To my lovely starling, Maybe there are magical words that will make you understand, but if so, I do not know them. Words are your domain. I've always been better with pictures.

I fear you think I am a monster. It's true I've disrupted many graves. The way I see it, the dead are dead. If, after their death, we can learn things from them about the human form-things that will improve the lives of others, things that will increase the sum of human knowledge and the possibilities of art-what harm is that? After death, new life, new beauty. How can that be wrong? My friends and I have made use of some of the bodies as models. Some we sell to surgeons who study them with the hopes of learning something about the frail mechanism of the human body.

I don't know exactly what Dottor de Gradi does in his workshop on the Rialto, and I was as surprised as you were to stumble on it. He couldn't-or wouldn't-tell me if your friend's body ended up there. But he did assure me all of his work is focused solely on extending human life.

I won't lie. I did it for the money as well. Don Loredan is holding a private exhibition in his palazzo tomorrow. The entry fee was quite steep but two of my paintings were accepted. This could be the beginning for me. I could find my own patrons. I could become a real artist, not merely Tommaso's assistant. I could be more than just a peasant.

So yes; a little for money. But mostly I did it for the art.

I don't expect these words to change how you feel. I simply want you not to see me as a monster. I don't want to be a monster. Not anymore. Not after meeting you. I know that we disrupted your dear friend's body, and for that I am deeply regretful. But if we had not done so, if I had not lingered in the San Domenico churchyard after standing guard for my friends, you and I might never have met. Meeting you is one thing I will never regret.

I hope you like the painting. Consider it a wedding present. How stupid of me to let my heart go. It was a lovely fantasy while it lasted, though, wasn't it?

Yours,

Falco

She looked again at Falco's painting of her-for her. Even though her expression was full of joy, he'd somehow managed to catch a hint of sadness in her form. The hesitance in how she lay there, as though expecting that happiness to vanish at any moment. This must be what Falco meant when he said he had done it for the art. For the first time, Cass understood. This, this truth, was exactly what she wanted to capture in her writing.

She felt like weeping, but she wasn't sure why. She and Falco understood each other, finally. It was the best possible outcome-the only possible outcome. But as she refolded a single corner of muslin over the canvas, an overwhelming sense of loss gripped her. This painting, this letter, it was Falco's good-bye. Even if he remained in Venice, he would be gone to her. They would exist side by side, but in parallel worlds that never crossed over.

Cass couldn't believe she had ever thought Falco might be a murderer. What he had done went against the Church, but he did have reasons. Maybe de Montaigne was right. Perhaps Cass had no right to judge what Falco was doing-what he must do-to survive. She had never known, would never know, what it was like to want for money. For anything, really, except for love. Maybe love was to be the one thing that would remain forever out of reach.

The thought was unbearable. Cass sat down at the servants' table and laid her head down against the rough canvas. She tried to feel each individual brushstroke through her cheek. Each stroke was a part of Falco, a tiny piece of the man she loved. She waited for the tears to come. She willed them to come, needed them to carry away some of her pain.

But just like at her parents' funeral, when she needed tears the most, they stayed stubbornly, persistently out of reach. Cass sat there in the kitchen, dry eyed, until the candle burned down and darkness overtook her.

"Fainting occurs when the four humors rush swiftly from the head and limbs to the area about the heart.

This process is evident in the way the face grows suddenly pale, as though drained of its normal essence."

-THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

twenty-eight.

Cass woke with a stabbing pain in her neck. Narissa was standing over her. As Cass straightened up, realizing she'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table, Narissa's eyes went immediately to the painting. Too late, Cass tried to cover the canvas. Narissa raised an eyebrow but, thankfully, opted not to do any scolding.

"Betrothal present," Cass said weakly. She rolled her head in slow circles. When she brought a hand to her cheek, she could feel that tiny indents peppered the side of her face where she had slept pressed against Falco's textured brushstrokes.

"I'm sure your future husband will enjoy it," Narissa said wryly. She straightened the empty chair to Cass's left. "Given today's special occasion, your aunt has decided Siena may attend to you. She's probably looking for you in your bedchamber."

