Chapter 4
Capitolo Quattro
The pulsing crowd shifted around Ravenna, a collective heartbeat that accelerated faster and faster as the Luni famiglia made their way to the center of the piazza.
A wispy plume of a feather was in her line of sight, and she followed its progression as it fluttered in the harsh wind.
She shifted onto her tippy-toes and at last was able to see them, lined up on the platform, dressed in varying shades of blue, surveying the people of Volterra as if they ruled over them all.
Given their close friendship with the Medici, it probably wasn’t far from the truth.
Her gaze went from the patriarch, dressed in velvet and brocade, to his wife, adorned by so many jewels she looked like a comet, that harbinger of doom astrologers were always warning about. And then it tipped to a man at her shoulder, lean and—
Ravenna gasped.
It was the stranger from the night before.
The one she’d seen with Capitano Lombardi.
She turned to the participants standing next to her, intent on telling them what she had seen, but they drew away from her as if she were an open flame.
Expressions of unease and distrust flitted across their faces.
The words died at the back of Ravenna’s throat.
She had destroyed her reputation and any credibility she had.
No one would listen to her now. Even if she spoke, she would not be believed.
Frustration lanced her.
Reluctantly, she returned her attention to the dais.
The man stood nearly a head taller than his siblings, and his black hair shone like a polished helmet.
His clothes were as elaborate as his father’s: silver thread, velvet fabric, everything expertly tailored to his broad-shouldered frame.
Over his navy doublet gleamed a plate of armor, polished to a mirror finish.
Blue enamel lined the edges of his armor, around the gauntlets and pauldrons, and his breastplate displayed an armored bear beneath a crescent moon, painted in silver.
His legs were muscular, likely from years of horseback riding and jousting, a common pastime of wealthy nobles.
He probably knew how to defend himself with a sword while reciting lines of poetry from the masters.
All while not allowing even a speck of dirt to sully his clothing, Ravenna thought sourly.
There was something about him that made her think of a fae prince making doomed bargains with gullible humans.
She knew such devilish princes existed near the eastern coast of the peninsula, beyond the Foresta Umbra, but they wouldn’t venture this close to a human city.
They didn’t like the hustle and bustle, the strange smells, the houses made of stone and brick.
Well, whatever he was, he was certainly immortal. The stories and songs were true. He was beautiful.
Suspicion cut through her as she examined his perfect face. How might a man’s soul be affected by such unnatural beauty? Ravenna guessed that it could only lead to ruin, for him and the unlucky women who had the misfortune of falling in love with him.
Signor Luni stepped forward, stretching his arms out wide.
“Thank you, people of Volterra, for welcoming my family into your city,” the man said.
“I am Silvio Luni, Duca di Firenze, and this is my wife, Duchessa Juno.” He gestured to the handsome woman with a curvy and supple figure at his side.
Large brown eyes dominated her face. They were heavy lidded and expressive, and they flicked from one end of the piazza to the other.
“And these are my children, Cavaliere Saturnino,” he said, indicating the young man to the right of his wife.
Then he gestured down the line to his other children.
“Cavaliere Marco, and our youngest, Contessa Fortuna.”
Everyone in Volterra knew of the Luni family’s connection to the tyrannical Medici family, but the women in the crowd curtseyed and the men bowed their heads regardless.
Like any guild member, Ravenna knew how to comport herself in the face of nobility, though what she thought in private was another matter.
Signor Luni continued with his speech, but her attention was fixed on the eldest son.
So that was his name.
The knight Saturnino, heir to a dukedom.
No doubt named for the Roman god of time and harvest.
Goose bumps prickled her skin. Names had meaning and power, everyone knew that. He watched the assembly, aloof and imperious, a cold star, harsh in its beauty and power.
His dark eyes unerringly cut to hers.
Her breath caught at the back of her throat, and she stiffened, wishing it didn’t feel as if she’d somehow ensnared the attention of a predator. He hunted her down in the swell of the crowd, wobbly on her tippy toes, trying to look over the shoulders of the men standing in front of her.
He arched a sleek, black brow.
A prickling sensation crept over the back of her neck.
