Chapter 14 #2
Ravenna regarded the stones grimly. She needed to at least make a dent in one of them before Saturnino returned. She blew an errant strand off her face. “Several hours at least?”
“Would you like cena?”
“That depends.”
“Yes, signorina?”
“Will I have to join the family?” Ravenna glanced down at her gown. “Dress again for dinner?”
“I believe the family would not mind if you would prefer to work instead. In fact, they would encourage it.”
Ravenna glanced at the tray of food. There was plenty to last her for the rest of the day. “I’d love cheese, if you have it.”
“Certainly,” Imelda said. “Gorgonzola? Provolone? Fontina? Parmigiano-Reggiano?”
“Yes.”
Imelda laughed. “There’s no shortage of cheese in this house. I happen to know that Sua Grazia adores it. I’ll return with your requests and then I’ll come fetch you later in the evening to take you back to your room.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Ravenna protested. “I remember the way. At least, I think I do. You mustn’t stay up waiting for me to finish for the day.”
“I do, signorina,” Imelda said. “Cavaliere Saturnino demanded it.”
Ravenna turned her face away with a grimace.
Of course he would.
True to her word, Imelda escorted her back to her chambers.
Ravenna bid her good evening, and then closed the heavy door behind her.
She barely registered moving to the bed, sinking down onto it in a heap of sodden skirts and sweaty limbs.
White powder covered her hands, and there were smears of it in her hair, caked on her shoes.
She had worked for hours. Without rest. None of the cheese had been eaten.
None of the pastries. They lay untouched as Ravenna fought the virgin stone with everything she had.
It refused to be coaxed into submission, refused to work with her.
With every strike, it had healed itself, had hissed steam until her cheeks were a furious red, until her clothes were uncomfortably heavy and damp.
Ravenna swallowed a sudden swell of panic.
It was only the first day. Surely the famiglia didn’t expect her to perform a miracle on her first attempt, or even her fifth or sixth.
There was still time. Not enough, she thought bleakly.
The irony was not lost on her. For years she’d run from her magic, believing it would damn her soul, only to discover it was the only thing that could possibly save her life.
Ravenna stood, nervous energy propelling her around the room in widening circles.
The work could not be done. The Nightflames were too well protected, too far beyond her reach.
She had the uncanny sense that with every second that ticked by, she was closer to her death.
Her murder.
She would not wait meekly for that to happen.
A glance out the window told her it was a clear night, quiet.
The moon hung high above them; it was near midnight or close to it.
The city slept. How far could she make it on her own?
Ravenna bit her lip. She thought of Amina and the urgent way she had asked after her safety.
If nothing else, Ravenna had somewhere she could hide; she only had to make it there.
It was a risk, but her chances of survival were greater outside the palazzo than within.
She’d take her chances.
She went to the wardrobe, pulled out a warm cloak, switched her slippers to balletto shoes, sturdier and made of supple leather, buttery soft.
She tucked the dagger her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday into her shoe.
It was the same dagger Saturnino had returned to her—she still didn’t understand why he had, but whatever his reasons might have been, she was glad to have it now.
What else? Ravenna glanced around the room.
There was a canvas bag tucked in a corner; she filled it with a shawl and a blue satin day dress with simple ties at the back.
She searched the rest of the furniture and found a drawer full of hair pieces: jeweled clips, pearl combs, velvet ribbons.
Diadems adorned with gemstones and made of silver and gold were swept into the bag.
Her conscience prickled, but she ignored it.
The family had stolen her from home, now they would pay for her escape.
Supplies on the road cost money, and Ravenna tallied everything she’d need: food, lodging, a horse.
More pearl-studded ribbons went into the bag.
Just in case.
Ravenna glanced around the bedroom, her hands absently brushing against her scarsella riveted to her leather belt.
She steeled herself by counting everything she had to help her home: a way out of the palazzo, items to sell or barter, the cover of darkness.
She’d find the inn, stay the night, and tomorrow, she’d purchase a horse for hire to take her the rest of the way.
Her reception in Volterra was another problem, but she’d think of something.
She always did.
Ignoring her inner magic swirling awake in protest, she opened the door and slipped through.