Read Online Heart of Glass by Sasha Gould - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sasha Gould
Tags: General Fiction
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Doge, and as a member of the Grand Council, Father insists that his family be represented today.
“The daughters of Venice will be on hand when the Turks arrive,” he explained. “And you will be among them. Is that understood?”
I tried to tell him that my grief for Roberto made public appearances impossible, but how could I ever have expected Father to understand?
“Roberto has brought shame on this family. It is up to you to retrieve some honor. You will be there,” he said, his voice laden with threat.
So, here I stand. Faustina considered carefully what outfit I should wear. Finally, this morning, we settled on the cream satin embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis, with a front-laced bodice. My hair is plaited and wound around my head, and a string of iridescent shells hangs from my neck. Emilia brought out her best gown from her luggage, and Faustina steamed the peacock silk until every last crease had been smoothed out. It took her the best part of a day to prepare.
Another breeze drifts off the water. Sails flutter, and Venetian flags ripple and snap above our heads. The harbor is alive with noise—people chattering, noblemen talking in whispers. Behind us, musicians play trumpets, clarinets and drums. Ahead of us is the Turkish galley ship, surrounded by smaller vessels. The Ottoman Empire has a huge fleet; everyone in Venice knows that. Constantinople’s shipyard is legendary.
Massimo, the man who commands Venice’s warships, has trimmed his beard back a little, I see. He heads a detachment of soldiers who form an escort to the Grand Council. The show of might is hardly subtle. I have no doubt of the importance of these talks, for they concern the trade routes across the sea that bring silk, grain and spices to our markets, and money into our purses. But my affection for Venice cannot override my love for Roberto, and the pain I feel is like an iron cage pressing my ribs tighter and tighter. I have asked Allegreza for another interview to discuss the mysterious woman at Murano. Surely, thiswoman holds more clues. I was a fool to allow Allegreza’s empty words about wheels turning to keep me from asking more questions. There are secrets waiting to be unearthed, and I must do the digging.
For now, though, I have no choice but to play my part in this spectacle. The lead ship of the Ottoman fleet has three masts and is squat in the water. It is an imposing object, with none of the gilded beauty of our gondolas. If ships could speak, this one would say, I fear nothing .
“Are you nervous?” Emilia whispers to me as the breeze plays with the curls at her temples. Her eyes are fixed on the water, eating up the scene.
“No,” I tell her. I feel almost nothing. The rest of life dulls to gray beside the nightmarish color of the blood I saw on Roberto’s floor. I close my eyes and try to push that image from my mind, but it is branded behind my eyelids.
“You should be nervous!” Faustina’s voice protests. I dare not look round to face her; I must appear as a lady of Venice, entranced by the Ottomans’ arrival. “I’ve heard that all Turks are goblin-faced brutes. This Halim—their prince, as they call him—I’ve heard he can turn people to stone with his ugliness! Whatever you do, don’t gaze into his eyes, girls. I won’t be answerable for what happens.”
On the edge of my vision, I see Emilia’s shoulders shaking with contained mirth. A smile plays around my own lips, despite myself.
“You’re talking nonsense,” I murmur over my shoulder.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” is Faustina’s last shot. There’s no time left to speak. The ship has docked, and men are scrambling up the masts to let down the sails. Agangplank has been set against the side of the vessel. Men walk down it, gazing around them with open curiosity. I wonder how Venice appears to eyes that have never seen it before; the canals and piazzas, the colorful market stalls and soaring spires.
A sudden blast of
“The daughters of Venice will be on hand when the Turks arrive,” he explained. “And you will be among them. Is that understood?”
I tried to tell him that my grief for Roberto made public appearances impossible, but how could I ever have expected Father to understand?
“Roberto has brought shame on this family. It is up to you to retrieve some honor. You will be there,” he said, his voice laden with threat.
So, here I stand. Faustina considered carefully what outfit I should wear. Finally, this morning, we settled on the cream satin embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis, with a front-laced bodice. My hair is plaited and wound around my head, and a string of iridescent shells hangs from my neck. Emilia brought out her best gown from her luggage, and Faustina steamed the peacock silk until every last crease had been smoothed out. It took her the best part of a day to prepare.
Another breeze drifts off the water. Sails flutter, and Venetian flags ripple and snap above our heads. The harbor is alive with noise—people chattering, noblemen talking in whispers. Behind us, musicians play trumpets, clarinets and drums. Ahead of us is the Turkish galley ship, surrounded by smaller vessels. The Ottoman Empire has a huge fleet; everyone in Venice knows that. Constantinople’s shipyard is legendary.
Massimo, the man who commands Venice’s warships, has trimmed his beard back a little, I see. He heads a detachment of soldiers who form an escort to the Grand Council. The show of might is hardly subtle. I have no doubt of the importance of these talks, for they concern the trade routes across the sea that bring silk, grain and spices to our markets, and money into our purses. But my affection for Venice cannot override my love for Roberto, and the pain I feel is like an iron cage pressing my ribs tighter and tighter. I have asked Allegreza for another interview to discuss the mysterious woman at Murano. Surely, thiswoman holds more clues. I was a fool to allow Allegreza’s empty words about wheels turning to keep me from asking more questions. There are secrets waiting to be unearthed, and I must do the digging.
For now, though, I have no choice but to play my part in this spectacle. The lead ship of the Ottoman fleet has three masts and is squat in the water. It is an imposing object, with none of the gilded beauty of our gondolas. If ships could speak, this one would say, I fear nothing .
“Are you nervous?” Emilia whispers to me as the breeze plays with the curls at her temples. Her eyes are fixed on the water, eating up the scene.
“No,” I tell her. I feel almost nothing. The rest of life dulls to gray beside the nightmarish color of the blood I saw on Roberto’s floor. I close my eyes and try to push that image from my mind, but it is branded behind my eyelids.
“You should be nervous!” Faustina’s voice protests. I dare not look round to face her; I must appear as a lady of Venice, entranced by the Ottomans’ arrival. “I’ve heard that all Turks are goblin-faced brutes. This Halim—their prince, as they call him—I’ve heard he can turn people to stone with his ugliness! Whatever you do, don’t gaze into his eyes, girls. I won’t be answerable for what happens.”
On the edge of my vision, I see Emilia’s shoulders shaking with contained mirth. A smile plays around my own lips, despite myself.
“You’re talking nonsense,” I murmur over my shoulder.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” is Faustina’s last shot. There’s no time left to speak. The ship has docked, and men are scrambling up the masts to let down the sails. Agangplank has been set against the side of the vessel. Men walk down it, gazing around them with open curiosity. I wonder how Venice appears to eyes that have never seen it before; the canals and piazzas, the colorful market stalls and soaring spires.
A sudden blast of
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