Veronica came last, and in a cloud of cooing attendants. My sister wore her wealth stitched densely on the gold-chased fabric of her bridal gown—pearls and sapphires, with the flash of rubies and diamonds at her throat and ears. She seemed much satisfied with herself, I thought, and I fell in at the front of the party with Montague swords before my uncle dragged me back by his side, to a safer position. Of course. I was now his heir, though he liked that fact as little as I.

The procession to the cathedral was made under the hot sun, and two days’ rain had become a miserably humid morning; the cobbles steamed, and so did I, inside my fine clothes. Veronica’s face turned pink from the heat, a fact that displeased her enough to demand fans and shade from her attendants as we walked in a block down the narrow streets. Gawkers had turned out, of course. Some wished us well, and tossed flowers; some only stared, and some spit and made curse signs when they thought they could do it unobserved. Near the piazza—busy as always—I spotted Capulet bullies massed in a clot of red, and they broke loose and pushed through toward us.

“Beware,” I said to my uncle, and pointed at the oncoming men.

“Walk on,” he ordered. “We are bound for the church. Let nothing stop us, certainly not some weak-bellied Capulets!”

And so we went on, and the guard tightened around us until I had to watch close to not tread heels upon those nearest . . . and just as we came close to the shadow of the cathedral, the Capulets, allied with others, sprang their trap. More poured from the street adjoining, and still more closed in behind, and then with a roar they sprang on us, knives and cudgels and swords, and the melee was on.

Veronica screamed in frustration and fear as she was buffeted by brawlers on either side; the guards around us were hard-pressed to defend us. I drew my sword and lunged over a guard’s shoulder, burying the point cleanly in a Capulet soldier’s chest. They had roused all their allies against us, and hired more bravos; they had opened the treasury in order to hurt us, and hurt us they had. So far, none of their blades had reached beyond our guards, but the cobbles were already wet with blood, and bodies fell to my left under a strong assault. I pivoted in that direction, drew my dagger, and slashed with it to parry the attack of a hired man. He grinned with the excitement of hot blood, and of all that there was to notice, I was oddly struck by how good his teeth were . . . and then I beat tempo on his rapier, one, two, three, and then a pivot and riposte in quarto, and my sword slid between his ribs and out his heart, and he was down, grimacing now.