Chapter 22
Capitolo Ventidue
Ravenna flinched at his tone, lowering herself deeper into the water’s warm embrace. Her camicia billowed around her bare legs. Saturnino removed his hand from her throat, the murky green of his eyes feverishly bright.
The air around him burned hot with fury. “Who did this to you?”
Her mind blanked under his intense focus on her face. She had to come up with something, anything, to keep him from guessing the truth. If anything happened to Imelda—clearly the courier’s contact—His Holiness would find out. There would be no saving Ravenna’s soul then. No saving her family.
She cursed her rattled thoughts. They were of no help to her, dwelling on the parapet under the light of the moon. Ravenna still felt the bite of the evening air on her skin, the harsh grip around her neck.
Imelda’s eerie singsong voice trilling in her ear.
Saturnino seemed to be at war with himself, his attention drifting to her throat, to the bruises marring the golden skin.
His lips tightened at the corners, his shoulders a rigid line.
Ravenna watched, transfixed, as he fought to keep his anger under control.
Watched the way a strange bewilderment overtook his face, and she would have given anything to know what thought made him furrow his brow into a tight knot.
But when his gaze lifted, he stared at her, clear-eyed and emotionless.
“Tell me what happened,” he whispered, his voice like the brushing of silk against her skin.
Quiet tension swirled around them. They were cut off from the rest of the palazzo.
Alone in the dark, with only a pair of guttering torches illuminating the rippling water, the craggy walls.
A prickle of awareness crept over her. Her gaze flicked to his pile of clothes, to the sword close by, within reach.
This man took a weapon with him while bathing.
The strategist, prepared for anything. A rescue in the middle of the street.
An unlikely bargain made under the cover of darkness.
An interrogation in a grotto. But there was a peculiar note in his manner, in his tone, that arrested her.
Was it possible … was he angry someone had endangered her life?
“Ravenna,” he said warningly. The sculpted lines of his face sharpened. “I want to know what happened.”
She bit her lip, considering the best way forward. “My meeting with Lorenzo de’ Medici was not received well.”
“By whom?”
“I can’t tell you that.” She set her jaw. “I won’t tell you that.”
His jaw tightened, a flicker of incredulity crossing his features, as if he were struggling to accept her stubbornness. But every time Ravenna held her ground, it gave her the strength to keep going.
She had done it before, she could do it again.
“It’s self-preservation,” she explained. “I don’t want to lie, but if you could see the look on your face, I think you’d understand why I’m tempted to.” Ravenna smiled faintly. “How’s that for reckless honesty?”
The slightest note of amusement tiptoed across his face before he smothered it. Ravenna was riveted by the hint of humanity that slipped out of him.
But again his formidable self-control took over.
“You owe me information,” he said, in a tone that reminded her that he wasn’t a friend or an ally in this game. That he would never trust her.
Saturnino drew closer.
His black hair was slicked away from his brow, curving around his head to kiss his collarbones.
An angry scar ran from the top of his shoulder down to his left breast, ending above his heart.
Her gaze dropped lower, and with a start, Ravenna realized he was naked, his pale frame a blur under the rippling water.
She wrenched her gaze back to the puckered scar as heat spread through her, filling her belly, spreading over the bridge of her nose, her cheeks.
He looked at her knowingly, his brows rising slightly, as if her reaction to his body didn’t surprise him.
But the scars mapping his body were unexpected, and Ravenna couldn’t look away from them.
They spoke of pain and a surprising fragility.
It was a side of him she had never seen, had never expected to exist.
Saturnino used his index finger to lightly tap against his chest. “Jousting tournament.”
“How can you participate in jousting tournaments?” Ravenna asked, incredulous. “That hardly seems fair.”
“I can be struck down. Clearly.” He flicked water at her, and she let out a startled laugh. Saturnino softened, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “And just because I’m immortal, it doesn’t mean I excel at everything.”
She eyed him skeptically. “You don’t excel at jousting?”
“Ravenna,” he said, smiling evilly. “I’m terrifying with a lance.”
