Capitolo 27
Capitolo Ventisette
Ravenna tiptoed along one of the familiar paths she’d taken the other day when she’d gone out to search for Ombretta.
Lit lanterns guided her way, and the scent of blooming roses, jasmine, and orange blossoms clung to her hair, her skin.
Spring was making herself known. Stone walls covered in ivy enclosed the manicured garden, adorned by topiaries, trees, and flower beds.
Gravel crunched underneath the soles of her soft leather boots as she crept after the group, the tall hedges flanking her providing the perfect amount of cover.
The sounds of conversation and music from the hall faded away, until it was just her pulse ticking hard in her ear.
Low murmuring cut through the still night.
Ravenna turned a corner, her breath light and soft, and paused at the corner of a hedge. There they were. Cloistered together under a vine-covered pergola. She drifted closer, quietly, until her straining ears could hear every word of their conversation.
She peeked around the corner of the hedge, brushing aside a cluster of leaves.
“… has become more crafty,” Lorenzo was saying. “Every day I hear of new spies infiltrating the Signoria.”
“You ought to cast them out and make examples of them,” Marco growled, his hands on his hips, feet set wide apart. “Hang them in the middle of the Piazza della Signoria. See if any more show up after that. Hang the entire Pazzi family while you’re at it.”
“It would certainly make a statement,” Lorenzo agreed. “What do you think, Saturnino?”
Only the knight’s profile was visible to her, limned in the lantern’s soft lighting. The strong line of his jaw, his squared-off chin, paired with a soft, lush mouth. He flicked a speck off his sleeve and said lazily, “I wouldn’t do anything so obvious.”
“What would you do, then?” came Marco’s testy reply.
“I would feed the spies misinformation,” Saturnino said mildly. “If you cut down one spy, another will surely take his place. Why not deal with the same spy to our advantage?”
“A sound notion,” Signor Luni said, nodding. “And quite devious.”
Marco tipped his head back and let out an exasperated groan. “All right, we’ll do it my brother’s way.” He shifted to face Saturnino, scowling. “But I’ll take care of it. None of your underhanded scheming. What message do we want this”—he spat out the word—“spy to communicate back to the pope?”
“How much does the pope know about Leonardo da Vinci’s war machine?” Saturnino asked.
Ravenna blinked. War machine. The drawing she’d seen in Lorenzo de’ Medici’s office suddenly made sense.
She tucked herself closer to the greenery, stomach coiling into a tight knot.
Leonardo was right. War was imminent, but Florence had means to defend herself.
Not just with soldiers and their bows and arrows, but with a mechanical beast.
The pope wouldn’t excommunicate her or her family if she brought this information to him.
“Let us hope only bits and pieces,” Signor Sforza said. “But it’s hard to know for certain. Milan is a feeding ground for those loyal to Rome. I would assume the pope is in frequent contact with the Pazzi family.”
“Is the war machine operable?” Saturnino asked.
“It is. We only need to make minor adjustments with Leonardo’s proposed changes.” Signor Sforza indicated to Lorenzo with his chin. “Which Signor Medici has just approved.”
Saturnino glanced down and mulled it over. “Say there’s been mechanical failure. That will muddy his information or, at the very least, delay his next move while he verifies the information,” he said. “The spy will report the inventions are nowhere near ready for use.”
“That’s one problem dealt with,” Signor Luni said. His voice turned flat. “And what about the little sculptress?”
Ravenna’s breath caught at the back of her throat. She inched closer, her heart thumping hard against her ribs.
There was an electric pause.
“What about her?” Saturnino drawled.
“According to you, her power is nowhere near where we need it to be. Her witch blood is too diluted. Which means we still need to find a witch powerful enough to perform the spell.”
Her stomach dropped. Spell? What spell?
“I’m aware,” Saturnino replied coolly. “But Ravenna is still a sculptress and powerful enough to extract all five Nightflames.”
“So it’s Ravenna, is it?” Marco asked, sly.
“Silenzio,” Saturnino snapped. “I’ve had enough of your inanities, Marco.”
Ravenna held her breath. The quiet stretched between them, filling with tension.
“Will she finish in time?” Lorenzo asked after a beat.
“Not according to my brother.” Marco arched a dark brow. There was the slightest hint of cold amusement in his features, as if he enjoyed putting his brother thoroughly in his place. “That’s what you said before. Isn’t that right, Saturnino?”
“How unfortunate,” Signor Luni said with a sigh. “And a pretty woman at that. What do you intend to do?”
“What else is there to do?” Saturnino asked in that same cold voice. “I suppose we ought to replace her.”
“Let me have her,” Signor Sforza said, speaking for the first time. A leering smile curved the line of his mouth. Ravenna recoiled, her skin prickling with the sense of approaching danger. “I can think of—”
“I’ll handle it,” Saturnino cut in, straightening his spine. “I’ve already begun my search for her replacement.”
Ravenna’s jaw dropped.
“Since when?” Marco demanded.
“All the more reason to give her to me,” Signor Sforza said at the same time.
“Have her then, if she’s willing,” Saturnino said neutrally.
“I’m tempted to send the machine to Volterra,” Signor Medici muttered. “Nothing good has come from that city, least of all her.”
“It’s not a terrible idea,” Signor Sforza mused. “It would send a message to those loyal to the pope.”
Ice filled her, making it hard to breathe.
Ravenna didn’t hear Saturnino’s reply; she’d turned away, somehow managing to keep quiet, even though she would have preferred to run away screaming.
She retraced her steps, her body overrun by a tide of rising emotions, making her vision swim.