Mada's wedding! Cass leapt to her feet. She had promised her friend she would be there for every second of it. Cass had disappointed almost everyone with her recent behavior. She couldn't let Madalena down too.

"Grazie, Narissa," Cass said, heading toward the dining area. She turned back just as she reached the doorway. "You won't mention this painting to my aunt, will you?"

"What painting?" Narissa asked. Wrinkles formed at the corners of her eyes and mouth as she smiled.

Cass felt a rush of gratitude for her. Maybe the older maid hadn't completely forgotten what it was like to be young.

It was still early, but Cass knew that Mada would kill her if she was even a minute late. The wedding ceremony would start at ten, and the festivities would run into the night. Cass raced up the stairs and through the long, dark dining room, the tile floor cold under her bare feet. When she hit the threshold to the portego, she pulled up, bracing her arms against the door frame to keep from spilling into the big open room.

Luca sat on a divan facing the Last Supper mosaic. Two unfamiliar men in mud-caked boots sat opposite him. Red woolen doublets peeked out from underneath tarnished breastplates. Silver broadswords dangled from their waists. They all stopped speaking when she appeared in the doorway. The two men immediately averted their eyes.

Luca reddened. "Cassandra," he said haltingly, as if it were a struggle to merely form the three syllables of her name.

Cass realized she was standing in the portego in only her nightdress, having left Siena's cloak in the kitchen. "Molte scuse," she said, and darted for her room. Much as she was curious about the men, she had no desire to stand there being gawked at. And she didn't want to give Luca the opportunity to remark on the muslin bundle under her arm.

Cass slipped into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. Siena's tiny frame was half visible, her head poked deep inside the armoire.

"Siena!" Cass was so glad to see her lady's maid, she could hardly keep from shouting. Then she saw that the girl's eyes were red and puffy. Cass lowered her voice. "Still no word from your sister?"

Siena shook her head. She looked positively stricken, like she might collapse at any moment. Perhaps Agnese had reunited Cass and Siena for both of their benefits. "I'm sorry about what I said to you," Cass began. "I feel awful."

Siena shook her head quickly. "It's all right, Signorina. You were upset. I know what that's like."

The poor girl. Cass had always wanted a sister. She couldn't imagine what Siena must be feeling. "What's going on downstairs? Who are those men?"

Siena emerged from the armoire. "They're from the town guard."

"But why are they here?" Cass demanded. "And why now? This is hardly an appropriate hour for visitors."

Siena ducked back into the armoire. Her voice was muffled. "Apparently, your fiance returned home late last evening and found a boy sneaking around on the property. He sent for them first thing this morning."

Cass's heart skipped. "Did-did the boy manage to escape?"

Siena gave Cass a doe-eyed look and nodded. "Just. That's why Luca has called in the guard, to keep an eye out for his return. Was it your Falco?"

Cass shook her head. "No." Once again, she didn't bother correcting Siena about her choice of words. She bit her lip to keep back a sigh. She had resolved to stop thinking about Falco, but it was next to impossible. She could almost feel his hands on her, tiny spots of heat that danced across her skin. She wondered why he had sent Paolo in his place. Perhaps he thought Cass would refuse to see him, that she would scream for protection.

Siena pulled out a pale yellow gown. It had matching slashed sleeves that were already laced up. Then she riffled through a pile of lacy accessories and held up a high, stiff white-lace collar and a pair of matching cuffs. "What do you think of this?"

"It's perfect," Cass said. She actually despised the gown. It brought out her freckles and the pink tones of her skin, but she didn't care what she looked like today. Plus, the dress was so bland, Madalena couldn't feel as though Cass was trying to upstage her. Not that Cass had ever believed she could compete in beauty with Madalena.

She thought of the canvas tucked under her arm. Was she really as beautiful as Falco's painting? Or did he see things in her that simply weren't there?

