Starling (102 page)

“I will kill you,” Cristian yelled from behind her, his words wet
with blood.
Mannaggia.
Was there nothing that would incapacitate
him? She clawed her way out the front door of Palazzo Viaro and
nearly fell to her knees in the warm night. Stars shined down on her,
lighting the pathway back to the Conjurer’s Bridge. Wind tickled the
nape of her neck. Cass was so relieved to be out of Cristian’s lair that
tears spilled hot from her eyes without warning.
She forced back a sob, wiping viciously at her damp eyes with one
of her satin sleeves. She was still in danger. Safety first. Then tears.
The hazy moon illuminated streets that were bare except for trash
heaps and the occasional rat, its metallic eyes glowing menacingly in
the dark. Cass stumbled barefoot across the Conjurer’s Bridge, looking back once over her shoulder for Cristian. The door to Palazzo
Viaro swung back and forth in the breeze, but Luca’s deranged half
brother was nowhere to be found. She turned toward the center of
town, the cobblestones digging into her feet with each labored step.
She needed to find Luca or Feliciana. She needed to know more
about the fire. Had anyone survived?
Cass turned into an alley, and then turned again. She quickly became lost, but prayed she had gone far enough to where Cristian
would not find her. Pausing in the doorway of a bakery, she wished
she were wearing anything but her ridiculous wedding dress. The
layers of fabric hung like sheets of lead. Even the sleeves were pulling
her toward the ground. She gripped the wooden door frame, chips of
paint flecking off beneath her fingers.
The curved façade of a small chapel down the block caught her
eye. She would seek sanctuary there, just for a little while. In the
calmness of the church, she could regain her strength and figure out
what to do next.
San Zaccaria was a pale building of modest size, made of stone,
with simple arched windows. Thankfully, the door was unlocked.
Inside, a single candle flickered on the altar, illuminating empty
pews and walls that were covered with frescoes. Cass lingered in the
doorway for a moment until she felt certain she was alone. Then, she
walked up the main aisle, toward the thick red candle that sat in an
elaborate golden holder. Her eyes held fast to the flame as if she were
staring at God himself.
Cass stood before the altar, her head bowed, her lips murmuring
the Lord’s Prayer. She asked God to keep her safe, and to keep safe
the people she loved. Those who had lived, anyway.
She prayed for Falco—that he wasn’t dead, that he had escaped
somehow. Perhaps she had simply lost him in the smoke . . .
The flame of the red candle flickered as Cass prayed until her
mouth was dry and her limbs were heavy. It had taken almost everything she had to escape from Cristian, but God had guided her to
safety. Now, as the angels, disciples, and wise men in the frescoes
looked down upon her, she sank to the floor in front of the altar.
“My child. What is it?”
Cass bit back a scream. She hadn’t even heard the priest enter
from the sacristy.
“I’m sorry,” she faltered. “I just—I needed a safe place.” In her
bloodstained wedding dress and tangled hair, she could only imagine what the priest was thinking. She probably looked like a deranged
murderer.
“Is that . . . blood?” the priest asked, gesturing at her gown.
Cass could only bring herself to nod. The fabric of her bodice