Investiture of a new family amongst the ranks of Venetian nobility nowadays was a rarity, and as such, everyone from the Polani and Baseggio to the Contarini and Badoer lines came out to witness the honor. As the 97th Grand Duke of Venice, Alvise Mocenigo conducted the ceremony just weeks into his own tenure, but the occasion gave the city much more to celebrate than just the bestowal of a title.

The Republic could finally breathe again.

Easter Sunday in the year 1630 had brought with it not only the end of Lenten fasting and reflection, but also spurred another kind of rebirth. The plague—and the unspoken terrors it had caused—had been defeated. The boats to the Lazzaretto rarely made their morose trips across the lagoon any more, and hope had returned to the islands.

Standing in the back of the Great Council hall within the Palazzo Ducale, Giovanna clasped her hands together and nervously kneaded her fingers. Up front, her father had just donned the robes of a voting member of Venice's administrative body and was preparing to sign his name to the master ledger. When he was done, a triumphant reception followed as hundreds of citizens began to clap.

Filled with pride at her father's well-deserved recognition, Giovanna turned to sneak out before the ball in his honor. But instead of a clear path to the door, she found two gentlemen approaching.

"A drink to toast this auspicious day, Madonna?" asked the blonde in a dark blue tunic, offering her one of the cups he held.

The other—wearing an embroidered jerkin and elaborate collar—bowed in greeting and held out his hand. "Or perhaps you'd prefer to start with a dance?" he asked.

Giovanna took a small step backward and steadied her shaky hands against her billowing skirt. Although she wore a custom-tailored gown of the finest silks that overshadowed even that which Matteo had once offered her, she still felt out of place and now would have gladly been strolling the canals, instead.

It was her work there—originally in the company of both Matteo and Simone—that had earned the coins for the dress. The trio's work was so secret not even the Procurator knew the whole truth, but the fact that Venice quickly saw a decrease in unexplained attacks, disappearances, and deaths deserved to be rewarded. Gold from the Republic's coffers went to the man who likely had the most to do with the remarkable turnaround: the plague doctor himself, Agostino Rienzo.

And while their efforts weren't directly recognized, all three were all content with the arrangement. In fact, any of them would have done it for free, recognizing the need for safety above any profit. So each night for over a month they scoured the alleys, putting down the preacher's aberrations with a swift blade through the brain.

As the number of creatures waned, so did the need for all of their attention. Simone's sense of duty to his upcoming marriage and Matteo's obligations to his position in the Council supporting the newly appointed Doge eventually took both away from the task. Left alone, Giovanna finished what they had started, wiping the last remnants of the plague's invisible victims from existence.

"I . . ." she stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden attention.

"Signora Visconti," a burly voice from behind interrupted the moment.

Giovanna turned to see the unexpected figure of the city's chief jailer.

"Signore," she said with a curtsy, silently thankful for the man's impeccable timing that saved her from the awkward encounter. "What may I do for you?"

The man took her hand and grazed it with his lips. "I merely wanted to extend my congratulations to your family for the great honor it is receiving today," he said.

She nodded out of respect for the acknowledgement rather than concurrence. "Thank you, but it is my father who is being awarded for his service to the Republic. It is the Rienzo name being exalted today and as you yourself just said, I am a Visconti."

The jailer smiled. "Oh, my dear child. As a widow, it is true that you would be considered the head of your own household if your late husband would have had anything to leave you besides his name. But since he was a soldier with no property nor other valuables, you have the choice to return to your father's side and enjoy the benefits of his newfound status," he said.

Giovanna stared at the man in surprise, not having realized that this was a possibility. "You are certain?" she asked, unaware of the intricacies of civil law.

He bowed his head. "I swear to you, Madonna," he said, using the same honorific reserved for gentle ladies as the man before him. "And before I go, I would like to also convey my sympathies to you about the way Signore Visconti met his end."

Suddenly flustered, Giovanna blinked rapidly and looked for a way out. "The plague has taken too many from this fair city," she said as her eyes fell to the door.

"The plague?" asked the jailer, the confusion in his voice drawing her attention back to him. "That is not how your husband died."

"It isn't?" she asked, feeling as if the floor had been pulled out from under her. For weeks, she had convinced herself that the blanket she had given Stefano had brought the fatal illness upon him. "But I thought—"

"Stefano Visconti was a free man on his way out the jail's door when another prisoner strangled him in a deranged fit. It was an unprovoked attack from a lunatic, nothing more," he said. Seeing Giovanna in a state of shock and unable to respond, the man bowed in farewell. "I am sorry for your loss, but a good day to you, Madonna."

When he stepped away, the void revealed that an equally astounded Matteo had been standing behind him.

"Stefano was killed by another inmate. It wasn't because I had—"

"I heard everything," said Matteo, stepping forward.

Giovanna held back tears. "Did you know?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. How can you even ask? If I had known that you didn't directly cause his death, I would have told you at once to save you from all the pain your guilt has inflicted," he said, touching her arm.

She sniffled, ready to bow into is waiting embrace for much needed comfort when curious looks caught her attention. "Why is everyone staring?" Giovanna asked, unnerved by the eyes upon them.

"Because you look magnificent. But here, if it is bothering you, then come," he said, before leading her toward a group of dancers. Waiting for the right beat of the ongoing song, they seamlessly joined in.

"You are too kind, but apart from the gown—which is still more modest than any other here—I am no different than I was yesterday or the day before," Giovanna said between steps, glad for the distraction. "And I've never gotten a reaction such as this."

