Starling (38 page)

Does that mean I get to go along too?”
“Both of you may go,” Octavia said. “
Santo cielo,
I almost didn’t
see you there buried beneath that stack.”
Flavia held up
The Odyssey.
“Capricia has been helping me with
literature,” she said. “A romance, an adventure, and scholarly
thoughts. If I learn these, I’ll be able to please many men.”
“Indeed,” Octavia said, giving Cass a warm smile. “But I’m going
to steal away your tutor for a moment. You keep studying, all right?”
Flavia nodded, and opened the cover of the Michel de Montaigne
book.
Octavia turned to Cass. “I do appreciate your help. One of my
most trusted, Seraphina, is available to give you a tour of Palazzo
Dolce and teach you a few secrets of the trade.”
Cass blushed.
Secrets of the trade?
Did she even want to know
what that meant? She followed Octavia down the corridor to the
portego, where several of the girls were lying about, two still in their
bedclothes. They glanced curiously at Cass.
“The girls seem to be warming to you,” Octavia murmured, low
enough so that only Cass could hear her. “Perhaps you’ll decide you
want to stay on here permanently.”
Cass tried to imagine herself draped over a velvet divan like the
girl with silk-straight black hair that hung slightly past her chin. Or
like the pale girl dressed in a sheer chemise, the curves of her body
displayed for everyone to see her as she played a happy tune on a
flute. It was Arabella, the girl who had admitted them to the brothel
last night, Cass realized.
Arabella was a skilled flautist. Her notes were crisp and clear,
reminding Cass of birdsong, or perhaps the sweet voices of the Sirens
from Odysseus’s epic tale. A far cry from any music Cass and her
violin had ever made, which had sounded more like cats brawling.
A fair-skinned woman with hair the color of honey floated into
the room in a gossamer gown and veil, both the color of melted butter. She looked a few years older than Cass, but no part of her age
detracted from her beauty.
“There she is.” Octavia signaled the woman in yellow. “Seraphina, this is Capricia.”
Seraphina curtsied. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Capricia is considering employment with us, but she comes from
a noble background.” The way Octavia said
noble
made it sound like
Cass had leprosy or a touch of the plague. “I told her you’d give her
a tour of Palazzo Dolce and then maybe teach her a bit about interacting with the men who come here.”
Seraphina laughed a little bell-like laugh. “I think to call them
men is a bit misleading,” she said. “Most of them are just boys who
became older yet never grew up.”
Octavia was pulled away by one of the other girls as Seraphina
gestured around the cavernous portego with one gloved hand. “Obviously you’ve seen our portego, where we do some of our
public
entertaining.” She grinned mischievously. “Have you met the rest of
the ladies?” Seraphina rattled off a list of names that Cass promptly
forgot. There were so many girls, each of them slightly different in
their mannerisms but all gorgeous. And most of them were petite, a
full head shorter than Cass. They flitted around the airy room like
butterflies or nymphs. Even without her chopines, Cass felt awkward
and ungainly around them.
Arabella played a rare sour note on her flute, and Seraphina made