She bent down and slid the bundle under her bed. Then she went to her dressing table and yanked open the top drawer. Her journal lay among a mess of quills and hair ornaments. Cass slipped Falco's letter into the back of the leather-bound book. It was probably the closest thing to a love letter she'd ever receive. She didn't want to lose it.

The note she had begun composing to Falco, in which she told him she never wanted to see him again, was still tucked inside her journal. At least she hadn't sent it. Her own pain was consuming her, but at least she had spared Falco some small measure of additional hurt.

Siena grabbed Cass's best whalebone stays from the bottom drawer of the armoire. She turned to Cass with the garment in her outstretched hand.

Cass heard the sound of heavy footsteps descending the front stairs. "They're leaving," she said. The wall clock read a quarter past eight. Cass had less than two hours to get ready and get to the church, but she was dying to know what Luca had told the guard. She couldn't bear to wait an additional thirty minutes while Siena laced and buttoned her into the yellow dress. Instead, she tossed on a pale blue dressing gown and rushed out into the hall, ignoring Siena's protestations.

Cass entered the portego just as Luca was shutting the front door. "What was that about?" she asked, keeping her voice light.

Luca pointedly refused to look at her. "Could we discuss this after you get dressed?"

Cass glanced down. Her dressing gown had fallen open. The fabric of her nightdress was thin, but it was far from transparent.

"I just want to know why the guard was here." Cass cinched the belt around her waist, securing her dressing gown around her, more for Luca's sake than her own. "Siena said something about a boy loitering on the property?"

Luca focused on the da Vinci mosaic. He seemed to regain his composure. "The boy claimed to be a messenger but refused to give me a message. He said he had wandered onto the wrong estate by accident."

"What happened to him?" Cass fought to keep a straight face.

"I tried to detain him, but he ran off," Luca said.

Cass arched an eyebrow. "Are you under the impression a simple messenger boy is committing grisly murders?"

"No. I don't think he's the killer, but he was probably up to no good." Luca finally made eye contact with Cass, but it almost seemed like he was looking past her, through her. "That's why I summoned the guard. I'd like to make sure that we have no unpleasant...incidents." The way he said it made Cass shiver. "As I've been telling you, Cassandra, you need to be cautious. People are not always what they seem."

Cass lifted her chin and forced herself to sound casual. "I feel very safe here on San Domenico." She added, for good measure, "Especially now that you're staying with us."

Luca smiled faintly. "I'm glad to hear it. I thought maybe you were finding my presence burdensome." He flicked his eyes toward the mantel clock. "You should probably get dressed."

Luca was already dressed. He wore black breeches and boots with a wine-colored silk doublet that fit snugly across his broad shoulders. A gold embroidered velvet cape hung from one shoulder. Most of his thick blondish hair was covered by a small-brimmed black velvet hat adorned with a plume of burgundy and white feathers.

"You look nice," Cass said, partially to soften him and partially because it was true.

"So do you," he responded instantly. "I mean, you will-I mean, you do now too, but-"

She turned back toward her room as Luca fumbled over his words. His politeness was sort of charming. So different from the men in the streets who hollered and clapped when women walked by. He probably wouldn't even try to kiss her again unless she specifically told him it was all right. For a brief second, Cass wondered what it would be like to stand on her tiptoes and press her mouth against Luca's pale lips. His beard had grown out some in the past few days. What would it feel like against the smooth skin of her cheek?

Wait. What was she doing? Luca was trying to get Falco's roommate thrown in jail and instead of being angry, Cass was daydreaming about kissing him. She sighed. Everything had gotten so confusing since Luca had moved in.

Back in her room, Cass couldn't keep herself from fidgeting as Siena threaded the silk ties through the eyelets of her stays. The laces would probably end up all upside down and backward, but all Cass could focus on was Falco. She had to see him again, just one last time. She wanted to thank him for the gorgeous painting. She wanted to let him know that Luca had alerted the guard about Paolo. It would be in the artists' best interests if they steered clear of Agnese's estate and the San Domenico graveyard for a while.

