Chapter 33
Capitolo Trentatré
Ravenna stared at the virgin blocks of stones.
All night, she had tossed and turned. All night, she had thought of Saturnino and the choice he’d made for her.
He probably loathed her; he would probably never believe a word out of her mouth ever again.
There was only one way to make it right between them.
One way she could help save his life.
She’d dressed in a hurry, early-morning light illuminating her painted wardrobe, the rumpled sheets of her bed, her neat row of borrowed shoes.
A keen sense of urgency overtook her. There was no time to waste.
Ravenna pulled on a cream camicia and layered a green gamurra over it, the color of spring leaves, lined in muslin.
A split second after she’d buckled her ankle boots she was out the bedroom door, taking off at a dead run through the palazzo corridors.
Someone had already lit the wall-mounted torches, washing the space in a warm, golden light.
Imelda, Ravenna thought absently as she approached the virgin stones.
Cool resolve settled over her. Magic buzzed in the circular room, but as she drew near the stones, she felt it still, as if it were holding its breath.
Her stomach twisted sharply.
So far, she’d only made a sizable dent in one of the stones.
She’d have to do far better than that.
Tools were lying in wait for her, recently cleaned.
She took a chisel, a mallet, clutched both in her hands.
She dropped to her knees in front of the stone, her hand hovering above its surface.
The blue and red veining pulsed, shimmering with life, with purpose.
The dark magic between her ribs unfurled, humming gently.
A monster waiting to be unleashed.
Ravenna breathed deeply, catching that thought before it took root.
For most of her life, what had mattered to her most was what other people believed about her.
The people in Volterra who’d known her since she was in swaddling clothes, her parents who loved her as much as they feared for her, the siblings she helped raise who didn’t know any of her secrets, a pope who preached with a swinging fist and a graceless heart.
None of it was love.
The love that knew no fear. Not of the unknown or the different, not of magic or failure.
The love that knew no conditions or limitations.
Something wet traced the curve of her cheek.
Ravenna blinked, fingers reaching. She hadn’t known she was crying.
She stared at the tip of her finger, glistening, realizing how wrong she’d been.
About the world, about herself, about heaven itself.
Her magic wasn’t a monster, and neither was she.
It seemed to notice the lack of resistance, and it rose high.
She felt the sudden weight of its power.
Anticipation made her throat dry. She braced herself for the long drag as it siphoned out of her.
In the past, the magic had fed on her terror, her heartache, powerful emotions out of her control.
But a kind of peace had settled over her.
She felt a desire to help another creature.
A desire to save Saturnino’s life. Her feelings for him had been carved into her, one strike at a time.
Engraved across her heart, words she couldn’t speak.
Words that weren’t perfect but were real.
Words he’d never believe.
That didn’t matter. She would do what she could.
“If this is what I’m meant for, so be it,” she whispered.
Ravenna placed both hands on the virgin stone, feeling its heat scape her palms. The magic inherent in the stones pushed back, biting and hostile, hissing steam.
Her magic roared out of her, furious at the attack, wanting to smother and claim.
She let it happen, keeping her fingers spread out and not curled into fists.
Instead of despair, she welcomed her power.
This isn’t a sin. This is who I am.
The words settled in her chest, joined the other ones in the secret corners of her heart. Truths that were precious but still fragile. And for the first time, her magic didn’t try to overtake her. It waited for her permission, and she had the uncanny sense that it was beginning to trust her.
Her body moved instinctively, her magic unspooling out of her in long waves, wrapping around the stone, draining it of its life force.
Her hands glowed a midnight blue, the same fiery hue locked within the Nightflame.
Her magic was connected to the gemstone, a balance to its raw power to give life.
The virgin stone seemed to shift, beaten down, its red veining fading to a dull ember as her magic subdued it completely.
Ravenna lined up the chisel and struck the handle with an efficient smack from the mallet.
The surface splintered easily. The veining spread wider, almost guiding her where to direct each precise tap.
