Chapter 8
Capitolo Otto
They set off for Florence in the early morning, the sky bitter gray, promising a thunderstorm.
The jostling of the carriage made her dizzy, the howling wind made her cold, and she worried about her family so much it made her eyes burn.
Despite the dark clouds promising rain, Ravenna leaned out the carriage window hours later, not wanting to miss the first glimpse of the ancient city, once built as a Roman garrison, which was now the epicenter of extraordinary innovation and creativity.
They lumbered toward the wall encircling the city in a protective embrace, but to Ravenna it felt as if they were locking her up in a cage.
She missed the wild hills surrounding Volterra, and as the city gate closed behind her, it sent a reverberating shock of finality to her situation.
The weight of a night spent tossing and turning pressed down hard against her chest. Exhaustion sucked her down like mud.
She forced herself to stay awake.
Florence greeted her with a burst of color: brightly woven tapestries hanging from the gates, the people dressed in their elaborate best, adorned in miles of sumptuous fabric stitched with jewels that glowed in every shade of the rainbow.
The carriage rumbled over the narrow cobblestoned streets, passing the citizens of Florence openly staring at the procession.
They pointed fingers at the Luni famiglia and whispered among themselves as they took in the sight of Ravenna, sitting on her own behind their transport.
She imagined what they said clearly, as if they were whispering it into her own ear.
The immortal family found their sculptor.
But what is this? A woman?
What luck to have the Luni family as her patron!
Ravenna sat back against her seat and shut the window with a loud snap to keep out the coming rain and their whispers.
None of them knew the truth. She was their captive, forced to play a role, her esteemed position in the city a farce.
Acid coated her tongue, and she gritted her teeth to keep herself from screaming.
The first drops of rain splattered onto the roof of the carriage as she watched the city of Florence unfurl across her vision.
It was everything she imagined and more.
They passed numerous churches, piazzas, narrow alleys, markets and stalls, and imposing palazzos, home to the city’s noble families.
They made one turn after another until the horses finally slowed to a stop in front of a tall watchtower that rose four stories high around an open-air gallery on the ground floor, supported by several arches.
The heavens opened, and a torrential downpour swept over the city in angry bursts.
Ravenna dragged her gaze upward.
The storm battered the heavy stones, leaving them a dark, ugly gray.
Ravenna had the impression of a sentinel on duty, grim and armored to the teeth, ever watchful, shrouded in thunderclouds and a torrent of water dumping from an angry sky.
The Luni famiglia’s coat of arms adorned the external walls: a tower guarded by a fierce armored bear, a quiver of arrows adorning its large back.
A banner curled around its paws, but the downpour prevented Ravenna from seeing the Latin motto.
Ravenna leaned forward and raindrops splattered her cheeks and forehead, thick strands of her hair.
This stern and austere palazzo was meant to be her home until she finished the work demanded of her.
Her attention flickered to the first carriage emptying, servants crowding the immortal family, helping to usher them inside.
They disappeared under the loggia without a look in her direction.
Several shadows moved against the building, servants waiting for her arrival. They rushed forward, careful not to slip on the gravel, and yanked open the door. She climbed out of the carriage, barely remaining upright as she was tugged forward.
“My cloak,” she said.
“We’ll get it,” one of the servants said, a short man with a thick mantle pulled taut across his shoulders. “It’s freezing and I’m sure you’d rather be close to a fire.”
Ravenna couldn’t argue with that.
It took only seconds to be under the safety of the loggia, but the rain had doused her from head to toe, the only beautiful dress she owned soaked through, and she arrived at the immense wooden doors shivering and dripping onto the herringbone brick floor.
All manner of bustling activity surrounded her.
The servants moved in a whirl of practiced alacrity, tying the horses’ leads to iron rings hammered into the building’s gray stone exterior, rescuing her cloak from within the carriage.
Ravenna lifted her chin, tilting her head back to better admire the loggia’s ceiling, painted in a lovely starburst pattern in blue and glimmering silver.
A curious sight made her frown.
There were several holes marring the beautiful design.
