Free Cross My Heart by Sasha Gould

slipped away.
    A cluster of figures, perhaps fifteen women, stand beside one of the four fires that blaze in hearths taller than they are. Each has a mask on her face. I feel my skin tightening,and despite the warmth of the room, I shiver. What is this place?
    The figures glide forward and form a circle around me. Their masks cast flickering, grotesque shadows. Some have long, hooked beaks, like birds of prey. Gauze butterfly wings drift softly from others. Their jewels and lace and feathers frame eyes that pierce me like a hunter’s arrows. The air is filled with a dizzying scent of spice and wood smoke. But there’s something else too—something more powerful and pungent than any of that.
    My heart gallops. This is a trap , I think.
    One of the figures reaches towards me and I shrink away, my eyes flicking round for a way out. The woman laughs from behind her feathery mask. The whole group moves closer, tightening the ring.
    “What do you want from me?” I say. “Who are you?”
    A tall woman steps forward. The hair within her hood is streaked with gray. Her mask is shaped like the face of a white owl, covered in white jewels and with a silver beak. She removes it, and Allegreza’s eyes glitter in the firelight.
    “Welcome, Laura,” she says, “to the Segreta.”

T he Segreta. The Secret Ones. The hiss and bite of the word sends a chill across my skin.
    “You said you could help me,” I say, squeezing my fists and digging my nails into my palms to keep from shaking.
    “We can,” says Allegreza. “But there are rules.” The women nod. “And there is a price.”
    There’s always a price , I think, remembering my father’s words that day he left me at the convent.
    “Have you told anyone of your visit here?” Allegreza asks.
    I shake my head.
    “That is the first rule.” Her voice is a stony whisper. “Our organization must remain in the shadows.” There’s a murmur of approval. “The second rule is just as important. If you want us to help you, you must give us something.”
    I rummage in the folds of my dress and pull out my velvet purse. “I’m not sure if this is enough.”
    Allegreza smiles and waves it aside with a long, palehand. “We would be a mundane society indeed if all we wanted was your money.” The women’s masks shake as their wearers titter. “No—we’re looking for something more precious and more powerful than coins or jewels.”
    “What do you mean?” I ask.
    “Why,” she says, drawing out the word, “we want a secret.”
    The women step even closer to me, like a hungry pack. There is no way through the press of their robed bodies. Their eyes glint from behind their masks and I wonder what they will do if I can’t give them what they want.
    A secret? For years I’ve done nothing but stitch, and pray, and sing. I scour my brain for something that no one else knows. My father and his financial worries? That’s no good. One glance at our faded palazzo tells the tale. The Abbess’s fondness for wine? I can’t be sure that rumor isn’t simply Annalena’s mischief. The herbal remedies prepared by the convent, which cure people of all manner of dreadful things? But women all over Italy have their own potions. I’ve no secrets to reveal, no proper ones. Nothing that will persuade the Segreta to save me from Vincenzo.
    I can’t look at them now. I lower my eyes to the stone at my feet. “I don’t have any secrets.”
    Sudden laughter fills the room, echoing among the stone archways. I stare at the women, bewildered. What have I said that’s so funny?
    I feel my cheeks flush. I’m not frightened anymore, I’m cross that I’m being mocked. It’s been a ridiculous journey. I ought to leave, though I’m not sure I can find my way back to the gondola on my own.
    The last of the laughter dies away and Allegreza cocks her head.
    “Everyone has a secret,” she says. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us yours.”
    “Come on, Laura,” says a golden-haired