As she carved deeper and deeper into the stone, the glow of the Nightflame within grew stronger, casting Ravenna’s face in a cobalt light.
The last layer of stone felt like glass, smooth and fragile.
Instinctively, she pressed her bare hands against it, her magic spilling out of her, and the barrier dissolved into dust.
And there it was.
The Nightflame.
The precious gemstone glimmered a bright blue, the flame within it dancing.
For several heartbeats, she could only stare at it.
It looked alive, otherworldly, as if it had come from the far ends of the universe, from heaven itself.
It was larger than the palm of her hand, and it looked heavy.
Carefully, she used her chisel to gently pull it out of its resting place.
She felt a burst of pain, as if she cradled the power of the sun in her hands.
Then it cooled, as if recognizing her.
Like to like.
Ravenna sank onto the floor, her breaths ragged.
Her magic drifted back to her, spooling between her ribs.
It felt like it gave a great big yawn and fell asleep.
Exhaustion sucked her down like mud. She’d never used so much magic at once; she was always trying to stop it before it began.
Curious, she tried to call it out again, but now it resisted her.
Let me recover, it seemed to say.
She had done it. After years of hiding herself away, making herself small, believing the worst about herself. Until that moment she had never known what she was capable of. Her magic didn’t only destroy, it also had the power to do good.
It had the power to save someone she loved.
“Saturnino,” she said in a loud voice, a declaration.
She closed her eyes for a moment, dropping her chin toward her chest. The memory of the previous night crystallized in her mind.
Firelight casting shadows across his pale face, dark eyes that reflected the flickering flames back to her.
His presence had enveloped her so fully that she couldn’t see or think or feel anything else.
Only the slide of his fingers across her skin had mattered to her. The searing kisses he had given her.
His cool poise shattering the instant he touched her.
“Saturnino,” she said again, this time in a dazed wonder. She had to find him; she had to show him what she’d done. Prove to him that she was true.
“I knew it,” came a low voice from behind her. “I knew you were working against me.”
Ravenna spun as Imelda and Pietro appeared behind the tall stacks of empty crates. She was in her usual lady’s maid ensemble, neat as a pin, but her features were twisted in fury. In her hands, she carried a sharp-edged chisel.
“Imelda, Pietro,” Ravenna said, fighting to keep her voice calm, inching closer to the hammer she’d dropped. “Why didn’t you make your presence known?”
“I warned you not to hinder my efforts,” Imelda said. “You’ve been taking too long to retrieve the gemstones, and His Holiness wants them. I thought maybe I could free them.” She lifted her hand, showed her the tip of one finger, scalded and red.
“The virgin stone burned you.”
“I only brushed my finger against it,” Imelda said. “But you’re here now and you’re going to do the hard work for me. I need them,” Imelda said. “Because it sounded like you intend to betray His Holiness. Isn’t that right, Pietro?”
“It certainly did,” he said grimly.
“Fine,” Ravenna said, still eerily calm. “You’ve found me out. What do you two intend to do?”
Pietro advanced on her, fists clenched. But she bent down quickly, retrieved her slim dagger from out of her boot and brought it up, backing away from him. “Listen to me, the family will react strongly if you hurt me—”
“You’re disposable to them,” Pietro snarled. “You should have figured that out by now.”
“Not to Saturnino,” Ravenna said, frantic, ducking around one of the statues.
She tripped over a bucket filled with files and rasps, and landed hard on her hands and knees.
Her dagger skidded away from her, out of her reach.
Pietro let out a barked laugh, short and terrifying, as he cut around the same statue.
Ravenna called for her magic, but it ignored her, still recuperating.
Merda.
She blindly reached for the bucket, pulling out the first thing her hand found.
Pietro bent at the hip, yanked fistfuls of her hair, drawing her up to her knees.
Ravenna screamed, tears pricking her eyes from the sudden pain.
She gripped the narrow chisel by its wooden handle and plunged it downward, straight into the meat of Pietro’s thigh.
He released her, howling.
“Pietro? Pietro!” Imelda screeched.