Starling (3 page)
Authors: Fiona Paul
quiet. Cass didn’t know what she’d been expecting. It was late—of
course the place would be secure. She wondered who might answer
the door if she knocked. Bortolo, the butler, had been Agnese’s servant for more than twenty years, but age had taken its toll and Cass
had no doubt he was dozing somewhere. Agnese’s handmaid, Narissa, might still be lurking about, mending chemises by candlelight.
But Cass couldn’t knock. Even though she thought of the servants
as family, she and Luca were criminals, with large bounties on their
heads. She had to assume that anyone would turn them in for a lifechanging amount of gold. Men had betrayed their real families for
much less.
Instead, Cass led Luca around to the back of the villa, to the garden, where she was dismayed to find that Agnese’s rosebushes looked
as if they hadn’t seen water in days. The stems were gnarled and
twisted, like witches’ fingers; the blooms hung low. Even the marigolds had withered, their petals littering the dirt like a field of golden
teardrops.
Luckily, the servants’ door was unlocked, and Cass and Luca
slipped quietly into the kitchen. And then she knew for certain. It
wasn’t merely the faint smell of decay, masked by rosewater and the
tinge of something medicinal. It was a feeling that overwhelmed her
the instant she set foot inside the villa. A feeling of emptiness.
A feeling of death.
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
two
uca stood silently beside Cass as she bolted the door. He
sensed something too—she could see it in the furrow of
his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, and Cass
quickly pressed a finger to his lips. If it were true, Agnese
would be laid out upstairs in the
portego.
Cass needed to go alone,
might discover him.
“This way,” she mouthed. Luca could wait for her in the storage
area. It was just down the corridor from where they stood and likely
still unlocked since no one but she, Siena, and Feliciana had accessed
it lately. Even if the unthinkable had happened, Cass reminded herself, she and Luca needed to stick to the plan. They could steal some
gold from the stash Agnese kept in her armoire, sneak a couple of
hours of sleep in the storage area, and be out of the villa before sunrise.
Feliciana had concealed herself in the room before going to Florence with Cass, and her makeshift pallet was still in the corner, the
pillow and blanket on top of one of the crates. Cass pulled a third
7 •
crate over to account for Luca’s extra height. She took both of his
hands in hers and squeezed them. “Wait here for me.”
Luca lowered himself to the crates with her assistance. “Cass,
your aunt. Did she—”
“I . . . I have to go see. Alone.” Cass fumbled over the words. “You
understand?”
“Of course.” His hand lingered on hers. “No matter what has
happened, you’ll be all right.”
“I know. Try to rest. I’ll get everything we need.”
Luca nodded. He adjusted his position slightly to take pressure
off his wounded shoulder. “You’re certain you don’t want me to go
with you . . .”
“I’m fine,” Cass said.
She returned to the kitchen, passing the butler’s office on the way.
Loud snoring echoed from behind the wooden door. Bortolo was
dozing in his office as she had expected. Cass crept her way up the
servants’ stairs, pausing between each step to listen for movement.
Nothing. The dining room was deserted, the high-backed chairs
floating around a space where the mahogany table had stood.
Now it would be in the portego, with Agnese’s coffin laid out on
top of it. Holding her breath, Cass paused at the threshold to the
great room, her heart accelerating beneath her breastbone, her stomach lacing itself into knots. Finally, she thrust her body through the
arched doorway.
The portego smelled of cinnamon and rosewater. Pungent. Too
sweet. The kind of scent designed to disguise rather than perfume.
Cass waved one hand in front of her face to disperse the smell. The
furniture had all been draped in black cloth, and the room was dark
