Chapter 75
The footsteps outside the door to his room were familiar ones, so Marco didn’t start—or reach for his knife—when a voice hailed him.
“Hey, Marco—”
Marco Valdosta stretched out his leg and pulled the closed door open with his foot.
“Rafael, I thought you were in class.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow at his tall, skinny roommate.
Suite-mate, actually, Lord and Saints. Still hard to believe that I’m actually in the Accademia, that I’m rooming with Rafael. Easier than believing I’m “married” and that my wife has gone to stay at a family estate in Fruili, rather than spend time with me. And the worst of it is that it suits me. I’ve tried . . . But the more I see of Angelina . . . I must have been crazy.
Rafael shrugged his shoulders, barely rippling the gray-black material of his cotte, and put his parchments behind the bookcase beside him. “The model got sick, so they threw us out.”
“Not surprising, if she had to look at you for too long.”
Rafael grimaced at him. “Thanks a lot! I like you, too. You coming across to Zianetti’s for a glass of wine and a bite?”
It was Marco’s turn to grimace. “No thanks. I . . . I don’t like to go there much.”
Rafael shrugged again. “I said to Luciano I’d try to bring you along. He’s got some of those herbs from someone—Sophia?—for you.”
Marco got to his feet. “I wish he’d picked some other tavern.”
“You’ll get over her,” said Rafael awkwardly.
Marco sighed. “I used to think that.”
Rafael patted him on the shoulder. “You will. Just give it time. These things blur eventually.”
Marco shook his head, then pulled on his cloak. “It’s been months since I saw her last. Time just seems to bring Kat into closer focus.”
They walked in silence down the alley and across the campo to Zianetti’s. They took up residence in one of the smaller back rooms and soon brought conversation around to happier topics, before they were joined by Luciano Marina. He looked tired and grim. “We must meet in private in the future. Things are getting too risky. Even the Jesolo marshes are less dangerous these days.”
Marco’s blank look made Luciano smile. “Even for you, young lord. For us more ordinary Strega it is dangerous enough.”
Marco swallowed and looked at Rafael . . . Who nodded slightly. “I didn’t realize . . .”
“We’d like to keep it that way,” said Luciano. “Persecution is stepping up. Why a trade blockade should be our fault, I do not know.”
Rafael shrugged. “The magical murders are easy enough to blame on the Strega. Except several of the victims have been among us.”
Luciano pulled out a cloth bundle from underneath his cloak. “Anyway, here are some of the herbs that you wanted from Sophia. She misses you. Sends her love.”
He stood up. “I’ve got things to do. Don’t get caught up with the Church while carrying these herbs. It’ll challenge even Petro Dorma to explain some of them.”
A moment later he was gone. Marco and Rafael finished their wine in silence before following after.
As they headed across the torch-lit campo, Rafael coughed apologetically. “If you think it better to find other digs . . . well, I’ll understand. It’s not that safe these days to associate with the old faith.”
“Safer than running into Filippo Recchia,” Marco replied bitterly. “By comparison the Church inquisition is dull and gentle, and they aren’t after me all the time.”
Rafael frowned sympathetically. “Si—you managing to avoid the bully? Is there anything I can do?”
Marco shook his head when Rafael looked like he was going to say more. “Don’t worry about it; there’s nothing either of us can do about him. I’ve dealt with worse.”
“The problem with Filippo Recchia . . .” Rafael shrugged. “The Recchia are a rising house. Before you arrived on the scene, Marco, Recchia had been the pack leader. But this new kid on the block . . . it’s the old story. The Valdosta family is where the Recchia wish they were—and Filippo’s young enough and stupid enough to let the resentment show.”