Though I would not admit that, to her or—God forbid—anyone else. I could only hope that Friar Lawrence would keep his silence—which, considering that his earthly family owed mine a debt, seemed safe enough. No one wished to risk the wrath of the Montagues, and particularly La Signora di Ferro. The thought of my grandmother descending from her chair like a decaying, shrieking devil was enough to lock anyone’s throat to silence . . . even a gossiping, ever-lecturing busybody like the friar.

Or so I had to hope, for the sake of my life. My grandmother would likely hiss and remind me that even a churchman might suffer a drunken tumble down narrow stairs, for the safety of the family. I was not quite so ready to resort to such tactics. I just knew they existed.

The walk was made in hurried silence; I had managed to impress urgency upon the good friar, at least. But it still seemed to take far too long, even at the rapid pace, and by the time he had rung the bell to summon a servant, it seemed sure that we were far, far too late to be of any help at all.

Friar Lawrence’s self-important godly bluster was enough to win us the courtyard, where a more senior servant confronted us with the peculiar mix of arrogance and deference that those who serve the rich always seem to have. He was hardly a hair’s difference from any of ten who haunted the halls of the Montague palace, waiting for any opportunity to impress their betters and oppress their lessers. I had never before seen the sneer leveled upon me, though. It wakened anger in me, but unlike most of my friends and cousins (Romeo in particular), I was not one to draw blood. I was the peacemaker, the reasonable calm in the storm.

I would take my vengeance later, coolly and anonymously, if it rankled me, but for now, my anger was fueled by the fact that the man was wasting our very valuable time, and I could see the temptation in Romeo’s tendency to wet his steel with those standing in his way.

Friar Lawrence sent me an alarmed glance, and I quickly looked down, hiding in the shadow of the church’s hood. My shoulders were stiff, and I rounded them, and folded my hands together into a penitent clasp within the sleeves.

Merciful saints, it was almost as stifling within these fragrant robes as in Grandmother’s evil lair.