Chapter 17
Capitolo Diciassette
Ravenna stared at the stones, quieting her mind, quieting the voices that stood on either side of her shoulders, whispering their threats, their promises of suffering and heartache.
She concentrated on the weight of the chisel in her left hand, the mallet in her right, and tried to ignore the silent immortal sitting on the workbench behind her.
Saturnino hadn’t spoken a word to her since he arrived five minutes ago.
He drank from a steaming porcelain cup, and every now and again, she heard the hushed noise of him blowing softly across the surface.
Ravenna closed her eyes, wishing she could intuit his feelings.
His words were barbs hidden in polite phrases; she knew that.
Except there were moments when she’d catch him unguarded, moments that were fleeting but were like stars shooting across the impervious night sky.
More than anything, she wished she didn’t care.
“Sage water?” Ravenna guessed. She’d know that scent anywhere. It was her favorite drink to sip on while she watched the sunrise.
“Sage water,” he confirmed neutrally.
He might have brought me one, Ravenna thought. It would have been the polite thing to do, considering he was observing her every move, writing a report in his mind, tallying her mistakes.
“I’ll bring you a cup tomorrow,” he said.
Ravenna glanced over her shoulder in surprise.
Saturnino winked at her.
She wrinkled her brow. “Can you read my mind?”
He took a sip and looked at her over the rim. Black brows rising slightly. “I swear on the Bible I can’t.”
“You shouldn’t swear over scripture.”
He shrugged. “The least worrisome of my vices, I’d say.”
Ravenna turned away, hearing his soft laugh.
His manner was playful now that she’d proven herself—which worked in her favor.
Her life was safe … for the moment. But that didn’t mean she could let down her guard or let herself become distracted, even if his laugh had sent an unexpected warm shiver through her.
It was genuine and rich like mulled wine spiced with cloves.
Nothing about him was real, especially his laugh.
Best to focus on the work, she told herself sternly.
She approached the stone she’d chipped away at earlier, examining the dent she’d made.
It hadn’t healed itself, a good sign. The surface seemed to shift at her nearness, a sea disturbed.
A little humming noise escaped her, something she would have done to soothe her sister.
She flushed, willing herself not to look at Saturnino.
Her magic propelled her forward, seeking to tame the magic roiling through the stone.
Magic that felt like a serpent writhing under her skin.
Revulsion crept over her and she paused, her hands hovering over the surface.
It hissed underneath her palms, the handles of the tools warming from the sudden onslaught of heat.
The magic inside her leaped, stretching outward, hissing.
It felt out of control, wild, sinful.
Saturnino came to stand next to her, angling closer until he was only half a pace away.
His shoulder brushed the sleeve of her gown.
The scent of pine and snow, tinged in citrus, enveloped her.
Her pulse spiked at his nearness, that perfect face turned toward her, dark eyes peering at her intently before flicking down to her slim, calloused hands.
With deliberate slowness, he reached for her chisel and mallet, clutching both in one hand.
With his other hand, he gently guided her to the workbench. “Sit with me.”
Ravenna remained standing. “Why?”
A rueful grin stole across his usually stern mouth. “Your magic helped you with the stones the other day. It will again, but you’re … hesitating.”
“The stones hiss steam when they are angry,” Ravenna said dryly. “Any sane person would hesitate.”
Instead of the latent hostility she had come to expect, he exuded an air of patience. He tilted his head, studying her for one breathless moment before sitting down and gently placing the tools back into the pail. Ravenna folded her arms tightly across her chest, on guard.
His whisper-soft words washed over her. “Why do you fear the magic inside you?”
She hadn’t been expecting the question. A surprising feeling of unease gathered at the base of her spine. “It’s hard for me to stop once it takes over.”
“Why not let it run its course?”
Ravenna was going to reply with a familiar answer, one that revealed nothing. But she held back for a moment, struck by an unaccountable desire to tell the truth. To reveal her messy thoughts, to show the illogical side of humanity in the face of his impervious immortality.
There was a part of her that understood their marked differences, but they had similarities, too.
He shared some of the aspects of being human.
He felt hunger, and probably exhaustion, and the stress of everyday life.
