The Glimmering Sea

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Oriana's black and silver gondola arrived at the canal near Vittore's home. A gilded mermaid decorated the interior of the bow. Armida noted the gondolier's skin—a rich, deep brown, darker even than Torquato's Terran skin color—wholly unlike her disappointing absence of color. He greeted her, introduced himself as Matteo, then remained silent for the trip to Ca' d'Argento. They passed the most beautiful building Armida had seen yet, its facade golden, its intricate pointed arches replete with fine tracery.

Armida trailed a hand in the canal, wishing the entire time she could leap off the narrow, rocking boat and be immersed in the water. Despite the murk, it enticed her more than the Terran life she'd been living. She lost track of where they traveled and what route they'd taken. The sole paths she'd memorized were to and from the Scuola and Vittore's home and studio.

"Who lives in these palaces?"

Matteo continued with his steady oaring. "In Venice as everywhere—the Doges, the noble families, the wealthy, the powerful."

"The palazzo that the sunlight glints off like from the crests of waves? I would love to see the interior."

"The Ca' d'Oro? It is the home of the Contarinis. A founding family of Venice."

"Have you been inside? Is it as beautiful as the outside?"

Matteo squinted at Armida. "You must understand my position. I am not free to move among the nobility of Venice. Oriana owns me."

Armida gasped at the meaning of his words. "How can a person own another?"

Matteo shook his head. "With money and position. A slaver brought me here from my home in Africa. But I will earn my freedom next year. Oriana has promised to buy me a place at a ferry station."

Armida wondered how she should identify which Terrans to hate. Matteo did not seem deserving of that. She said, "You understand the ways of Venice. What law prevents Oriana from wearing pearls?"

Matteo did not take his gaze away from the gondola's path, his rhythm uninterrupted. "They prohibit it for courtesans."

Armida pursed her lips and inhaled. These Terrans had so many rules and labels. No wonder they had so much conflict.

He oared along the narrow, deep canal deftly to a brick-stepped entrance marked by twin columns, each decorated with carved marble roping. Armida reached out to touch the curtain of lacy wisteria on the opposite wall. It reminded her of Isabetta's purple scales. More stairs led up to the residence. Matteo stabilized Armida as she stood. As capable as she was in the water, she was clumsy on the water. She would need to be cautious as she was supposed to be a fisherman's daughter. She amused herself by allowing her father was a fisherman of sorts.

The drawing room held the lute player and the empty spinet. A servant led Armida to a settee. A man in a blue tunic and the harlequin-patterned tights so popular in Venice entered the room and sat at the spinet. None of them spoke. Armida's fingers played with the velvet upholstery and the silk fringe. Her nerves set her on a spiny edge, ready to split open in a burst of anxiety she feared would reveal everything she was desperate to conceal.

"Gemma! How pretty you are today. I am envious of youth." Oriana stroked her wrinkled cheek in a manner that sent chills through Armida. "I was once as dewy as you. I now depend on my creams and ablutions my flatterers and physicker suggest. And what I do to my hair to ensure my clients remain happy is best undescribed."

Her words did not deceive. Armida had the upper hand and needed to press her advantage as long as possible. "What you call dewy is the scrim of oil I have not yet scrubbed from my face. You have the natural beauty to which I aspire. Your hair shines gold like the sun, unlike mine, which is the color of an old woman's. How could I compare?"