Chapter 19
Capitolo Diciannove
Ravenna retraced her steps. The streets were deceptively empty, but faint murmurings of conversation drifted down to her from the wrought iron balconies above the shops and taverns she passed by.
The distant sound of horses clip-clopping against the cobbled stone further disturbed the still night.
She quickened her stride, eager to return to the safety of the palazzo.
A humorless chuckle worked itself up her throat.
She wasn’t safe at the palazzo. She wasn’t safe anywhere.
A black cat streaked across the street, and Ravenna’s pace faltered.
Two figures emerged at the end of the cobbled path, their boots scraping against stone.
Their eyes fixed on her, and, as one, they pivoted, veering toward her.
Ravenna gripped the walking stick, taking note of her surroundings.
She had an innate sense of direction; she was only minutes away from the palazzo.
If she ran, she might make it. But they clearly sensed her intent because they split and flanked her on both sides.
Ravenna gritted her teeth against the panic clawing at her.
The magic within her stirred, a low, terrifying hum that began to vibrate through her bones.
She gripped the walking stick, angling it upward.
She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she would as the absolute last resort. With or without her magic.
“Cosa abbiamo qui?” one of them remarked.
“A pretty girl, all alone,” the other replied.
“Leave me be,” Ravenna said. She felt as if she were fighting two foes: the men—and herself. The magic licked up her throat, begging for release. She swallowed hard. “Per favore. Let me pass.”
“Such fine manners,” one of them leered. “You’ll raise your skirts for us both without complaint.” He rubbed his crotch while the other drew closer, his eyes full of lust.
Ravenna’s pulse thundered in her ears as she fought to remain calm, but the darkness roared, feeding off her terror, her anger. It was always hungry, always waiting. She lifted the walking stick to the level of her hip. The men chuckled; the noise drowned out her heartbeat.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice edged in rising panic. “Please, don’t make me do this.”
The men guffawed.
One of the men charged, and Ravenna instinctively swung the walking stick. It struck the man’s side and he yowled. The other surged toward her and she swung again, but he was expecting it. He wrenched the stick away from her, threw it over his shoulder. It clattered against the stone.
She held up her hands, backing away from her attacker, the picture of a surrender. Her attacker glanced to his partner and Ravenna swiftly bent at her waist, yanked her dagger out of her too-tight shoe. They both laughed at her, and anger formed a knot at the back of her throat.
How dare they—
One of them rushed her, and Ravenna heard her father’s instruction in her mind. Don’t stay still, make it hard for anyone to reach you. She pivoted and swiped the dagger. The tip raked the man’s forearm and he cried out, but the other came from behind, wrapping his arms tight around her.
The dagger clattered to the ground. His harsh breath against her cheek sent a bolt of terror through her.
Ravenna let out a strangled cry. “No, don’t, get away from me! Please!”
The dark magic rose up in volcanic fury. She gritted her teeth, sweat forming along her hairline. Her skin turned feverishly hot. She couldn’t control how much to use. She frantically glanced to the left, to the right. The streets were empty. She tipped her head back, opened her mouth to scream—
Her attacker slapped his hand across her mouth, hard. Ravenna bucked, but he dug his hand into her middle, kept her squeezed against his side. She bit his bare finger; blood filled her mouth. He pulled his injured hand away.
“Puttana,” he roared in her ear.
Ravenna winced, her mind spinning. The man’s arm tightened, an iron band across her stomach.
She pressed her fingers against his weathered skin.
His hot breath curled around her face; he stank of beer and rot.
The magic blazed a path through her, and it was as if she faced a river of fire barreling toward her.
She couldn’t control it anymore; she could only fling herself off the path of destruction.
The magic burned a path through her arms, shot past her fingertips.
Her attacker flinched, howling. The color drained from his face. His eyes widened in terror and his grip on her loosened, slipping from around her. But it was too late.
Much, much too late.
The magic had him, and it would not be denied.
His skin turned ash gray, dry as tinder. The veins crisscrossing his arms darkened. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he began to wither, his features collapsing in on themselves, growing gaunt, skeletal.
Ravenna was in her worst nightmare, a horror that had haunted her for most of her life. And yet there was a part of her that relished the strength her magic gave her. She felt both emotions rioting through her. She was justified. She was damned.
