Chapter 23
Capitolo Ventitré
Ravenna gripped the letter until the edges curled. Her body felt curiously numb, but she hadn’t opened the window, and the air in the room was still, quiet. She sank onto the bed, her finger tracing the wax seal, a bloody wound against the smooth, unblemished paper.
Her breath was locked tight in her chest, her jaw clenched, as she carefully opened the envelope. Like before, a single sheet, folded in half, greeted her in solemn promise.
The words would not be kind, nor were they avoidable.
Deal with it like the others, Ravenna thought, but she sounded bleak, even in her own mind.
She laid the letter flat on the bedding and read the scant few lines.
Signorina Ravenna,
My associates tell me you’ve been uncooperative. I need not remind you of the lethal consequences waiting for you should you fail in your tasks or impede the tasks of others. The Lord does not view disobedience kindly.
I have learned of the banquet the Luni famiglia will be hosting in your honor. Galeazzo Sforza, a man of great importance to me, will be in attendance. You are to establish a connection, lure him away from the palazzo, and bring him to Ponte Vecchio at midnight.
By any means necessary.
Further instructions will follow. Await my courier.
It was signed by Pope Sixtus IV.
Ravenna frowned at the lines, the ink splatter staining the corner of the page, as if he’d written while in a hurry.
Galeazzo Sforza—she knew that name. Had heard it from the travelers routinely coming and going at the locanda.
Ravenna gleaned information from their stories, tales of their travels, and more importantly, a steady stream of gossip.
Galeazzo Sforza was the Duke of Milan.
Even she knew who he was: a notorious ally of the Medici family.
The Luni famiglia said they were inviting the cream of Florentine society to the banquet, but why invite him?
Why have him come all the way from Milan to meet her?
It didn’t make sense. Unless … did it have something to do with the Nightflames?
It dawned on her then, belatedly, how focused she was on surviving her time in the palazzo, so much so that she hadn’t thought to wonder why the Luni famiglia needed the five gemstones in the first place.
Ravenna lay down on the bed, appetite completely gone, her thoughts swimming.
Shame coursed through her. Because now she thought of His Holiness, and why he wanted the stones for himself.
And there she was, stuck in the middle with little understanding of the Nightflame, and what it could do, or what that had to do with her, and yet she was being fought over at both ends.
Who could she turn to? Who could she ask?
Ravenna sighed. What she ought to do was sleep—she couldn’t think about her next move if her mind was foggy with exhaustion.
But even that eluded her. She tossed and turned, dwelling on Imelda and Pietro: what they were up to, if they knew of this next assignment, and who else they had on their side in the palazzo.
She tried to push the most worrying thing far from her mind, but despite her efforts, a pair of cool and dark murky green eyes captured her imagination. She thought about the soft slide of his mouth against hers and the possessive hold around her waist.
The glimpses of the soul beneath the facade.
Saturnino, Ravenna dreamed.
When Ravenna woke, her neck was damp and her hair stuck to her forehead.
She brushed it aside with an impatient hand, fuming.
She tore back the covers, planted both feet onto the plush rug, and made a simple vow to herself.
She would not allow Saturnino into her head again.
All night, he featured in her dreams. Sometimes she was running from him, other times toward him.
He hated her. He wanted her.
He saved her. He threatened her.
Ravenna refused to think of his better qualities, not that he had many.
The list was short, and nothing noteworthy.
Better to think of him as evil, like the snake who first appeared in the Garden of Eden, eager to tempt and deceive.
She pulled her dressing gown around her as Imelda opened the bedroom door, letting herself in.
Her maid strode to the curtains and yanked them open wide. “Sleep well?”
Ravenna eyed her warily. “Is your abominable companion not with you?”
Imelda sniffed, pulling the wardrobe doors open with a dramatic snap of her wrists. A veritable rainbow of lush gowns sparkled from within. “I think you ought to be in red again today. It looks very pretty on you.”
“Stop,” Ravenna said. “Stop with this whole act. There’s no need for all this … this ceremony.”
Imelda held up the red brocade, stitched with gold thread.
It swept down her legs, yards of fabric brushing against the floor.
“But it’s not an act. You do look lovely in red.
Now, come here and let me help you dress.
The Luni famiglia likes beautiful things, and you mustn’t look drab, even while working. ”
Ravenna endured the long interval of getting dressed and finally opened the door, instinctively looking for Ombretta. She came every morning at the same time, a queen wanting the attentions of a loyal subject, and kept her company for the rest of the day.
But today there was no sight of her. There were, however, two new guards posted outside her door. She turned to one of them. “Who are you?”
“We are to escort you down to the dungeon,” he explained.
Saturnino had sent them. She ignored the stab of annoyance in her belly, still concerned for Ombretta. “Have you seen a cat?” Ravenna asked them.
Imelda puckered her brow. “The cat?”
“Yes,” Ravenna said, impatient. “She’s always here.”
“She likes to walk the path to the stables on some mornings,” one of the guards muttered. A flush bloomed in his tanned face at the sudden frown from the other guard. “What? I like cats.”
Ravenna checked her smile. “Where are the stables?”
“Past the gardens, to the rear of the palazzo,” the guard muttered. “It’s a separate building, but a narrow lane leads there.”
“Let’s go,” Ravenna said.
Imelda glared at her but didn’t dare share her annoyance. As Ravenna’s maid, it would look odd to be heard and seen arguing with her, a station above her own. “It’s cold out,” she said instead, raising her brows pointedly.
