Starling (113 page)

out away from her body to free it, ripping a small hole in the fabric.
She swore under her breath. Flavia had been kind to lend her a dress,
and she’d be returning it in ruins.
Halfway up, Cass’s concentration wavered. Her foot hit a loose
rock—she lost her momentum and began to fall backward. Squealing,
she swung her arms wildly in a circle before grabbing onto Maximus
for support.
The man paused, nearly at the top of the pile, and shook his head.
“She has to do this on her own.”
“Maybe it would help if I knew
why
I was doing this,” Cass said.
But regardless of the reason, she knew she would press onward. She
was too curious now. She wanted to know more about the sort of
people who lived out here, so far from the Rialto.
“The answer to your question awaits you at the top.” Maximus
picked his way gracefully across the loose stones, making it look ridiculously easy.
“That’s not helpful,” Cass said. But even as her body screamed in
protest and her leg muscles began to quiver, she kept going. Grunting,
she leaned forward again and used her hands to help navigate the
rocks.
Her skin hadn’t seen much light in the past week, and she could
feel her face burning in the afternoon sun. For a moment, she heard
Aunt Agnese’s voice in her head, scolding her.
Don’t you know freckles are the surest sign of a wayward nature, child?
Cass grinned at the
memory and then was filled with a sudden longing. If only she’d had
one more chance to tell Agnese how much she loved her.
Sweat trickled down her forehead, and she brushed at it with fingers that were red and raw from clawing her way up the mountain of
boulders. A gust of air blew in from the water as she finally made it
to the top. The rocks fell away at the base of a gentle hill. At the crest
of the hill stood the old church. It was made of rough-hewn stone and
white marble columns, with a gabled roof and a single bell tower rising high above a pair of domed cupolas.
The final ascent was nothing. Cool, wet air swirled around Cass
as if she had somehow climbed straight up into the clouds. Below her,
the surf pounded against the jagged rocks, but she barely registered
the dull roar of the water.
In front of the church sat a large campo, with circles marked in
white chalk. Men faced off in the circles, attacking each other with
swords and maces.
Cass raised a hand to her mouth as one man’s spiked weapon collided with his opponent’s shield. “What is this place?” she asked.
“What is the Blood of Midnight?”
“It is where men go when they have nothing left to lose,” Maximus
answered.
Cass’s eyes were drawn to the middle circle. There the men fought
not on the campo, but on a narrow slab of wood balanced on two
pedestals. Swords clanged as the men exchanged blows, their feet
carefully traversing the warped beam upon which they stood. Both
of the men wore shirts of chain-mail armor and the same loose
breeches as the man who had led Cass and Maximus up the path.
The taller man stepped back sharply as his opponent lunged at his
chest. He twisted his body to regain his balance, and Cass caught a
glimpse of his face.
“It can’t be,” she murmured, lifting a hand to her mouth.