Her gaze dropped down to his scar again. “Looks painful,” she said. “Though I would have…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish her thought.
“What?”
“It’s just…” She gestured with her hand toward the imperfections crisscrossing his lithe, muscled body.
“In all the stories I was told as a girl, immortal creatures healed quickly, leaving no trace of the wound.” She glanced away, uneasy.
Talking about his immortality discomfited her.
She didn’t like being at a disadvantage.
“They do.”
Ravenna looked back at him, raised her brows. She indicated another puckered scar. “Then?”
“That was an assassination attempt.”
It didn’t exactly answer her question. “But you’re immortal.”
His smile was lazy. “That doesn’t stop them from trying, the fools.”
He was deliberately evading her. She didn’t press the issue, even as her intuition told her that his immortality, whatever had made him that way, was the key to everything. “I’m sure you have survived dozens.”
“True.”
“And you must have many enemies.”
“Also true.”
Some are hiding in plain sight, Ravenna thought. Right under your nose.
“Tell me, should I be paying special attention to one of your maids?” he asked, as if she’d spoken aloud.
She stared at him. “Are you sure reading minds isn’t one of your immortal charms?”
He shook his head slowly, grinning. “You are very easy to read, Ravenna.”
She glared at him. “If I am, it would be impolite of you to point it out.”
His grin dimmed to a small smile. “But you are, tesoro mio.” He drew forward, now they were an arm’s length apart, and she stiffened as he laid a light hand on her chest, right above her heart. It thudded against his palm, and he raised his brow. “It gives you away every time.”
“You can hear my heartbeat,” she said flatly.
“I know when it’s racing. Your eyes widen, your breath comes out faster. Lies don’t come easy to you, and it costs you something whenever you have to tell one.” He slid his hand to the back of her neck, and her pulse jumped. Saturnino laughed softly. “You wear everything on your face.”
Ravenna licked her lips, his nearness making her head spin. Saturnino came closer, her chemise rising higher at the movement, brushing against his flat stomach.
The only barrier between them.
His dark eyes heated, and Ravenna wondered at it. Maybe he was just as affected as she was, maybe he wanted—
“Which one threatened you,” he whispered. “Tell me who it is.”
Disappointment rained over her, dashing her ludicrous thoughts. Saturnino was toying with her. He placed his free hand on the craggy ledge, next to her head. The other was still gently cupping her neck.
Ravenna blinked at him, curious.
Again, Saturnino’s eyes flicked down to her bruises. Thunder swept across his brow, and his jaw clenched. “I can make it look like an accident.”
Horror gripped her. She didn’t want him to murder anyone.
It was a cardinal sin, it was wrong, it would chip away at her soul to be a part of it.
But there was also another reason. The only one that should matter.
If she told him about Imelda and Pietro, Saturnino would act against them.
More dead bodies. The courier would find out, and inevitably His Holiness.
It was unthinkable.
“It would look suspicious. I can’t risk it.”
“Listen to me,” he said through gritted teeth.
Ravenna clenched her jaw. She said the words through her teeth. “No, you listen to me. There’s nothing you can say that will get me to risk my family.”
“I could make you tell me,” he said silkily.
Ravenna scoffed, even as a sudden tremor swept through her, raising the fine hairs on her arm. He’d switched to speaking in his bedroom voice, with the rich depth she felt in every corner of her body. “No, you can’t—”
Saturnino swept forward and kissed her.
Ravenna gasped against his mouth. Her first kiss.
For a long moment she kept herself perfectly still.
But his lips moved softly against hers, asking her a question.
She gave in to the perplexing rise of emotion rushing over her.
It felt like yearning. Complicated, potent, all-consuming yearning.
She wanted more of him, to touch and taste, and to explore, like all the roads she’d never traveled and the places she’d never been.
Saturnino was a map unfurling beneath her hands.
His lips slanted over hers, gently coaxing her to part them.
