Starling by Fiona Paul Page A

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
    a face. “Come on. The rest of the house awaits us.” She led Cass
through the main level, showing her several places Cass had already
seen: the sitting room that served as Octavia’s office, the library, the
dining room. “The lower level houses the kitchen and storage areas,”
she said. “We have a girl who cooks for us, but we take turns doing
all of the other chores. We clean, we mend, we wash the linens.”
Cass nodded. “Do you live here?” she asked.
Seraphina led her up the sloping staircase. “Some of the newer
girls do,” she said. “I have my own place a few blocks away.”
The third floor was made up of a cross-shaped hallway with multiple rooms in each quarter. “The rooms on this side belong to the
girls who live here,” Seraphina said. “Those on the other side are
where we entertain our guests.”
“And where I slept, the fourth floor?”
“Ah, did you sleep up there? Horribly hot, I’d imagine. The top
floor has three more rooms. The cook sleeps in one, Flavia—she’s
our newest girl—in the second, and the third is usually kept open in
case someone like you needs a place.” Seraphina smiled. “There’s
not much to see, is there? Let’s go sit in the courtyard so we can
breathe the fresh air while we talk.” She ran a hand through her
golden tresses. “I’ve been dying for some sunshine so that I might
lighten my hair a bit.”
“But your hair is perfect,” Cass said.
Seraphina stroked it again. “Do you think so? I like yours too. So
rich, like earth, with just a hint of fire.”
Cass smiled. She had never heard her hair described in such a
fashion. She and Seraphina descended to the street level. They
passed through the kitchen and then outside into a small courtyard
that Palazzo Dolce shared with the palazzo next door to it. There
was no elaborate garden as Cass was accustomed to from visiting
friends on the Rialto—just a pair of benches facing each other and a
circle of rosebushes in