The man writhed on the ground, his body bucking and twisting. His voice was a desperate, hoarse cry that rattled through her. “Stop, stop. Please!”
His plea gutted Ravenna. She wrapped her arms around herself, tears dripping down her cheeks.
She fought the magic the best she could, but it burned in anger, ravenous.
It clawed its way through her, relentless, consuming, until the man before her was nothing but a hollow shell.
His body crumpled at her feet, lifeless. Empty.
Her breath hitched, her chest tightening with guilt so profound it threatened to suffocate her. The magic purred, slow and heavy, satisfied, like a beast that had been fed.
The second attacker staggered back, his face a mask of horror. “What are you?” he breathed, his voice shaking in fury. He looked at her as if she were a monster. An abomination.
Every awful thing she believed about herself filled her mind. She hadn’t wanted this. She had never wanted to become this. But it was a part of her, and if anyone came for her, then she would do whatever it took to protect herself.
His eyes narrowed into a glare of pure hatred. His hand went for the dagger at his waist, and in the moonlight, the blade gleamed as it slashed toward her.
“Aspetta!” she cried, raising her hands to ward him off. “Wait!”
His attack was brutal, unrelenting. His blade flashed again, forcing her to sidestep, her breath catching as the edge grazed her cloak.
The blurred shape of another man moved across her.
Rays of moonlight shone over his form: glinting blue-black hair, pale face, a lean and lithe frame, a smudge of a forest-green doublet, tall leather boots, the flash of steel.
Saturnino dei Luni.
The second attacker spun, jaw sagging. But he recovered quickly and lunged forward, driving a hard punch. Saturnino’s face whipped to the left, and he spat silvery-blue liquid from out of his mouth. It speckled the cobblestone, glinting in the moonlight like fallen gemstones.
Ravenna gasped. She had never seen— Madonna, what was he?
Saturnino wiped his jaw with the billowy sleeve of his tunic, tipped his head back, and laughed. The hair on Ravenna’s arms stood on end. The noise didn’t sound human. Her attacker sensed the change in Saturnino, and he stiffened.
But then he lunged forward, wrapped his arms around Saturnino’s middle, and slammed him backward against the stone wall. A terrible noise rent the air, like pillars crumbling in a long-forgotten temple.
Saturnino chuckled, low and soft.
The sound enraged her attacker; he threw a punch, and then another, but on the next, Saturnino caught his fist and squeezed. The man howled, jumping backward. He shook his hand, frantic, as if trying to make it work again. He glared at Saturnino, rushed toward him—
A knife flashed in Saturnino’s hand. He pivoted smoothly on his feet, avoiding the punch, then lunged with a vicious jab of his blade.
It sank into her attacker’s stomach. Saturnino twisted the handle with a primordial snarl.
Her attacker slumped to his knees, clutching at his gut.
Blood spilled onto his hands, dripped onto the stone.
Saturnino kicked him, and the man fell over.
Then he turned a quick circle to face Ravenna, his knife at the level of her heart. He advanced on her, and she stumbled backward until she was pressed against a stone wall, the rough surface scraping against the back of her cloak.
Saturnino glared at her, fury and betrayal stamped across his countenance.
Slowly, he used the tip of his blade to push her hood up and over her head.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, while her heart thundered wildly between her ribs.
He nodded, a subtle dip of his chin, as if he were accepting the inevitable.
The line of his mouth curved into a sneer.
He moved the blade lower, angled it against her throat.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Saturnino, don’t.”
His dark eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Why shouldn’t I?”
Her voice cracked. “I’m unarmed.”
He stared at her, and his resigned expression tore at her. He was an executioner exacting punishment with an inhuman nonchalance that chilled her through. “That’s not exactly true, is it, Ravenna? I saw what you did to him.”
“Saturnino,” Ravenna whispered, trying to find an ounce of empathy. Of compassion. But his expression was detached, remote. He was unfeeling. “You have more honor than this.”
“You really think someone like me could be honorable?” he repeated flatly.
She nodded, calm. “I hope that you can be.”
“Honor and hope,” he said. “What a thing to put your faith in.”
At first, it sounded like he held her in contempt, but there was the smallest hint of desolation in his tone.
“It’s better than not having any faith at all.” Ravenna placed a soft hand against her rapidly beating heart. “You ought to at least have faith in yourself.”