But what did he really understand or know about time and its finite permanence?
About how every second, every hour, every morning brought death a little closer?
If time stretched out before you, unending, what kind of meaning in this life could he ever hope to find?
“Against my better judgment, I’m going to tell you the truth, Saturnino.”
“Why?” he asked again.
His favorite question, she thought. Ravenna hated that she felt amused by it.
“I think it will be good for you to understand a human, for once,” she said, and he stared back at her, a man starving for …
what? Ravenna shifted uneasily on her feet, fighting to remember that he was her enemy.
“I don’t like to think of the magic in my blood, in my skin, because it feels sinister.
It’s something I’ve never understood. Why do I have this ability when others don’t? I feel … tainted.”
His reply was quick and furious. “You’re not.”
“But I am.” Hot embarrassment inched over her, warming her cheeks, her throat, her chest. “That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.”
“By whom?”
“By the Church.”
“By men,” he said flatly, and she stilled.
“It’s always amazed me how contrary to the New Testament most cardinals and priests and popes behave.
The guilt and shame they preach, spreading like a sickness, like a plague, from village to village, home to home.
Accepting payment in exchange for forgiveness and a place in eternity when it’s supposed to be free.
Grace for everyone, even someone born with a magical talent. ”
Ravenna’s lips parted in surprise. “You’re angry.”
“I am angry,” Saturnino said, overrun by a burst of emotion. “And you ought not place your sense of self, your soul, into the hands of men whose damning interpretation of doctrine will destroy a life.” His eyes bored into hers. “No one on this earth can save your soul, Ravenna.”
She thought of the pope’s offer of absolution if she completed everything he asked of her.
Tension warred within her. It was her soul that was at stake.
And it was easy for Saturnino to say such things when death’s door would never open for him.
Ravenna thought of the letter threatening excommunication, a public sentencing that would forbid her entry in the places she held sacred.
“Your magic is not a form of punishment,” Saturnino pressed.
“It’s nothing you did or said; it’s not a judgment on your character or honor.
Your magical ability is a gift like any other, no different from someone born left-handed or with a talent for mastering languages.
” He gave her a wry smile. “Nothing sinister about it.”
Ravenna looked at the stones, mulling over his explanation.
It felt true, but it was easier to believe that she was being punished in some way.
Her magic made her unwelcome in the village of her birth.
It caused strife between her and Antonio; it was a dirty secret her family hid from their neighbors.
And it had brought her to Florence, to this palazzo, where she had to live between two warring parties.
She was caught in the middle of a fight she wasn’t prepared for.
“I wish it hadn’t come to me.”
He frowned, incredulous. “There’s power in what you can do. Power brings security, influence. Why wouldn’t you use your talent to ensure a prosperous future?”
“Because I’m afraid,” Ravenna snapped.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
“Of what?” Saturnino asked in honest confusion.
She lowered her hand, trembling. “The magic feels out of my control. I’m fearful of what it will do to me, that I might—I might—”
“Live?” Saturnino pressed. “I’m going to tell you a secret, Ravenna.
” His voice turned both urgent and coaxing—he was the snake in the garden.
“No one is in control of their own lives. Not even me. So be free. Do what you want, when you want it, and accept who you are. You’ll be a lot happier, trust me. ”
“You’re not happy, though, are you?” She narrowed her eyes.
“There are rules, Saturnino. There is a right and there is a wrong, whether you chose to see it or not. Everyone draws a line somewhere, and it’s that line that keeps harmony in place.
Not just for your neighbor…” Ravenna bent forward, placed the flat of her hand against his heart.
“But here, as well, where it matters the most.”
“But it would mean letting myself feel. All the time. It sounds exhausting.” He set his jaw. “Weak.”
“Being human is exhausting,” Ravenna admitted.
“But if you refuse to feel anything at all, you won’t ever experience the best parts of being alive.
Not love, or joy, or wonder, or the solace of knowing you are not alone.
” She paused, searching his face. “Feeling deeply is not a weakness. It’s what gives meaning to everything else.
That’s what it’s like to be human. To embrace the best and worst parts of life, to endure and to keep going the only way that we can. ”