"That is because yesterday—or any day before then for that matter—you were not worthy of their stares," Matteo replied before he assisted her in a twirl. "According to them, that is."

Giovanna hopped in rhythm toward him. "So they only care because my father has received a title of nobility?" she asked.

"That is correct," he answered during a flourished bow. "With the flick of a quill, the Doge has made most of the single men in this room want to marry you and the women to want to be you."

Giovanna scoffed, but continued to step forward and backward several more times as the flutes and harpsichord played.

"Count yourself lucky. I assume that you had little choice in your first husband, but now you have the pick of any eligible noble in Venice," he said, mirroring her moves.

"Do I? Any one?" she asked with a mischievous flair as they joined hands.

He nodded before they began to spin clockwise. "Well, of any who'll have you."

Giovanna laughed, dizzy from the dance and the lighthearted banter. It had been too long since she'd done either. "Let's say I were interested in the proposition. How would I choose?"

"Ah, that is difficult, he said, stopping the spin to allow her to hop around him. "But I hear that Pietro Sanudo snores terribly, and Giovanni Cornaro's father and older brothers all went bald before their thirtieth birthdays, so he also may not be the best option. Pasqual Molin has a notorious temper, while—"

"Are you going to say something bad about every one of them?" she asked as they switched roles.

He grinned while circling her. "If I must," he admitted.

That was it; Giovanna couldn't take any more. Stopping the dance, she grabbed Matteo's hand and dragged him out of crowd to take refuge behind a curtain. The thick velvet blocked off a window alcove that looked over the piazza, giving them much needed privacy.

"I have made a mistake," she said, facing Matteo while keeping a firm grip on his hands.

"With the forlana?" he asked innocently, glancing over his shoulder where—past the curtains—the others were still celebrating. "If you misstepped, I don't think anyone noticed."

"No, not with the dance," she said. "I made a mistake by rejecting your proposal earlier. While it had been impossible to follow through at the time, I now know it was still made in earnest. I was merely wrecked with guilt and scared for your future with me, rather than answering with my true feelings. But now I realize how much I've missed you—"

Matteo pulled her close and kissed her passionately, not letting Giovanna finish.

"I have missed you as well," he said once they had parted. After another longer and gentler kiss, he added, "For you are an exquisite nymph who has enticed my soul to love no other, and captured my heart to beat even stronger. When you are gone, I care for nothing; yet, when you are with me, only then am I truly alive."

* * *

Meanwhile, Five Weeks Earlier . . .

A sailor hoisted the Ottoman colors as the ship entered the Dardanelles Strait. From here, it would only be another day until they would lay eyes on Istanbul.

At the bow, Dilara wrapped her arms around Ottavia. "I cannot wait to show you my city," she whispered into the girl's ear as they looked across the blue waves.

"And I cannot wait to see it all," Ottavia giggled. "If what you have told me—"

"Dilara hanim," interrupted another crewman, appearing from below deck. "It appears we have a stowaway."

The women turned as others around them began to assemble to see the small girl huddled behind the sailor.

"I have seen you before," Dilara said, stepping forward before kneeling beside the child. Extending a welcoming hand, she coaxed the girl forward. "You have been with us since Venice, have you not? How have you been able to elude us for over a week?"

The girl drew herself together at the sudden attention, her long, blonde hair—now matted and dirty—falling in front of her face like a veil.

"Fear not. We will not hurt you," Dilara continued in a soft tone. "But tell me, where is your father? Does he know that you snuck onto this ship?"

"Papa is dead," she whispered.

At this, Dilara stood. Pulling Ottavia aside, she thought it best to relay everything she knew about their newfound cargo.

"This child and her father were at the convent the night we rescued you," she said, making sure to keep her voice low so as not to be overheard. "Your friend Giovanna had an ominous feeling about them, and I find it curious now that the girl is now with us here," she said.

Ottavia smiled and looked past Dilara at the small, innocent creature standing barefoot on the deck. "She is an orphan like both you and me, my love," she said. "And as such, I am prepared to care for her. Unless of course you can provide any specific reason that Giovanna was wary."

Dilara sighed and shook her head. "I do not think I can. She mentioned something about the girl commanding a fox to do her bidding, but that is absurd, is it not?" she asked with a laugh.

Ottavia nodded. "It is, indeed," she agreed. "Now come. It looks like we have another visitor to introduce to your beloved Istanbul."

* * *

Finally, in the Present Day . . .

André slammed the Records of A. Mocenigo, Doge of Venice closed. "All right, what do you got for me next?" he asked eagerly, holding out his hand.

The librarian shook his head. "Nothing. That was it."

"What do you mean that was it? I need to know more," André said, wheeling his chair out from under the reading table and closer to the stack where Antonio d'Alessi was reorganizing. "You don't expect me to believe this was the whole story without revealing what happened to Giacomo or if my girl G and Matteo ever got married. And how come no one besides them and Simone knew what was really going on in Venice? More importantly, do you mean to tell me that Hakan's ship brought a kid who could make zombies straight into Istanbul without even realizing it?"

"I'd like to think that Giovanna and Matteo got their happy ending, but we can only assume that poor Giacomo met the same fate as all of the preacher's other victims," Tony said, pushing a thick volume back onto the shelf before wiping the dust off his hands.

"There's also no indication that history ever acknowledged that there was another variant of the plague causing deaths within the lagoon, so yes, it is quite possible that our lovebirds and Simone Falier knew how to keep a secret," he continued. "As for unusual occurrences in Asia Minor around that time? Well, you'll need to speak with my colleague who manages our Ottoman collection. Let me make an appointment for you. Perhaps she can take it from here."

THE END

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