Free Heart of Glass by Sasha Gould

trumpets sounds, and the crowd swells forward as a solitary figure appears at the top of the gangplank. He wears an outfit of dazzling white that almost seems to glow in the Venice sunshine. A thick silk sash circles his waist and his head is decorated with a turban, the coils of linen gleaming as they snake around his brow. On all sides of me, the crowd gasps in delight. The clean simplicity of the man’s outfit is in stark contrast to the luxurious embellishments in which most Venetian men indulge. His skin shines golden, and his broad shoulders shift as he raises a hand in salutation, smiling so that his teeth sparkle white.
    This is no goblin-faced brute.
    He stands on the pier now, and one of the Grand Council introduces himself. Prince Halim listens politely, but his eyes travel along the formal row of Venetian ladies. As he looks at each young woman, she dips in a curtsy. Finally, his gaze comes to rest on me. His eyes are a deep brown, chestnut rich. I lower mine and bob from the knees, fingertips grasping my skirts as I curtsy. But the girl to the left of me does not move. When I straighten back up, Prince Halim is still looking right at me. The sound of giggling has broken out and my cheeks flame as I realize that I am being singled out for attention.
    “Don’t look into his eyes!” Faustina hisses from behind me.
    Finally, thank heavens, the Doge steps forward to greet the Turkish prince, and the moment is broken.
    “Have you turned to stone yet?” Emilia teases, to my right. I shake my head, to prove Faustina’s theories wrong. But I can’t stop watching the men as the Grand Council gather around Prince Halim, their heads close together, talking. One of the prince’s servants has drawn near and seems to be eavesdropping shamelessly. The bald skin of his head gleams, and I notice a slight hunch to his shoulders. As he listens, he watches the crowd. When his glance catches mine, he turns away.
    There’s another trumpet call to tell the crowd to disperse. People make their way through the streets, noisily eating snacks and discussing the scene that’s just played out.
    “He’s very handsome!” says an older woman gleefully. “Not at all what I expected.”
    “Did you see that ship?” a young man murmurs to his friend. “I’ve heard the Turkish vessels are the fastest on the seas.”
    “Such insolence!” mutters Faustina. “I saw the way his eyes wandered.”
    My father comes over to speak to us. “You did well,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Prince Halim noticed you. Good girl.”
    I turn my face away. He’s forgotten already that while people fawn over the visitor, Roberto sits in a filthy cell. Father notices my expression and draws his lips close to whisper in my ear.
    “Don’t think you’re too good for all this, because you’re not. You were good only for the convent, until my eldest daughter’s death.”
    Fortunately, Julius and Grazia de Ferrara draw near, before I forget myself and speak back to Father in public. Faustina has taken my hand and grips it gently, silently reassuring me.
    “Ah, Julius!” Father says. He bows his head towards Grazia. “What news of Carina?” As if he cares about anyone but himself! I keep my glance firmly on the ground, unable to catch Grazia’s eye.
    Julius sighs. “Still nothing. She always was a wayward girl. But we live in hope that one day soon she will turn up.” He tries to laugh lightheartedly, but the sound dries up in his throat. My heart goes out to him, a father’s grief still so fresh.
    “I know what it is to lose a daughter,” my own father says. “When Beatrice died, I thought my world had ended.”
    “Yes, but my daughter isn’t dead.” Julius throws him an angry glance, and I look up to see Father’s mouth open and close as he struggles to find something tactful to say.
    “Let’s let the men talk, my dear,” Grazia murmurs to me, and the two of us draw away to one side. She turns her face from the sun, and