She knew where he would be today-at Palazzo Loredan for the art exhibition. Don Loredan lived just a few blocks away from Madalena. Cass decided she would sneak away for a few minutes after Mada's wedding ceremony. It would be easy to get lost in the mob of people as the procession made its way from the Frari to Palazzo Rambaldo for the wedding feast.

Siena fashioned Cass's hair into a tight bun and wrapped a white lace hair ornament around it. Cass grabbed a simple white hat and paused in the doorway of her bedchamber. Turning around, she snatched her journal from the top of her dressing table. Surely Agnese wouldn't object to Cass recording details of the happy day.

Her aunt had put on her finest gown, made of deep purple satin with threads of silver sewn right into the fabric. She wore a lavender veil and just a hint of makeup around her steely gray eyes. Cass could almost see her own mother hovering behind Agnese's wrinkled skin. She had never sensed the resemblance before. Even Narissa looked pretty in a simple green dress, her thinning hair hidden beneath a silky veil. She carried a pair of small rosewood cadenas that contained Cass and Agnese's personal silverware.

"Where's Luca?" she asked as she descended to the entry hall.

"He had an errand to run," Bortolo said. "Probably something to do with the young man he caught skulking about last evening." The old butler was sitting upright on one of the divans with his eyes closed. Cass wondered if he was answering questions in his sleep.

She chewed on her lower lip. Luca could have told her he was going out, but he had been too concerned with shooing her away to finish dressing. So that he could sneak away undetected.

"You ladies look lovely, by the way," the butler added with a wink. He stretched his spindly arms above his head.

"Oh, Bortolo," Agnese said. "If only all men were blind. I would never want for admirers." The old woman smiled. "Shall we go?" She offered Cass her arm.

The day was bright and clear. Mada would be pleased. Siena and Narissa helped Agnese down the crumbling front steps and over to the wooden dock. Giuseppe looked especially dapper in his blue and silver uniform, having added a plume of blue feathers to his hat for the occasion. He had even decorated the gondola's prow with a blue and silver banner. "Thank you, Giuseppe," Agnese said. "I may keep you around for a few years yet."

The gardener smiled toothlessly. Cass knew if her aunt had her way, the old man would die within the walls of the villa. Agnese was fiercely devoted to her staff. It must be troubling for her to await Matteo's decision about whether to sell the old estate. The boy was quite young to hold so many futures in his hand.

Agnese stepped carefully over a rotting plank and let Giuseppe assist her into the boat. The others piled in behind her.

Cass and her aunt settled in beneath the felze, safely protected from the sun. Narissa and Siena sat facing them in the middle of the boat. Tiny waves battered the gondola from all sides. Twice, Cass thought for sure that water would splash over and soak the hem of her dress, but Giuseppe proved to be an exceptionally skilled oarsman, navigating the gondola all the way from Agnese's villa to the Grand Canal without allowing any of the water to make its way into the boat.

When they entered the Grand Canal, Cass opened the slats of the felze, and for once her aunt did not admonish her. As the palazzos floated by, each more beautiful than the last, Cass named some of them under her breath. Palazzo di Guda. Palazzo Nicoletti. Palazzo Domacetti. Palazzo Dubois. She shivered in the warm air when she thought of Siena's sister, Feliciana. What had happened to her? Cass wanted to believe she was all right since her body hadn't floated up in a canal, but what if she were lying in a crypt somewhere?

She wouldn't think about it. It was bad luck to be preoccupied by such thoughts on Mada's wedding day. She tried to focus on the activity around her: open-air boats of various sizes packed the canals, crowded with merchants or fishermen, and private gondolas floated serenely between them. As they approached the Frari, Cass could see a huge gathering of people in the campo outside. They formed a semicircle beneath the three circular stained-glass windows above the Frari's main entrance. Just in front of the doors, a priest in black robes and a black skullcap waited, his golden crucifix gleaming in the sun.

Behind the church, residents of the neighborhood peeked out from back doors and windows. A handful of peasant children sat cross-legged at the edge of the canal, watching. All of Venice loved a good wedding, and it was customary for the bride and groom to exchange their vows outside so they could be seen by as many people as possible before proceeding into the church for a traditional Mass. Cass saw many familiar faces: Signor Dubois, Don and Donna Domacetti, Hortensa Zanotta from tea. Even Maximus the conjurer was there, entertaining a trio of peasant children by pulling coins out of their mouths.

