Chapter 24
Capitolo Ventiquattro
The night of the banquet arrived.
Ravenna looked out the window, staring down at the street crowded by a long queue of carriages and impatient horses flicking their tails. The sky darkened to the color of a deep bruise, the exact shade of her skin where Pietro had gripped her throat.
“Let me finish your hair,” Imelda said from behind her.
Ravenna stiffened, not moving from her spot.
Her stomach coiled into an intractable knot as she observed the guests getting out of their transports.
They were all glimmering under the rising moon, adorned in velvet and brocade, yards of fabric, buckled shoes that gleamed, and hands that sparkled from the many gemstones gracing their fingers.
Ravenna gave each person a cursory glance, her attention flitting from one person to the next, searching.
The Medici might arrive at any moment.
And at some point during the night’s festivities, she would have to smile while she was presented to Lorenzo. Again. She would paste a smile on her face, even if it killed her. The last thing she needed was to give her true feelings away.
Not while the whole Luni famiglia watched.
“You can’t be late,” Imelda said. Her tone turned sarcastic. “You are the guest of honor.”
Ravenna forced herself away from the window and eyed her maid warily as she perched onto a velvet stool. She endured Imelda’s touch as she artfully arranged her long hair into a few braided strands that brushed against her neck, effectively hiding Pietro’s fingerprints.
“Good as new,” Imelda said, in the high, girlish voice that made Ravenna’s eyelid twitch. “Like it never happened.”
She sounded pleased with herself and Ravenna couldn’t help muttering, “Except it did.”
Imelda yanked on a braid and Ravenna winced. “None of that. His Holiness needs you on your best behavior,” she trilled.
“I wish you would stop pretending,” Ravenna said. “And you don’t have to speak like that.”
“Pietro says I need the practice,” Imelda admitted. Then she shrugged, shaking her head slightly. “He said he’ll have a carriage and a trusted driver waiting for you at the front of the palazzo. Make sure you and Signor Sforza are in it ten minutes prior to midnight.”
“But it’s a short walk to the old bridge, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be a fool,” Imelda said. “You can’t be seen out in the streets with the Duke of Milan. It will draw too much attention to yourself.”
“What will happen once I lead Signor Sforza out to Ponte Vecchio?”
“That is none of your concern,” Imelda said severely. “Focus only on leading him there. You must not fail His Holiness.”
Ravenna glared up at her. “I know.”
She could guess what would happen. His Holiness was arranging a meeting with his mysterious courier with the same message he’d had for her.
A message that amounted to: Work with me against the Medici and Luni—and eternity will be yours.
If the pope succeeded in turning him, he’d have acquired another soldier for his holy war against Florence, a duke with wealth and connections and status.
A curl of doubt had spread through her ever since her conversation with Saturnino in the dungeon, unraveling her long-held beliefs, threatening to choke each one.
Grace was a gift, and yet the pope offered it only conditionally—and for a price.
According to him, it was also earned by deeds that he determined were good. Deeds that served his own interest.
The truth of it upset her; it disgusted her.
But following that line of thinking would lead her down a path that terrified her and was so different from the one she’d always walked. A path her family, her entire village, walked.
“It’s not only your life hanging in the balance, you know,” Imelda said softly. “You are a single strand in a vast tapestry that’s been years in the making.”
Ravenna met her gaze. Imelda had dropped her pretend voice, and she sounded older, somber, the littlest bit grim. Ravenna was struck by the honest fear lurking in her face; it was in the slightly pinched mouth, the tight jaw, the creases fanning from the corner of her eyes.
And against her better judgment, she felt compassion for Imelda. She didn’t know how His Holiness had lured her maid to his side of the war, but Ravenna could guess it involved threats masquerading as gifts. The thought unnerved Ravenna.
Because what, then, were the differences between them?
Would what she be like after a year in the pope’s service?
A knock on the door had them both swiveling around. Imelda glanced at Ravenna with a suspicious quirk of her brow. “Expecting anyone?”
Ravenna shook her head, but her heart foolishly skipped, thinking perhaps it was Saturnino who waited outside. Imelda crossed to the door and opened it, revealing not Saturnino but his sister.
Fortuna strode inside and issued a curt “Leave us.” Imelda obeyed—but not before shooting a warning glance at Ravenna. It promised retribution should she misbehave.
“I’ve come to inspect you,” Fortuna said coolly.
“As you’re representing the family, your appearance will have to match our station.
” With that, she circled Ravenna once, twice, three times, her pale blue eyes lingering on the jewel-tone emerald-green gamurra, cinched high at the waist with a graceful swoop neckline, allowing a teasing glimpse of the lace chemise underneath.
She ran a light hand along the detachable sleeves made of a gold brocade that contrasted with the shimmering copper and mahogany strands of Ravenna’s hair.
“Shoes,” Fortuna murmured.
Ravenna clutched a handful sweep of her dress, lifting the hem.
She stuck out her foot as resentment flooded her.
Fortuna nodded approvingly at the elegant leather shoes, soft and pale, and rounded at the toe.
Then she dipped her hand into a pocket of her dress—a midnight blue with swirls of shimmering thread stitched throughout—and pulled out a strand of freshwater pearls.
“Turn around,” she said.
Ravenna obeyed, that same resentment rising.
