Chapter 33 #2
Ravenna gripped the handle of the bucket with both hands, swiveled around, and swung upward in a wide arc.
It struck Pietro across his face, shattering his nose.
He stumbled back, hand flying up his face as blood poured between his fingers.
Ravenna jumped to her feet, swinging the bucket again, and his head jerked to the side from the force of the blow. He tumbled to the ground, unconscious.
Imelda rushed forward, gripping her chisel so tightly her knuckles were white.
She swung her weapon at Ravenna, who darted out of reach, slipping a little on the blood pooling beneath Pietro, mixing with the white marble dust on the stone floor.
Imelda came at her again, erratically swinging the chisel.
Ravenna yanked a small statue from a pedestal and used it as a shield.
Imelda’s chisel struck it, chipping off a small chunk.
Ravenna threw the statue at Imelda, causing her to stagger back into the workbench.
Pails filled with tools scattered in every direction, clamoring loudly.
Imelda recovered quickly, grabbed a hammer, and swung it at Ravenna’s head.
Ravenna swerved, narrowly avoiding the blow.
She pivoted nimbly and launched herself at Imelda, wrestling her to the ground in a cloud of white dust. They rolled in a complete circle, Imelda on top of Ravenna, straddling her.
Ravenna flung her hand outward, fingers scrambling; she found a stray chisel, instinctively thrusting it upward.
Imelda lurched sideways with a loud yell and then swung forward, her hands wrapping around Ravenna’s throat.
In seconds, Ravenna went back to the night on the parapet, to when they first had tried to choke the life out of her.
She could almost feel the chill of the night on her skin, the brisk wind teasing her hair.
The distance to the ground, many stories below her.
She was going to fall. Imelda dug her thumbs into her skin.
Her vision darkened, black spots dancing before her. Imelda’s face became blurry.
Seconds before the last of her air ran out, the dungeon door crashed open. She was dimly aware of another force entering the room—a disruption in the very air. Leather boots appeared in the corner of Ravenna’s vision. She heard someone curse, a familiar low baritone.
Saturnino.
Imelda loosened her hold and Ravenna gasped for air. She reached for Imelda blindly, but a moment later she disappeared. Vanished from her sight. Ravenna rolled to her side, gasping, finally able to breathe deeply. She pushed up onto her hands and knees, then stood on wobbling legs.
Saturnino had his hands around Imelda in an iron grip.
“Saturnino,” she croaked, her throat bruised and sore. “Don’t.”
He stared down at Imelda with a pitiless gaze, completely inhuman, as if he’d been stolen back into the darkness where he thought he belonged. “She would have killed you.”
Imelda stood stock-still, her face bled of all color. But she wasn’t looking at Saturnino. It was Ravenna she soundlessly bargained with, letting her eyes communicate her terror.
“Saturnino.” Ravenna took a step forward. “Show her mercy.”
“No,” he snarled.
“Please. For me.”
“She doesn’t deserve your mercy.”
“I decide that, not—”
“She’s a spy for the pope,” Saturnino said in a hard voice, his hands climbing up to Imelda’s throat.
“She is me,” Ravenna cried. “Little better than a puppet with no good choices. The pope has power and influence, there’s very little hope once he has a hold over you. Don’t I deserve mercy? Doesn’t she?” Tears swam in her eyes. “Saturnino, let her go.”
Saturnino gritted his teeth, visibly shaking from his anger. “Come here and search her.”
Ravenna darted forward, locking eyes with Imelda.
She carefully searched her pockets and pulled out a handful of spare coins and a hairpin, beautiful and expensive.
Too fine for a maid. Ravenna stared at it wonderingly; it was an odd thing to carry around.
Her eyes flicked to Imelda, who stared intently at it, her jaw clenched.
The item was a clue to who Imelda had been before she ever stepped foot in the palazzo, to a life that had been cut short.
Ravenna slipped the hairpin back into the pocket and switched to the other side, working quickly.
Her fingers found an envelope. She smiled grimly to herself as she withdrew it.
It was the same expensive paper the pope used for his correspondence with her.
She flipped it over; sure enough, remnants of the bloodred wax he used were still visible.
She was about to read the note inside when Imelda asked, “What are you going to do with me?”
Saturnino released Imelda and drew back from her. “Pack all of your belongings. Leave the palazzo, and never return. You have half an hour. Never let me see you again. I won’t be responsible for what will happen if I do.”
Imelda glanced at her Pietro, still unmoving. “I won’t leave without him.”
“You’ll have to, because I’m not carrying him for you,” Saturnino said coldly. “Get the hell out.”