His cool tongue tangled with hers, and for a second, she let herself sink into his touch, disappearing into his arms as they wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer to the long line of his body.
She felt his desire for her, and she shivered.
He dragged his mouth to her jaw, down the delicate line of her throat, his lips light against her raw skin.
Feather soft, tender, comforting.
Heat unfurled in her belly, between her legs. Ravenna gasped, tilting her head back, giving him better access. He licked his way back up to her parted lips. She tasted his triumph in the tug of his teeth on her bottom lip, nipping, playful.
Persuading her to reveal all her secrets.
Persuading her to yield.
But the pope’s seal was stamped in her mind, and the terror it brought over her gave her the strength to rise above the current that was swallowing them both, sweeping them out to sea.
Ravenna would not yield.
She brought both palms flat against his chest and pushed. Saturnino opened his eyes, drowsy, pupils dilated, breath brushing against her face in a soft pant.
“Release me,” she whispered.
Saturnino immediately dropped his hands and propelled himself backward. He stared moodily at her, immortal, jaded. A kind of mercenary she had no defense against. He wasn’t thinking of her, no, never her. There was no line that he wouldn’t cross, and the full truth of it made her heart sink.
“You’re in way over your head,” Saturnino said, and something like compassion flickered in his eyes.
But she couldn’t trust it.
He was a shape-shifter, a chameleon, a master manipulator. His kiss had left an imprint on her mouth, and she knew that as long as she lived, she would never forget how he felt, wrapped around her.
“I’ve never been with a man,” Ravenna whispered. “I’ve never been in love.”
Saturnino tilted his head. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t take myself lightly,” Ravenna said. “While everything is a game to you.”
“It’s a common mistake people make about me. I take everything seriously, Ravenna. Everything.”
“Then you understand,” Ravenna said. “Promise you won’t kiss me again.”
“I thought you understood who I was,” he shot back.
Anger steeped the air between them.
His cold-blooded ruthlessness dominated the space between them. It would govern every one of his actions, his thoughts, his methods. He would take everything from her.
She was terrified that she would let him.
“I do,” Ravenna said quietly. “I know what kind of man you are.”
He regarded her mutely, cold and motionless.
Even the water around him did not ripple.
Ravenna turned away, moving toward the stairs, her heart thumping as she climbed each step out of the pool, the water dripping down her legs.
Her chemise stuck to her skin, the outline of her body clearly visible.
She bent to retrieve her overdress, and then hastily straightened, another cursed blush warming her skin.
She glanced over her shoulder, but she ought not to have worried.
Saturnino was staring at the water, fingers lightly skimming the surface.
Ravenna tied the laces of her gown, fingers shaking from the sudden cold, keenly aware of the naked immortal waiting, wishing, for her to leave. She looked at the cat. “Are you coming with me?”
Saturnino raised his eyes, glancing at the feline, a speculative gleam in his eyes. Ombretta stretched, clawing at Saturnino’s clothes, before following Ravenna down the cobbled path.
She did not hear Saturnino’s whispered words, drifting after her.
“I’m not a man, Ravenna.”
Ravenna opened the door to her room, bone weary, shivering from the damp, borrowed gown draped over her.
The covers had been turned down, her pillow fluffed, and she quickly undressed and put on a fresh camicia.
There was warm water in the washbasin. Imelda had come and gone; Ravenna couldn’t stomach another interaction with her.
The maid’s presence in her room felt invasive and unsettling.
She washed up, patted her face dry on a soft cotton towel.
Her nose picked up a savory aroma coming from a covered tray perched on a small round table near the bed.
Imelda had left a plate filled with roasted chicken, seasoned with thyme and sage and accompanied by a thick, freshly baked loaf infused with rosemary, perfectly crusty on the outside.
Figs and slices of apple were piled high in a small bowl next to a smaller plate with creamy slices of Brie cheese.
Ravenna’s gaze lowered, landing on a cream-colored envelope placed on top of the linen napkin, her name written in thick black ink.
It was sealed in red wax, stamped with the imprint of a triple crown.