But she kept silent, watchful. Of all the Luni siblings, Fortuna was the one she understood the least. She was close to Marco, they were often seen together in the palazzo, but while he had his explosive temper, she behaved like the contessa that she was, who needed everything to go her way.
Ravenna sensed a keen intellect underneath the sulking mouth, and she wondered if perhaps some of her actions and words were all a ruse, an elaborate performance meant to distract from the inner workings of her brilliant mind.
“Your hair is an unusual color,” Fortuna mused. “What would you call it?”
Ravenna smothered a flare of impatience. Saturnino’s sister wanted to discuss the precise color of her hair? She glanced over her shoulder, lips twisting wryly. “Terra di Siena bruciato.”
“Burnt sienna?” Fortuna repeated. “I thought perhaps mud.”
Saturnino’s sister waited expectantly for a reaction, but Ravenna merely smiled and said, “My younger brother once said it looked like mud, too. Though he was nine years old at the time.”
The corners of Fortuna’s mouth deepened, but she recovered quickly and played with a strand of her own hair, already made up for the evening in an elaborate twist. It was a glossy, buttery blond, the favorite and preferred color of the elite in Florence.
Fortuna caught Ravenna looking at it.
“Not an easy color to achieve,” she said, still playing with a stray curled lock.
“Or so I’m told. I came by mine naturally.
There have been several mimics attempting to re-create the hue, but it’s impossible.
” She gave a little laugh. “They’ve run out of dragon’s blood and henna at the apothecaries. ”
At Ravenna’s confused expression, Fortuna leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “The secret ingredients in the dye.”
“Well, it’s lovely,” Ravenna said, wondering why Fortuna was in her room. Was it only to insult her?
Somehow, she didn’t think so.
“You will also look lovely,” Fortuna promised. “No one will notice the lack of shine in your hair.”
Ravenna had known a girl like Fortuna back home.
Valuing status and prestige above everything else, she cared too much of other people’s ideas and opinions of her, and because of it, she tore down the people in her close circle to make herself feel better, look better.
It was the mark of a weak and frightened mind.
Fortuna’s cold hands slipped the pearls around Ravenna’s neck. “How did you come by these bruises?”
Ravenna inhaled sharply as Fortuna tightened the necklace. Not enough to cut off her breath—but enough to serve as a marked warning. Several thoughts flooded her mind. Where was her dagger? It hadn’t fit inside her shoes. And then: What reply could she possibly make?
“Saturnino has shared with us that your progress with the stones has been negligible,” Fortuna continued nonchalantly, as if she were discussing the fabric of her gown. “His stories about you are terribly amusing.”
Ravenna had expected nothing less, but even so, hearing of his reports back to his family sent a feathery shiver across her skin. “Are they?” she asked dully.
“If you do the work, then he won’t have to punish you,” Fortuna said softly.
It took every ounce of control Ravenna possessed to keep her expression blank. Fortuna believed it had been Saturnino who had marked her. But he had never hurt her. Not even when she had tried to escape from the inn. It had been she who had tried to hurt him.
Ravenna had a lie ready for her. “I’m trying.”
Fortuna secured the necklace. “You have many siblings, don’t you, in Volterra?”
Apprehension gathered across the back of her shoulders, tightening them into a severe knot. “Why?”
“I seem to recall a little girl? She was your miniature in appearance.”
Outwardly, Ravenna kept her expression perfectly neutral. But inwardly, her thoughts raced. She hadn’t known how closely Fortuna had observed her family. In fact, she had seemed bored by the competition proceedings, impatient to leave the city and return to the comforts of the palazzo.
“You ought to invite them for a visit.”
Now the reason behind Fortuna’s visit to her room was all too clear. Ravenna curled her hands, hoping to hide their sudden tremor.
She managed a curt reply. “I’m afraid they’re much too busy at the inn this time of year.”
“Nonsense,” Fortuna said, as she tugged at a braid, laying it flat against Ravenna’s neck to better cover the bruise.
“I always feel a bit more fortified when my family is close by,” Fortuna said.
“Like I could do anything. I certainly accomplish more. Perhaps their presence will help you in your work.”
Ravenna’s mouth went dry, recognizing the threat. Fortuna—or the rest of her enchanting family—would have no qualms using her family as leverage against her. She didn’t know what horrifying methods they would employ, but she could guess.
And all her guesses sickened her.
Desperation clawed at her. She would do anything to keep them safe.
She’d have to find a way of sending them a message.
But on all sides, Ravenna was trapped. She couldn’t leave the palazzo through the front door, she couldn’t send mail with the post. All her methods would have to be done in secret, while she was being observed, controlled, threatened.
It was enough to make her scream.
She fought her frustration, the rising panic filling every single one of her thoughts, until she could calmly reply to Fortuna. “There’s no need to bring them—I’m quite focused, I assure you.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Fortuna replied, turning Ravenna around so she could look her in the eyes. She had infused them with warmth, a predator convincing its prey that it was safe from harm. “But I’ll have an invitation ready just in case.”
She stepped back to better examine Ravenna closely. When her sharp gaze had traveled from her feet and up to Ravenna’s face, it was only then that she let a tiny smile of approval cross her painted mouth. “You’ll suit. Shall we go down?”
“I’m ready,” Ravenna said, feeling anything but.