Imelda picked up the hem of her skirt and bolted out of the room.
Saturnino turned toward Ravenna, his eyes latching on to the bruising around her neck. His expression darkened, and he looked ready to chase after Imelda.
“I’m fine,” Ravenna whispered. “And everyone is responsible for their actions. No matter who they are, no matter what they’ve been through. It’s all a part of being human.”
“Ravenna, I know.” He rubbed his eyes. “But I’ve lost all patience with people who are trying to kill you.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “There was a time when you wanted to kill me, too.”
Saturnino lowered his hand and looked at her.
He opened his mouth, but then his eyes widened in horror.
He lunged toward her, shoved her off to the side.
Ravenna caught the glimmer of a blade before she roughly landed onto the bench, the room spinning.
There was the awful sound of a knife sinking into flesh, followed by a guttural moan.
It took her a moment to understand the battle being fought a few feet from her.
Saturnino had Pietro on the ground. Pietro was thrashing, but held in place by a firm knee on his chest. The firelight from the torches spilled onto Saturnino’s pale face, cold and terrible.
He displayed no emotion, only a cool precision in subduing his opponent.
“Who are you?” Saturnino snarled.
Pietro continued thrashing, but Saturnino’s knee would not budge. “Where is Imelda? What have you done to her?”
“She’s safe,” Ravenna said. “We let her go.”
Pietra let out a hoarse, disbelieving laugh.
Saturnino yanked the slim dagger from out of his side. Blood poured from the wound, silvery blue. He angled the weapon under Pietro’s jaw. “What family are you from?”
Pietro tried to spit at Saturnino, but he missed. It dribbled down the side of his own cheek. “Porco demonio.”
Saturnino arched a brow. “I’m not the devil’s spawn, I assure you.” Then he leaned down, pressing the flat of his hand on the gash on Pietro’s thigh.
Pietro howled, a pitiful, wounded noise that gutted Ravenna. “Saturnino—”
“Stay out of it,” Saturnino snapped. He pressed his hand down harder, and Pietro screamed. “Your name.”
“Pazzi, Pazzi!” Pietro sobbed.
“That’s what I thought,” Saturnino said coolly.
Pietro’s hand slid outward, reaching for a weapon, a discarded rasp.
Ravenna let out a cry of warning and darted forward.
Saturnino shifted, placing his full weight on top of Pietro’s chest. The snap of Pietro’s ribs breaking rent the air.
Pietro roared, frantically struggling to break free, the rasp in his hand. He swung toward Saturnino’s face.
Saturnino’s blade flashed. Pietro went still. Saturnino stood, lifting his gaze to Ravenna. She swayed and he reached her in three strides, wrapping his arms around her. He brought her close to the long line of his body, holding her upright. “Ravenna,” he murmured. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m—” She lifted her chin, blinked up at him, unable to form a reply. The sight of Pietro’s blood pooling beneath him made her head spin.
“Don’t look at him.”
She clenched her eyes, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“Dio,” Saturnino whispered. “This is torture.”
“What?” She opened her eyes.
“Seeing you cry,” he said hoarsely. “What do I do? How do I make you feel better?”
“You’ve never comforted anyone before?”
He stared down at her, incredulous. “Ravenna, before I met you, I didn’t believe I had a heart.”
Oh.
This only made her cry harder, and Saturnino shook her slightly, a silent reminder to instruct him. “Just hold me,” she managed.
“That doesn’t seem like enough.”
“Trust me, it is.”
Saturnino wiped her cheeks, the corners of her eyes, her chin, with his cold hands. “Can you tell me what happened? From the beginning.”
Ravenna nodded as he continued to dry her tears. A fruitless task; she couldn’t seem to stop crying. “I came down here to work on the stones.” She pointed to the fallen Nightflame. “That one is for you.”
At this, Saturnino sucked in a breath.
“I made my choice,” Ravenna whispered.
“What choice?”
“You,” she said. “I chose you.”
Saturnino shut his eyes, as if the sight of her was too much for him. His body shuddered. He opened his eyes; they were clear but blue-rimmed. “And then?” he asked hoarsely.
“That’s when Pietro—” Her eyes flickered uneasily to his body.
“Don’t look at him,” he said again.
Ravenna wrenched her gaze back to Saturnino. “That’s when they attacked me. I was able to knock Pietro unconscious, but then Imelda…” She shuddered. “You know what happened after that.”
Saturnino’s gaze spanned the length of the room, flickering from the Nightflame to Pietro, the total mess left behind from their fight with Ravenna. He nodded to himself, and Ravenna realized he was checking her words with what proof lay before him.