Page 96 of A Betrothal So Bloody

It doesn’t matter. They won’t find him.

And as months stretch on, I doubt they’ll ever find me, either. My secret, for now, is safe. I’m still careful, watching the shadows and listening in gossip for any trace of the Order encroaching toward my new home. But so far, Corvus has not seemed to stray from their ordinary territory on the west, leaving me with the terrifying freedom to create a new life myself in Venice.

I search tirelessly for Alessandro’s palazzo for weeks at first, fruitless and despairing. The city is sprawling—a labyrinth of canals, towering buildings, and dark alleys.

But I know he and that wretched family of leeches are here, somewhere. So I stay.

Someday, I’ll find Dante. I’ll save him, and end Alessandro in the most painful way I know how. And then, we’ll both be free.

Acclimating to the vast city, I quickly find that a life of pickpocketing and petty burglary to pawn for coin doesn’t suit me, and find my talents far more suited to apothecary. It’s a humble living, but it’s comfortable. I sleep in the backroom of my small shop tucked near the docks by the Rialto Bridge, toiling by day to provide tinctures to cure fevers and the odd bile here and there.

My access to exotic herbs, along with bits of literature that I regularly arrange to be snuck into my possession, make me uniquely positioned to continue my holy mission. My creed is now distorted from the one Corvus beat into me. Now, it’s my own. I will rid the world of the blight of vampires—but if I can, by curing them. The majority may still be greedy, godless souls… But if there are even a few like Dante that are worth saving, it is worth every sleepless night.

Some days, I wonder if I’m insane for not giving up. For choosing such a lonely life as the months stretch toward a year. I’m twenty seven now, while Dante will not have aged a single day. Is he still suffering as I am? Or is our passion a fleeting memory in the life of an immortal and I’m already far from his mind?

A century, stellina. A hundred fucking years, and I’ve never found anyone like you.

Those once-uttered words have become my daily prayer—the balm that soothes my anxiety when nothing else can.

I’m jarred from my thoughts by the faint creak of hinges. Someone’s entered the shop—perhaps that anxious mother of four returning for more chamomile. Setting down my book, I step to the front of the shop behind the counter.

A man in a pale grey doublet steps through the door, his steps weighed down by a crate laden in his arms. I recognize the curly chestnut hair and perpetual shadow of stubble on his jaw immediately, and my brooding thoughts are temporarily pacified.

“Enzo! Buongiorno.” Rushing around the counter, I greet him with a kiss on the cheek before eagerly looking at the contents of the crate. “You found them already?”

“One of the many perks of bribing the best printer in the city,” Enzo winks, his grin utterly rakish as he sets down the crate on a long table laden with amber jars brimming with dried herbs and salves. I push a few of my vervain garlands aside to make more room.

Inside, books await me, the scent of ink and parchment rich as I lean in. Tomes of rare religious texts, illuminated folklore manuscripts, and sinister-looking bestiaries are stacked inside. “This batch was tricky, to be sure. I’ve never met a woman who reads so much. Or such strange topics.” He frowns, pulling an unbound stack of parchment from the stack. “I mean—the civil mortality ledger? You should have seen the look I got obtaining that one. I thought they were going to jail me for indecency.”

I pluck it from his hand, eagerly scanning the copied text. Not every mortality in Venice is recorded, but if I can spot an unusual death here, I’ll have a lead. Fang marks disguised as unusual animal bites, for example.

Without Corvus Order’s resources at my disposal, getting ahold of literature as an unmarried woman is a daunting task. Luckily, Enzo is kinder than most and not put off by a well-read female. I’d been terribly lucky he’d been working to set type that day when I’d strode into his family’s shop, desperate to acquire books that would aid my research of curing vampirism.

The memory sends a renewed rush of gratitude through me, and I steal a glance at Enzo standing beside me. Though his family does own one of the most influential print shops in the city, I know he takes a risk each time he acquires my unusual requests. He’s curious and sweet, and always drops a copper quattrino to the beggar that often posts near the basilica. We’d gotten along straight away, and sometimes I wonder how I’d have adjusted to this living brothel of a city without knowing he was in my corner.

As I begin to sink into the listed descriptions of recent fatalities, Enzo clears his throat. “I was wondering, Ariya—are you doing anything for the occasion?”

“What occasion?” I spare him a glance and find him gaping.

“St. Marks Day? Only the largest festivity to honor the patron of the city—nothing more.”

I flip to the next page, frowning. “I thought that event was intended for young lovers.”

“Well, you—uh, it doesn’t have to be. One might consider attending the festival with someone they’re fond of enough to share a glass of wine or two with.” He pauses, but when I give no response, he adds, “You haven’t given any thought at all about going?”

I scoff. “With whom?”

“Perhaps with whoever gave you that bracelet you’re always wearing?”

I glance down at my wrist—Callistia’s gift. My throat tightens at the reminder that I hadn’t slipped it to Dante before he was dragged off by his family. To think he could have at least found reprieve during sleep. Those damn nightmares…

Bemused, I blink at him. “Why are you so concerned?”

Throwing his head back with a groan, he combs a hand through his hair. “Do I need to scribble it down on that parchment for you to take a hint? I’m asking you to come with me!” He blushes a little when I meet his eyes. “Just to shut up my mother and aunts, of course. I won’t drown you in flowers or romantic gestures. Just pleasant company.”

“Oh. I doubt your mother will be impressed by the likes of me. Chances are, you’d get more of an earful than if you went alone.”

“Nonesense. You’re a perfectly lovely woman. All the more reason you should be outside enjoying the arts. Why move to Venice if not for that? You can’t seriously be here for these odd texts alone.”