Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,73

for my friend’s hand. I squeeze her cold fingers.

36

I make my way back to the house and slip upstairs to hide in my room, picking up a half-finished piece of lace without much enthusiasm. How different are the two lives I lead.

We drafted the letter quickly, and Paulina has promised it will be delivered tomorrow. I urged her to be careful, but there was something so desperate about her this evening that I fear for her life.

Around ten o’clock, Faustina’s face appears in the doorway. She’s panting from climbing the stairs.

“Your father’s back,” she hisses, “and he has a guest with him. You’re expected to dine with your brother and his wife.”

I sigh and put down my lace. A guest—at this hour? “I’m not hungry,” I say.

“Your father insisted,” says Faustina.

She opens my closet and takes out a high-waisted mulberry velvet dress with ermine trim. I think about being stubborn, but I know this is a battle I can’t win. Besides, perhaps the guest is one of the Council. If he’s drunk, there may be information I can glean that could prove helpful to the Segreta.

Dressing quickly, I paint a smile on my face and rush downstairs.

But the moment I step into the room, the smile falls. I want to turn and run.

A man stands before me with a mouth of crooked teeth splitting into a grin. His shoulders are stooped, and his thin frame sags beneath clothes too large for him. Liver spots are scattered across his face like splotches of spilt ink.

Vincenzo.

“Good evening, Laura,” he says, flecks of spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. He gives a deep, mocking bow before straightening up again—or straightening up as much as his twisted body will allow. My father watches from a corner of the room, his eyes dark as coal. Emilia looks aghast and Lysander not a little troubled.

“I … I don’t understand. How—”

“How is it that I’m back in Venice?” he says. “Let’s just say that the injustices of the past have been rectified. The Council have recalled me.”

But only one man had the authority to recall an exile—the Doge—and he would never have done so. The pieces fall into place. “Massimo must have summoned you weeks ago,” I say. Which means the rebel faction must have been in contact for some time.

“Let’s say our Admiral is a man of vision,” says Vincenzo. “He knows my fleet is second to none. Venice needs her friends now.”

This at least is true. I wonder if Massimo has already shared details of the defective gunpowder with people he trusts. If war comes, then Venice requires all the ships and ammunition she can muster.

“I look forward to dining with old friends,” says Vincenzo. He grins at me, and though he’s no longer a threat, I struggle to feel anything other than revulsion for him.

“Welcome back,” I say, lowering my body in a curtsy. Father smiles, and I know I have done well by him. It makes my insides churn.

Vincenzo steps closer, his robes rustling as he moves. Clearly, exile from his homeland has treated him well. His doublet is embroidered in gold thread and is deeply quilted. Sable lines his cloak, which he now throws over a shoulder, the better to reveal the heavy gold chain that sits on his chest. The Doge generously let him keep his fleet when he was banished, and business must have been good.

He takes my hand. Before I can snatch it back, he raises it to his lips and kisses my fingers. I feel the wet touch of his lips.

“Still no wedding band, I notice.” He drops my hand, his face full of wicked delight. My whole body is rigid with tension. “So like a dove,” he adds, his gaze traveling shamelessly over me. “Pure and white, cooing softly.” He laughs.

I look over his shoulder at Father. A servant speaks quietly to him, and he begins to stride over to the dining room.

“Let us all catch up over dinner,” Father says, leading us from the library. Emilia and Lysander follow, my new friend throwing me an alarmed glance.

I take my place at the long table. Of course Father has arranged to have me seated beside his old ally. I feel a foot tap against my satin slipper and hastily tuck my feet under my skirts.

As the servants pass around soup plates, Vincenzo takes a wineglass and gulps noisily from it. Then he leans back in his chair.

“I thought I’d never see the city of my