Cass, Agnese, Siena, and Narissa joined the group of people awaiting Mada's arrival. Cass quickly found herself trapped within the crowd. She clutched her journal tightly to her side. The moist air intensified the swirling scent of lavender and rosewater perfume. Cass could practically taste the flowers on her tongue. Agnese blotted her face with a handkerchief and grumbled about the heat.

A cheer went up as a gleaming black gondola decorated with giant green and gold silk ribbons and strings of jasmine and orange blossoms approached the dock. Madalena's father sat in the front of the boat and a pair of servants sat in the back. Mada appeared from beneath the felze as the gondola slowed to a stop. She stood up and waved. The crowd roared with applause. A group of barefoot children wrestled their way closer. The gondoliers moored the boat and then assisted Mada's father onto the dock. Next came the servants, who turned to help Madalena.

Mada stood on the dock for a moment, allowing her lady's maid to straighten her skirts and lift the train of her stunning blue dress from the gondola. Mada's satin skirts seemed to change from blue to turquoise to deep indigo in the bright sunlight. It was the color of the open ocean, Cass decided, even though she had never been beyond the nearby Adriatic Sea. The light bounced off the metallic fibers woven into the dress and made it glimmer, just like the sun reflecting off the water.

Mada's dark hair was done up in several braids, half of them twisted into a flower shape on the top of her head, half of them hanging down over her shoulders and back. Her high jeweled tiara reflected the sunbeams, scattering points of light across the campo.

The semicircle of wedding guests split apart, creating a path to the doors of the Frari. Slowly, Mada began to make her way across the square. Children flung fistfuls of rice at her feet.

Marco's gondola pulled up at the dock and the crowd cheered again. Madalena glanced over her shoulder and blew a kiss to her fiance. He wore long, royal blue velvet robes. Everything was blue: the color of virtue. His dark hair was combed forward. He assisted his parents and his three younger siblings from the gondola before making his way to Mada and taking her arm.

Cass felt two emotions, sharply, at once. She was filled with joy for Madalena and Marco on their special day, but couldn't help thinking that her own wedding day would not be nearly so blissful. And she would not have her parents there as witnesses. With Luca's father deceased and his mother growing weaker, there might not be any parents present at all.

As Mada and Marco took their places below the largest of the stained-glass windows, just in front of the door to the church, and the crowd surged toward her, Cass started to feel faint. It was hot. Her stays were digging into her ribs.

She tried to focus on Madalena, but her friend's image swam before her eyes. How had she never noticed the striking similarity between her best friend and Mariabella? The dark hair, the high cheekbones. Mada looked so much like Mariabella that Cass could almost imagine the ring of bruising around her neck, the X carved in her skin, the blood blooming from her friend's chest.

Calm down. It's not real. But she couldn't shake the impression. She was parched; she needed something to drink. Cass fought her way back through the crowd, away from the building. She let the wedding-goers swirl around her, separating her from Agnese and the maidservants, separating her from Madalena.

A semicircle of people closed around the couple, seeming to swallow them whole. Once again, the mix of smells-sweat and perfume and orange blossoms-overpowered Cass. She couldn't breathe. Breaking free of the throng of people, she stumbled across the campo toward the canal. Several people looked at her inquisitively, no doubt alarmed to see a woman unescorted, but she didn't care. She needed air.

As Cass stood apart from the crowd, a pair of white- and gold-clad altar boys prepared to open the church doors. That meant that Mada and Marco had finished their vows. Everyone would now proceed inside for the remainder of the ceremony and a traditional Catholic service.

The great wooden doors swung open; the entrance into the Frari looked like a dark, gaping mouth. Cass was seized by a sudden fear: if Madalena went inside the church, she would never come back out. Cass had to warn her. Her heart was pounding. She had to warn Mada before it was too late.