Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,6

the open doorway. “More swiftly than wisdom, it seems.”

My father steps into the library, past the sweeping shelves of expensive books that just a year ago stood empty. Has he ever read any of them? A beam of light falls across his face, sending slanting shadows into the creases of his eyes and the curl of his lip. He looks as if carved from stone. “In my day, all brides came with a dowry,” he says pointedly, staring at Lysander’s wife so hard that her cheeks flush. He doesn’t even use her name.

“Father,” Lysander says stiffly. “Emilia and I aren’t concerned by such things. We love each other.”

Father lets out a hiss of disgust. “The sentiments of a young man. I hope age will bring you a better head for the business of marriage.”

I roll my eyes and Lysander shrugs. “It makes no difference now. It’s not a contract I intend to alter.” He gently pats Emilia’s hand, which still rests on his arm. I notice that her fingers are trembling.

The elder statesman of our family stalks around the room. The floorboards creak beneath his weight. “Do you know what it’s been like for me? Do you?” He swivels round to stare at Lysander.

“Oh, Father, don’t make such a fuss,” I say. “Our family is fine. We’re in a much better situation than this time last year.”

“You have no idea,” he says, shifting his gaze to me. “Not a clue! The pressure I am under. Florentine ambassadors to curry favor with, delicate negotiations about the Ottoman routes. People talk of pirates! One wrong word, one misjudged conversation, and my status could be at risk. The Doge insists on diplomacy when all the Council knows that we need to come down hard. The man’s a fool!”

“That’s treason, Father,” I say, winking at Lysander.

My father pales, then sees my hint of a smile. He glowers. “I mean … we are at a delicate stage. I don’t need an impoverished son to add to my troubles!”

The air throbs with tension. Then Lysander’s nostrils flare, and I realize he is stifling a yawn.

“How tiresome for you,” my brother says, waving a hand lazily as though swatting away imaginary wasps.

Father’s eyes widen in outrage. “You’ll learn,” he spits. He’s already striding from the room, the tails of his coat flying. “A physician’s wages are nothing, and a penniless son should respect his father. He clearly doesn’t respect himself, marrying … that!”

The door slams shut behind him. I want to apologize to Emilia, but Lysander is already by her side, kissing her brow.

“Take no notice,” I hear him whisper.

Emilia catches my eye and forces a smile. I walk over and take her arm, leading her to gaze out of the library windows at the panorama of Venice, lit by the moon that hangs, almost full, in the summer sky.

“I will show you my home,” I say, “where Lysander and I grew up with Beatrice.”

“I’d like that,” my new sister-in-law tells me. She squeezes my hand as Lysander comes to stand behind us.

“He’s gotten worse,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry about Father,” I say. “Nothing makes him happier than a dose of unhappiness, and since his success at the Grand Council, he is struggling for things to complain about.”

But Lysander refuses to laugh. “It looked as though the Grand Council have been busy, judging from the harbor,” he says. “Security was tighter than I’ve ever seen it. We had to empty our trunks to be searched.”

Emilia laughs anxiously. “The guards nearly dropped my dress for the embassy ball into the water!”

“Oh, I’m glad you’ll be there,” I say. “It will be an important night for Venice.”

Faustina has stepped into the room with a plate of olives and bread. “You can thank the Doge for the searches,” she comments, setting the tray down on a small table. She looks over both of her shoulders, as though checking for strangers, and brings her face close to ours. “Spies! He’s worried about spies.”

Emilia’s face pales and she casts my brother a glance as if to say, What type of place have you brought me to?

Later, we dine with Father. Success has done little to curb his drinking, and we watch in uncomfortable silence as he pours himself yet another glass of wine. A servant brings in the hazelnut pudding, but I’m fearful of being late for my appointment.

“I’m going to retire now,” I announce. I push my chair back and its feet screech awkwardly against the floor.

“Already?” Father asks, his words slurred.