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Nascimbene’s brow furrowed. “Pardon, your grace?”
Enzo drew back his arm and cracked the back of his hand across Nascimbene’s jaw.
~
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Vittorio espied Carlotta long before Fiore ever could. As such, from the pricking of Vittorio’s ears and the wagging of his tail, he had warning long before she emerged from the shadows of a ramo on his way back from theKingfisher.
“Good evening,” Fiore called to her.
She returned the greeting in kind, adding, “Are you returning to Ca’ Scaevola?”
The question should’ve been casual. Indeed, it sounded so in her clipped and efficient speech. Yet something about it gave Fiore pause. Her very presence boded ill. Carlotta was supposed to accompany Enzo for the evening. If she had left Enzo’s trail then something unexpected must have occurred. If the unexpected thing were good, then Enzo would’ve come to find Fiore and give him the glad tidings himself.
But if Enzo had sent Carlotta to fetch him, then…
Fiore had kept one hand between Vittorio’s shoulder blades all afternoon—more to control his own nerves than the hound. Now that same hand clenched in the hound’s thick ruff.
“Yes,” Fiore answered, endeavoring to match her indifferent tone. “Why?”
“May I accompany you?”
There was no reason Fiore’s heart should leap into his throat at that. “Why?”
Carlotta hesitated—which did nothing to allay Fiore’s rising and unaccountable panic. “His grace the duke has asked me to do so.”
“And again,” Fiore said, trying to retain at least the pretense of patience. “I must ask you why.”
“His grace would prefer to inform you himself.”
Enzo was alive, then, at least. Still Fiore remained wary. “Is he all right?”
“He is unwounded, not imprisoned, and, to the best of my knowledge, free from illness or infection. May I accompany you back to Ca’ Scaevola?”
Fiore had to admire her tenacity even in the midst of his frustration. “Something tells me you will do so regardless of my answer.”
Her deferential nod in reply held the merest suggestion of an apology.
Fiore supposed he ought to feel grateful she’d bothered to ask even if only as a formality.
“If you prefer,” she added, “we may go by gondola rather than by foot.”
That would at least be faster. “Lead on.”
Carlotta remained tight-lipped throughout their silent journey down the city’s crowded canals. Vittorio didn’t even so much as whine—which astonished Fiore, who thought a creature of his brute bulk might object to cramming himself into the confines of a felze. But evidently Enzo had trained him up to ride in one just as a person might. Indeed he took up about the same amount of space. Fiore was glad to have him; his arm wrapped snug around the hound’s ruff seemed to be the only thing that kept him from drowning in his own anxieties.
They arrived at Ca’ Scaevola to find it consumed in a frantic hush. Servants scurried in all directions. They communicated between themselves in occasional hisses and whispers but mostly in wild glances. All their eyes which chanced to meet Fiore’s widened in horror at the sight of him. This did nothing to alleviate his concerns.
Carlotta ignored them all and led Fiore straight upstairs to the alchemy workshop. Her distinctive brisk knock fell upon its door.
“Enter,” Enzo’s solemn intonation resounded beyond it.
Fiore’s heart sang at the sound of his voice.
Carlotta opened the door. “Signor Fiore, your grace.”
Enzo stood braced against his alchemy bench. His head turned toward the door as it opened. The instant his eyes met Fiore’s his stormy aspect brightened. He drew himself upright. Fiore swept his gaze up and down his frame—evidently unwounded, as Carlotta had promised, and by all appearances very well. Even his suit remained as pristine as when he’d departed for the festivities, save for his cravat, crumpled and undone around his beautiful throat.