She could do nothing to suppress the flood of feeling drowning her, nothing but flee from the garden.
It wasn’t until she returned to her seat in the great hall, until she had taken a long sip of spiced wine from her goblet, that her color returned, and clarity cut through her panic and disbelief.
These men weren’t planning for a way to survive against an attack.
They would destroy whole villages in their bid for power.
They would destroy Volterra.
Would her family survive such an attack?
Ravenna wouldn’t risk it. There was a part of her that wanted to side with Saturnino, with Florence, even, against His Holiness. But not anymore. Every time Saturnino had left the palazzo for any period of time, he had been off searching for someone to do the work she wouldn’t—couldn’t—do.
Because he’d already decided to dispose of her.
There was nothing she could say or do to change his mind.
She had always known it was a possibility.
Except she’d stupidly thought he wouldn’t actually harm her.
That all his piercing looks, his soft words, his passionate kiss, had meant something. Even a little.
But she had been a fool.
Behaving like a silly child without a thought for the consequences.
She knew better. Ravenna fumed.
She might have been a single strand in a grand tapestry, but there had to be a way to unravel herself free—from them all.
Medici, Luni, and the pope.
“What has happened to you?” Fortuna hissed, leaning toward her. “You look terrible. Why on earth are you sweating?”
“I told you I was feeling ill,” Ravenna said dully.
Fortuna thrust a napkin in her lap. “Wipe your face and smile.”
Ravenna forced a smile. Shock had settled into her bones; she couldn’t seem to stop shaking. From fear. From disappointment. From anger. She gripped the stem of her wine goblet, letting herself melt into her fury.
And now she needed to act. She glanced at the terrace doors.
They hadn’t returned yet. Good, it gave her time to think.
She dropped her gaze to her lap, played with the corner of her napkin, and brushed her finger along the silver stitching as she considered what to do next.
Midnight was fast approaching. She glanced again at the doors leading out to the garden in time to see the men return.
Signor Sforza strode toward the banquet table.
He was alone, the others returning to their seats.
Servants began piling food onto their plates, pouring wine into their goblets.
Now was her chance. Ravenna stood, but she went to the other end instead of walking directly toward Signor Sforza.
That man liked to chase, and she mustn’t make it too easy for him.
She only had to wait one minute.
Signor Sforza came to stand next to her, placing a light hand around her waist. She stiffened but didn’t draw away from him.
Her eyes went to the clock. It was almost time to leave.
He stared at her with a gleam that was both hungry and gleeful.
His time with her had come and he meant to enjoy every second of it.
Ravenna fought her revulsion. She smiled.
“It’s time for our dance, isn’t it?” he asked.
She shook her head, the pope’s letter swirling in her mind. Dark ink on cream paper, the words sprawling and taking up too much room. For some unaccountable reason, her heart shattered at the thought of betraying Saturnino. She forced herself to think of the task at hand.
Ponte Vecchio at midnight.
She was to lure this vile man out in the cold for a meeting, to a bridge that crossed over the icy Arno.
Ravenna could easily picture the pope’s mysterious courtier.
He would present Signor Sforza with a choice that wasn’t really a choice.
And as the river desperately churned beneath his feet, so would his thoughts churn in his mind.
Like Ravenna, he would not refuse whatever offer the pope made.
Signor Sforza looked at her in amusement. “Have you changed your mind about the dance, then?”
“I have, yes,” she said. “Forgive me, I believe the evening has worn me down.” A long table laden with bowls of chilled white wine stood on the wall facing the dance floor. Signor Sforza followed the line of her gaze and said, “Allow me to bring you a glass, signorina.”
His hand rose to curl around the back of her neck, inching her closer to the long line of his body.
“The family will see,” she whispered.
“The family will make no objections,” Signor Sforza said. “Unless you have them?”
Ravenna gritted her teeth and shook her head. He beamed at her, and she allowed him to lead her to the beverage table, allowed him to place a glass of wine in her hand. She even permitted him to stand even closer to her side, the toes of his polished boots brushing up against her gown.
“Curious,” he said, frowning in the direction of the banquet table.
“What, signore?”
“Well, I wanted to compliment your work,” he said. “But someone removed the statue from the table.”
Ravenna glanced in the direction of the table; the space where her bozzetto had been was now empty. “Curious.”
“Do you still not want to dance?”
She shook her head. “Still no.”
He took a long sip, and said, “Is there something you’d like to do instead?”
With a fortifying breath, Ravenna lifted her chin and met his gaze. She made her eyes whisper how much she wanted to be alone with him. Her next words were said in a seductive tone, which was unfamiliar to her. This isn’t me, Ravenna thought.
Except for tonight, it had to be.
She set the bait. “There is.”
Slow comprehension tiptoed across his face, and the earnest gleam in his eyes became something more triumphant. As if he couldn’t believe how easy she’d made it for him. “Will you tell me?”
“I’d rather show you,” she said.
His fingers twitched at the back of her neck. “When?”
Ravenna heard a warning sound trill in her mind, growing louder and louder.
She ignored it, and looked at the ornate clock at the front of the room.
Ten minutes to midnight. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of the other men, deep in conversation, drinking heavily.
They were distracted—good. She didn’t dare look at Saturnino. She couldn’t.
Signor Sforza pressed closer, his hand tightened on her waist, urgent. “When?”
She licked her lips, and Signor Sforza’s eyes darkened. He didn’t seem all that shy anymore. The warning sound turned thunderous, but still she ignored it. “Why not now?”