is on the small of my back.
“You mustn’t …,” I begin to say.
“Mustn’t what?” Halim asks. His breath smells like cinnamon.
Our faces are so close, our bodies too. His eyes are all I see.
“Mustn’t grieve too much for your sister.”
There’s a sudden movement and the door is pushed open wider. Emilia stands there, staring at the two of us, her mouth hanging open. “I’m sorry. I …”
Halim draws away, but slowly—as though we have nothing for which to apologize. As for myself, I can feel my cheeks flaming.
“I should go,” he says, looking past Emilia and into the hallway for his servants. He walks past her without a backwards glance. I retreat into the room and curse silently as I hear Emilia follow me.
“What just happened?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I need to rest,” I murmur.
It’s the grief, I think, sinking onto a couch. That’s all. I need to rest.
31
Even in my wretchedness, sleep took me, and now a bleak new morning has arrived.
I force myself to get up and go through the motions of preparing for the day. Bianca fills my copper bath and I am grateful for the clouds of steam that hide me from the world.
Outside, everything is christened by morning dew. Emilia is waiting for me by the gates; she has promised to come with me for support today. The two of us greet each other silently and move over to a canal, where we summon a gondolier.
“Take us to St. Mark’s,” Emilia says in a soft voice.
I can’t speak. I’m going to watch my beloved die. To watch him die.
The gondolier must see the look on my face, as he doesn’t try to engage me in conversation. Instead, he whistles softly, a plaintive tune that fits my mood well. Mist seeps off the canals, and the houses of Venice look more beautiful than ever in the morning light. For once the streets are clean and empty of people. They’ll all be gathering in the square.
Emilia’s fingers rest beside mine on the velvet cushion. I suddenly feel the need to explain yesterday’s encounter, when she interrupted me with Halim. If I cannot clear my conscience to Roberto, I must to someone, before he is gone.
I clear my throat. “What you saw yesterday—” I begin.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she interrupts. “I realize I should never have asked. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s no one’s business because nothing happened,” I say. I can hear how high and tight my voice is and I force myself to calm down. Think of Roberto. Always Roberto. But that’s the wrong thing to tell myself—my throat constricts and I don’t know how I’ll get the next words out. “I would never betray …” I can’t finish.
Emilia pulls my hand into her lap. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me. I understand.”
My shoulders shake with suppressed sobs. The gondolier’s whistling has stopped. Please, God, let today be over.
We reach the canal that runs parallel with the square, cluttered with other boats. As we climb out of the gondola, supported by the pilot’s hand, a column of smoke streaks the sky.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He shakes his head and tuts. “Did you not hear? Arson! During the night someone set fire to part of the palace. Rebels, they say. The Doge is losing his hold, that’s for sure. Did you see his performance on the stage yesterday? Kicking and jerking like an invalid.” He nods at the thick black clouds that drift above our city. “No one has faith in him anymore.” Then he climbs back into his gondola and pushes off, the stern of his boat parting the water.
Emilia and I share a glance.
“What is happening to this city?” she murmurs. “Lysander always had such good things to say about his home. And now …” She doesn’t need to say anything else; I feel certain we’re both thinking the same thing.
We make our way towards the square. As we approach, we see youths scrambling up statues and sitting in rows along high stone walls, craning to see the stage. Food-sellers with trays are weaving among the spectators.
“Imagine!” a woman walking beside me says. “Executed before all of Venice.” She holds a linen handkerchief to her mouth. Emilia shakes her head at me, warning me not to take any notice.
As we draw nearer the stage, jostled by other people, I spot the wooden planks covered with straw to soak up the blood. My empty stomach squirms. Roberto’s life will draw