Ravenna immediately dropped to the flat of her feet, as if his stare had scorched every thought from her mind.
She turned away from Saturnino’s sharp cold-star look, nervous energy skittering across her skin.
No one had looked at her that way before.
It hadn’t been romantic, but methodical.
As if he’d somehow seen the secret parts of herself she kept hidden. Secret dreams and wishes for her life.
A hope to create art from stone. A yearning to atone for the dark shadow of her magic.
It was an impractical dream she’d never spoken out loud.
Even if she’d carried it within her for a long time.
“Let us begin!” Signor Luni finished, wrenching Ravenna from her thoughts.
There was great applause as the trumpet blasted again, somehow reaching the four corners of the piazza despite the thunder rumbling overhead.
The famiglia sliced through the crowd. Up and down the long wooden tables, the other sculptors straightened their shoulders, like proud parents presenting their children at court.
The Luni family approached her table, all the statues spread out like a banquet to weigh and taste and judge. They studied one piece after another, slowly at first, but then they moved quicker, as if they knew what they were looking for but weren’t finding it.
Her stomach somersaulted.
Somewhere in the piazza, her own family watched the proceedings, no doubt holding their breath, clutching at each other, wondering what had gotten into their dutiful and respectful daughter.
Ravenna glanced up to her brother and found him staring down at her, his hands wrapped tight around the bars.
His expression changed when their eyes met. All his exasperation, his frustration, melted away to reveal a desperate yearning for freedom. She lowered her eyes, fighting the rise of nervous energy climbing up her throat.
It was up to her.
God, what if she failed?
The thought of Antonio’s fate tore at her. She couldn’t bear it.
“I suppose someone in the world might think this pretty, but I’ve seen this idea a thousand times before,” Contessa Fortuna, the youngest Luni child, said in a cool and limpid voice.
She drew away from her family with an air of impatience, walking quickly down the line.
No one got in her way, giving her enough space to sashay past, her light eyes quickly scanning each statue.
“Trite,” she said, passing another work.
At the next, Contessa Fortuna glared, as if deeply offended by its existence.
“His face looks constipated,” she said of a statue depicting the Roman god Prometheus as a vulture ate his liver. The contessa moved on with a roll of her eyes. But then she paused at another statue—Ravenna thought she might.
It was a Madonna and child, the cloak of the virgin covered in various glimmering stones.
Contessa Fortuna leaned forward, and Ravenna held her breath.
Out of all the sculptors present, she feared this one the most. Bramante’s talent was renowned, and Ravenna guessed that everyone in Volterra thought he’d win the competition outright.
But then Fortuna shook her head slightly and pressed on. “Nearly perfect, but not enough to fully impress.”
Ravenna couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping. If Bramante was nearly perfect, what hope did she have? She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. The contessa was only four statues away from her Pluto.
“Well, well,” a cool voice whispered from behind her. “It’s you.”
Ravenna startled, turning from the table.
She’d been fixated on the contessa and hadn’t noticed the dangerous knight moving toward her.
He stood not a foot away from her, so close she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.
His voice had a solid quality to it—not loud, but distinct and measured with blunt edges.
She imagined that if his words were tangible things, they’d weigh as much as blocks of stone.
And if they were made of stone, she’d carve every one of them into a weapon.
“Buonasera, Cavaliere.”
The knight’s words held a mocking note. “Where is your ladder?”
“Kind of you to ask. It’s in the shed, where it’s supposed to be.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, and while caution told her to keep quiet, she couldn’t manage it. “Capitano Lombardi is missing.”
The knight looked her over, slowly, as if taking her measure. “Is he.”
“What happened to him?” If she were brave enough, Ravenna would ask him what she really wanted to know: Did you offer the good capitano a bribe?
“How should I know?”
She forced an innocent smile. “Because you were with him last night. Or don’t you remember?”
“I remember everything,” he said, unmoved. “Perhaps I ought to ask you the same question.”
Ravenna’s lips parted in surprise. Was he suggesting that she had something to do with his disappearance? Outrage bloomed on her tongue.
But then his dispassionate gaze flicked to her statue. “He looks familiar.”