“For protection,” the steward explained at her elbow.
Ravenna startled; she hadn’t seen his approach. “The holes were made for protection? Who are they protecting?”
“The Luni famiglia.” The steward pointed to one of the holes. “Should the palazzo be under attack, guards stationed above can pour hot oil onto those trying to break in.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Is there any risk of that happening?”
He gave her a grim smile. “Of course. You are in Florence,” he added, as if that were an adequate explanation. Then the great iron-studded doors were opened and he ushered Ravenna inside, the servants trailing after them, carting her cloak.
An open-air courtyard greeted the party, surrounded by stone pillars, their capitals decorated with sculpted heads.
The rain came down in violent bursts and it was too hard for Ravenna to see each face clearly, though she thought she recognized Saturnino’s sardonic expression in one of them.
She lowered her attention to the ground at the center of the courtyard, finding a drain.
She tucked herself under the partial roof, watching as the heavy downpour swirled over the paved stone.
“We collect the rainwater for the well,” the steward explained over the roar.
Then he indicated for her to follow him to the steps at the left.
Hanging above them was another immense coat of arms carved into the wall, featuring the watchtower guarded by the armored bear and his supply of arrows.
The Latin motto at its feet said, Non sine magia.
“Not without magic,” Ravenna murmured.
An interesting choice for a family motto, considering His Holiness’s stance on all things magic. But perhaps that was the whole point.
The Luni famiglia were enemies of Rome.
Ravenna was conscious of everyone working, but as they did, she felt their quick glances in her direction. They all moved as a single unit, guided by the expert hand of the steward.
Where did she fit in the hierarchy of the house? Prisoner? Guest? A well-dressed servant?
The steward again indicated the stone steps off the side. “This way.”
“Actually, Tomasso, I’ll need you to direct everyone out of the courtyard,” came Signor Luni’s voice from behind her.
Ravenna turned in surprise. She hadn’t seen the patriarch of the Luni family anywhere in the courtyard, but then, with the dim lighting and the pouring rain, it was hard to see the shadowed corners.
“Certainly, Vostra Eccellenza,” Tomasso replied, his head bowed. Then he gestured to the rest of the servants, who followed the steward, giving her and Signor Luni a wide berth. No one looked at them as they left, their chins lowered, eyes downcast. Once they were gone, Signor Luni turned to her.
“Follow me, Signorina Ravenna.” Signor Luni peered at her, his red circle-brimmed cap pushing his graying hair forward, covering the upper half of his unlined face. “My family waits for you.”
Movement from over his shoulder caught her attention.
The entire Luni famiglia were indeed waiting on the opposite side of the courtyard, the rain obscuring their forms into blurry shapes.
But she could detect the golden glow of a lantern through the rush of water.
Signor Luni’s fingers enclosed her wrist in an iron grip.
“What we are about to show you must never leave this palazzo,” he said, guiding her to where his family waited. “This is for your eyes only, understood?”
He had spoken at a normal volume, but to Ravenna, it felt as if he had hissed the words in an ugly snarl. His grip on the sleeve of her gown tightened. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was worried her voice would crackle with fear.
The sound of the rain thundered in her ears. Ravenna blinked into the gloam. Fortuna and Marco stood close to each other, wearing matching expressions of distrust. Signora Luni, no longer formal, but grim, the curve of her mouth calculating. And then the knight.
Saturnino.
He stood paces away from the rest of them, his expression inscrutable.
While Ravenna appeared travel-worn, a used and wrinkled dishrag, Saturnino looked ready to be presented to the Holy Roman emperor.
He was dressed elegantly, draped in silks and fur and well-tailored garments that showed off the strength of his arms and legs.
His shoulder-length black hair was the only disheveled thing about him, slightly wavy and untamed and still damp from the rain.
With as much dignity as Ravenna could muster, she lifted her chin, conscious of the heavy weight of her drenched skirt.
His dispassionate dark gaze flickered from the top of her wet hair, hanging long down her back, to her mud-splattered clogs.
Her blue dress bore the worst of her travel, terribly creased and dripping water onto the polished floor.