Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,8

is intentional. It seems every time we meet she makes some comment about being disinherited or impoverished. It’s true that since Roberto returned from hiding, Nicolo is no longer his father’s heir, but Paulina’s barbed jokes make me uncomfortable. It is not as if Paulina will ever be poor, and our friendship is worth more than money. To me, anyway.

“You know you’ll always be welcome with us, don’t you?” I say.

“Of course!” she replies, but still she can’t seem to look me in the eye.

Allegreza walks into the center of the group and we form a tight circle of the initiated, sworn to loyalty. I wonder whether Teresa will turn up at the time I suggested.

“We have an important matter to discuss,” announces Allegreza. “Word comes from our sisters abroad: a secret message written in ammonia salts. A boat will arrive here tomorrow evening. Because of the extra security at the harbor, our visitor will disembark at the island of Murano to be met by one of our representatives.” She gazes around the room. “I need a volunteer.”

Before I can open my mouth to speak, Paulina moves forward. “I’ll go.”

But Allegreza shakes her head. “You are too inexperienced.” Paulina’s cheeks flush, and she steps back into the circle. Allegreza’s voice softens. “We would not wish any harm to befall you.” Our leader’s gaze drifts to me.

“Laura,” she says. “You wish to say something?”

I find myself stepping forward. “I can help, if it is what you wish.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I remember the grand masquerade ball that is to take place in the streets around St. Mark’s tomorrow night. No wonder the rest of the group stays silent—they all want to dance and enjoy the carnival.

Allegreza bows her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Laura,” she says. And the matter is closed. When I turn to Paulina, she is already walking away.

There’s a muffled knock from the doorway, and a rush of cold air as the door is opened. Then, footsteps on the stairs, and Teresa steps into the room. She’s a little early. Quickly, everyone slides their masks over their faces. Allegreza turns into an owl, Grazia morphs into a sly black cat. I bring my own mask down to hide my expression, the swan feathers tickling my cheeks as I tie the silk ribbons around my head. As Teresa looks about, she’s surrounded by a collection of hidden faces.

“Who are you, and what brings you here?” Allegreza asks, her voice stern.

Teresa clears her throat. The bruise on her eye has deepened, as dark as ripe black grapes.

“My name is Teresa,” she begins, her voice shaking. “I was invited here.”

Eyes dart around the room but I say nothing. Now is not the time.

“My husband is a fighting man, a soldier,” she goes on. “But he has learned to love his fists too much.” A hand flutters up to her face, to indicate her injuries. “I was told help might wait for me here tonight.”

“That depends,” says Allegreza.

The rest of the women stand as still as statues. I remember how it felt to be scrutinized by the Segreta.

“We trade favors for secrets,” says Allegreza. “Do you have a secret you can share?”

“What do you mean?” asks Teresa.

Allegreza spreads her hands, and her voice is gentle. “I mean, we will help you, but there is a price.”

Teresa shakes her head slowly. “I have no secrets.”

This brings titters and chuckles from the room, even from me. Allegreza’s eyes narrow behind her mask. “Everyone has secrets. Would you like to take a moment to think?”

Teresa stares hard at the floor, clearly trying to contain her emotions.

I step forward and put a hand on her arm. “I was the one who summoned you here,” I tell her gently. “I want to make your life easier, but you must do this thing for us first. Secrets are everywhere, and what seems innocuous to you might be the difference between life and death for another. Think carefully.”

When she looks back up at us, the tears finally spill from her eyes.

“Gunpowder,” she says.

Hisses and whispers fly from the women, crowding in the air above our heads like a flock of birds.

“Quiet,” Allegreza orders. She stares at the woman. “Go on.”

“I remember my husband talking about armaments, stockpiled in the … I think he said the Arsenal.” Teresa wrings her hands. She knows that her words put her life in danger. The contents of the Arsenal are a closely guarded secret.

“And what did your husband say?”