him as Roberto brushes a damp lock of hair out of his eyes.

“My brave brother,” Roberto murmurs.

Nicolo attempts a smile but it quickly disappears in a grimace of pain. A woman muffles a sob and turns to hide her face in her companion’s shoulder. Nicolo seems to be forming his mouth around a word. Roberto bends his head closer. “Paulina,” Nicolo gasps. Then his head lolls back.

Carefully, Roberto lays his body flat on the floor. He brushes his palm over his brother’s eyelids to close them. The Duchess’s servant lifts a crucifix that hangs from her neck and kisses the tiny figure of Christ, beginning a prayer under her breath.

Halim is still watching, his sword now on the floor at his feet. He shakes his head, over and over, but doesn’t utter a word. When he finally looks up, his eyes meet mine. I’m not sure what I see there. Hostility? Regret? Fear? He turns sharply on his heel and marches from the room. The rest of the Ottoman party scurries after him. Only Faruk glances over his shoulder as he leaves.

Soon, the room is empty, barring myself, Roberto and the