Read Online Color Song (A Passion Blue Novel) by Victoria Strauss - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Strauss
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other treasures she was carrying out of Santa Marta: the secret of Passion blue, the bright flame of her own gift.
She reached the last of the convent’s garden courtyards and hurried along its paths, gravel crunching under her feet. Then she was in the orchard, the branches a dark tracery against the starry sky, the smell of windfall apples all around. She was trembling now, shaking with the chill of the night and with fear, her teeth chattering so hard they hurt.
The breach in the wall, where Ormanno had climbed in a year ago, had been repaired. But the repair was rough, and the sloppily mortared bricks offered hand- and footholds. Giulia pulled the bundle from under her gown and slung it by its cord over her elbow, then tucked her skirts into her belt and began to climb.
The top of the wall was wide, embedded with tile shards all down its center to deter intruders. The drop on the other side seemed huge, and the ledge at the bottom was narrower than she remembered. The canal lapped below it, a heaving black surface stinking of sewage.
Carefully she crawled over the tile shards and twisted around, thinking to lower herself by her hands to make the distance to the ground a little less daunting. But as she tried to walk her feet down the wall, her sandals slipped and the whole weight of her body dropped. Her grip broke and she fell, landing on the ledge with a jolt that snapped her teeth together. Bolts of pain shot through her ankles. She staggered, tipping sickeningly backward toward the filthy water of the canal, but at the very last second managed to grab hold of a sapling that had sprouted from a crack in the ledge and haul herself to safety.
She rested against the wall, gasping, as her pounding heartbeat slowed. Her knees burned where she’d scraped them, and there was pain in her left hand. When she turned her palm to the sky, she saw darkness there: blood. She’d cut herself when she lost her grip.
She wrapped the wound with a strip torn from her chemise. Then she pulled her skirts out of her belt and, still shaky, set off along the ledge, keeping her shoulder to the wall. The wall gave way to the backs of houses; she began to worry that the ledge would end before she found a way up into the city. But soon she reached a stone dock, jutting out into the canal. A set of stairs connected it to the street.
At the top she paused. The cobbles of the street glinted faintly in the starlight. Arcaded housefronts rose on either side, twin walls of shadow, candlelight glimmering between drawn shutters.
Padua lay before her. Then Venice. Then the world.
With no warning, panic roared out of the night, a black terror that felt as if it would rip her apart. What was she doing? Had she lost her mind? What madness possessed her, to imagine she could succeed?
It’s not too late. Compline hasn’t rung. If I hurry, I can get over the wall and back to my cell before Suor Margarita comes. No one will know I’ve been outside
. . .
She wheeled around. She stumbled down the stairs. But by the time her feet touched the dock, she felt sense returning; and as she stepped onto the ledge, she remembered her decision and why she had made it.
She stopped then, closing her eyes, letting the turmoil in her settle until she could feel again the familiar fire at her core—the passion that had driven her from Santa Marta, and must drive her farther still.
She returned to the stairs. As she reached the end of the street, she heard the Compline bell begin to ring.
Too late now.
She put her head down and walked on.
CHAPTER 8
GIROLAMO LANDRIANI
Padua, Italy
October, Anno Domini 1488
Giulia passed the night crouched in the doorway of a church. Shortly after leaving the dock, she’d realized that trying to find her way to the market in the dark, in a city she did not know, was foolish. The church steps seemed as safe a place as any to wait for morning.
The air was autumn-chill and the steps were cold. Even so, she managed to
She reached the last of the convent’s garden courtyards and hurried along its paths, gravel crunching under her feet. Then she was in the orchard, the branches a dark tracery against the starry sky, the smell of windfall apples all around. She was trembling now, shaking with the chill of the night and with fear, her teeth chattering so hard they hurt.
The breach in the wall, where Ormanno had climbed in a year ago, had been repaired. But the repair was rough, and the sloppily mortared bricks offered hand- and footholds. Giulia pulled the bundle from under her gown and slung it by its cord over her elbow, then tucked her skirts into her belt and began to climb.
The top of the wall was wide, embedded with tile shards all down its center to deter intruders. The drop on the other side seemed huge, and the ledge at the bottom was narrower than she remembered. The canal lapped below it, a heaving black surface stinking of sewage.
Carefully she crawled over the tile shards and twisted around, thinking to lower herself by her hands to make the distance to the ground a little less daunting. But as she tried to walk her feet down the wall, her sandals slipped and the whole weight of her body dropped. Her grip broke and she fell, landing on the ledge with a jolt that snapped her teeth together. Bolts of pain shot through her ankles. She staggered, tipping sickeningly backward toward the filthy water of the canal, but at the very last second managed to grab hold of a sapling that had sprouted from a crack in the ledge and haul herself to safety.
She rested against the wall, gasping, as her pounding heartbeat slowed. Her knees burned where she’d scraped them, and there was pain in her left hand. When she turned her palm to the sky, she saw darkness there: blood. She’d cut herself when she lost her grip.
She wrapped the wound with a strip torn from her chemise. Then she pulled her skirts out of her belt and, still shaky, set off along the ledge, keeping her shoulder to the wall. The wall gave way to the backs of houses; she began to worry that the ledge would end before she found a way up into the city. But soon she reached a stone dock, jutting out into the canal. A set of stairs connected it to the street.
At the top she paused. The cobbles of the street glinted faintly in the starlight. Arcaded housefronts rose on either side, twin walls of shadow, candlelight glimmering between drawn shutters.
Padua lay before her. Then Venice. Then the world.
With no warning, panic roared out of the night, a black terror that felt as if it would rip her apart. What was she doing? Had she lost her mind? What madness possessed her, to imagine she could succeed?
It’s not too late. Compline hasn’t rung. If I hurry, I can get over the wall and back to my cell before Suor Margarita comes. No one will know I’ve been outside
. . .
She wheeled around. She stumbled down the stairs. But by the time her feet touched the dock, she felt sense returning; and as she stepped onto the ledge, she remembered her decision and why she had made it.
She stopped then, closing her eyes, letting the turmoil in her settle until she could feel again the familiar fire at her core—the passion that had driven her from Santa Marta, and must drive her farther still.
She returned to the stairs. As she reached the end of the street, she heard the Compline bell begin to ring.
Too late now.
She put her head down and walked on.
CHAPTER 8
GIROLAMO LANDRIANI
Padua, Italy
October, Anno Domini 1488
Giulia passed the night crouched in the doorway of a church. Shortly after leaving the dock, she’d realized that trying to find her way to the market in the dark, in a city she did not know, was foolish. The church steps seemed as safe a place as any to wait for morning.
The air was autumn-chill and the steps were cold. Even so, she managed to
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