Ravenna gave her a sweet smile. “This will only take a minute. I like having her near while I work.”
To which Imelda could say nothing at all.
The guards took her down to the courtyard, then out another side exit that opened to the entrance to the garden.
Once outside, Ravenna breathed in the crisp air until her lungs were near bursting.
She tromped through the garden, weaving in and out of the laurel hedges and fig trees, the guards a watchful presence.
She searched around the many fountains and flower beds.
Pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth, she explored every inch of the garden; there was no sign of the cat.
Tall walls enclosed the space, but there was a wooden door that opened to the narrow lane.
Another guard paced the perimeter walls and, once he saw she was accompanied, allowed her through.
She strode down the path following the side of the garden, until it veered sharply toward the stables. “Ombretta!” she called.
The stables were ahead of her, accessible by the path and a discreet side street.
Ravenna picked up her pace, feeling oddly nervous.
A tight coil formed in her chest, and she chided herself.
The cat was fine, probably still back in the palazzo, sprawled across her bed.
But some innate sense within told her to keep looking.
The sound of loud jeering caught her attention.
The exterior of the building matched the much larger palazzo, solemn-faced and stern, with matching arched doorways and windows and a terra-cotta roof.
She rounded the corner, following the noise, until she came upon a group of boys—they were the children of some of the servants.
She often saw them tasked with errands and taking care of the horses.
They were carrying sticks and surrounding the trunk of a tree. They were yelling at someone, something, hidden in the leaves. A loud yowl cut through their taunting.
Ravenna gasped. Ombretta.
Her cat was in that tree.
One of the boys picked up a rock and threw it at her cat. Ombretta let out a frightened hiss. She couldn’t escape their taunting, their infernal sticks.
Ravenna set out at a run, yelling loudly, the guards calling after her—
A piercing whistle cut through the air.
Her voice was drowned out by the sound, and she stopped suddenly as a great thundering noise grew louder and louder.
The boys looked between them, startled, the cat momentarily forgotten.
An elegant black horse burst from the stables and the boys scrambled in every direction, letting out frightened shrieks as the great animal galloped after them, stomping its hooves onto the ground so hard that Ravenna was half-surprised it didn’t quake beneath her feet.
Ravenna raced toward the tree, intent on climbing to save Ombretta.
The cat meowed, a pitiful sound, but then leaped, landing on her feet.
Something was wrapped around her neck, a strip of dirty fabric.
The children had done it. Ravenna tried to untie it, but Ombretta swiped a paw at her, and Ravenna barely withdrew her hand in time not to get scratched.
“Hold still,” Ravenna pleaded. “Let me help you.”
She brushed her palm lightly over Ombretta’s back, her little body trembling.
A movement from the corner of her eye drew her notice and she stopped, snapping her head in the direction of the stables.
A shape materialized from within the dark corridor.
He was dressed in a flowing white tunic, his red-and-gold doublet left carelessly open, his legs encased in dark hose that disappeared into knee-high polished leather boots.
He leaned against the wooden door frame, arms crossed across his chest, and he stared back at Ravenna impassively.
Saturnino.
He had been the one to whistle, the one to spur his horse into action, driving away the boys, making them scatter in the cold wind.
Because he made no move to approach her, nor did he give any indication that he wished to speak with her, Ravenna turned her attention back to the task at hand.
Her hands shook as she tried again to untie the heavy knot at Ombretta’s neck.
They’d wrapped the fabric around her neck dangerously tight.
A shadow fell over her. She glanced up in time to see Saturnino drop to one knee alongside her. She shifted the wriggling Ombretta in her arms. “There’s a dagger in—”
“I know,” Saturnino said softly. He dug into her boot and withdrew the slim dagger she kept hidden within, the steel glinting in the sunlight.
Carefully, he cut through the fabric, and Ombretta leaped into his arms the second she was free. He caught her with one hand, a small smile bending his mouth. With his other hand he returned the knife to Ravenna, handle first.
She tucked it back into her boot as Ombretta’s symphonic purring filled the silence between them. Saturnino brushed his index finger under her chin, and then along both ears.
“I thought you didn’t like cats,” Ravenna whispered.
“I like this one,” Saturnino murmured.
She gave a shaky nod, her body teetering with a sudden, surprising discovery. “Me too, very much.”
“I know,” he said again, just as softly as the first time.
“You helped her because you care about her.” Because you care about me, Ravenna thought, marveling. But she didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead, she let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “A strange thing for a man without a heart to do.”
He froze, fingers tucked under Ombretta’s scruff.
Her voice was barely above a hush. “Could it be because you’re not as heartless as you want me to believe?”
Saturnino stared back at her, his expression curiously blank, and then he pushed the cat into Ravenna’s arms, stood, and let out another whistle. His horse bounded back to him; Saturnino took his lead, and together they walked back into the stables.
“Take her to the dungeons,” he called over his shoulder to the guards. They stood off to the side, giving the immortal a wide berth. “It’s time for you to work, Ravenna.”
His tone wasn’t remotely friendly.
The whole episode had lasted ten minutes, but in those ten minutes, Ravenna’s perception of the immortal had shifted in a surprising direction. He’d been gentle with the creature, cradling her small body in his hands as if she were made of glass.
Ravenna’s heart gave an unnerving, discordant thump.