Chapter 34
Capitolo Trentaquattro
By some miracle, Ravenna made it out of the palazzo grounds, stumbling along the side street, exhaustion clinging to her as if she’d traveled miles.
It felt like she had. She found her way to the main thoroughfare, unseeing, navigating by rote the scores of people making their way up and down the street.
The longer she walked, the more aware she became of Florence in all its bustling activity.
Shops lining the street offered a dazzling array of goods: apothecaries displaying ginger, harissa, and cloves, tailors presenting newly dyed fabric in deep reds, greens, and blues.
Surrounding her were conversations held in multiple languages: Arabic, Hebrew, and Greek.
Street performers played their lutes, the melodies blending in with the routine clattering of horses traversing the uneven cobblestones, worn down by centuries of travelers.
Ravenna’s fingers absently brushed the limestone walls as she went, the rough touch of stone at once familiar and soothing.
At some point she became aware of reaching the Piazza del Duomo.
In front of the great domed cathedral were scores of bright decorations—garlands of flowers and banners draped everywhere in crimson and gold.
The cobbled streets were scrubbed clean, and from balcony windows, families had hung embroidered tapestries with the sign of the cross.
Ravenna blinked at the general splendor.
With a start, she realized the day.
It was Holy Saturday. The day before Easter.
She turned back toward Santa Maria del Fiore, finding a large antique cart loaded with fireworks. Ribbons were folded over the sides, along with lush greenery and scores of violets, Florentine lilies, roses, and tulips. She stared at it, absently recalling the well-known Florentine tradition.
Tomorrow the Holy Fire would be lit at Eastertide.
People crowded the piazza, and Ravenna made her way out and through, noting how the city was near bursting at the seams in preparation for the holy day.
She had wanted to explore every inch of the city, but now she wandered aimlessly searching for quiet, at odds with herself about what to do.
Grief made it impossible to focus, her heartache was a terrible and brutal companion that dogged every one of her steps.
Tears burned at the back of her eyes until she finally gave in to them, uncaring who saw her or what they thought.
How was she supposed to live her life after this?
The constant threat of danger had stolen nights of sleep, at times, her appetite, her sense of self. And now she’d lost someone she loved. How was she supposed to make a life after this, when she had nothing at all left?
She had a peculiar feeling of having gone to war and come out on the losing side.
Her home wasn’t her home anymore—she’d left it far behind her, and if she returned to it now she would no longer fit in.
But of course she had to go back to Volterra, if only to explain to her family that they were about to be excommunicated.
What would they say to her? If she tried to explain, would they even listen?
Ravenna shook her head. They would never forgive her.
It was another loss.
Ravenna didn’t know how she could bear it, but she had to at least try to warn them.
She ended up at a tavern owned by a Levantine family, where she sat at a wooden table with a bench covered in plush cushions.
Low wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling while candlelight illuminated the cozy and warm interior.
They served her savory pastries filled with spiced meat accompanied by a small bowl filled with a tangy dipping sauce and a hearty soup made of lentils and spinach, flavored with lemon and coriander.
She ate everything set before her, and the delicious fare worked its magic.
The food revived her, helped her to master the emotion roiling under her skin, and the memory of Saturnino’s face when he told her to leave him.
It was in this mindset that she made a decision.
She couldn’t save Saturnino, but she would save her brother.
It was only a matter of finding him. In a big city.
Where she knew no one. Ravenna tapped her fingers against the table, thinking.
Her brother was a priest now; could he be tucked away in a church?
Unlikely, but it was the only thing she could think of.
The server returned, and Ravenna reached into her pocket to pay for the fare. She retrieved the slim bag, but an envelope tumbled out alongside it. She stared down at it blankly.
And then she remembered.
Imelda’s message from the pope. Ravenna quickly paid the server and left the tavern, yanking out the letter as she crossed the street, mindful of the carts and carriages ambling past. She ducked into an alley and hastily read the note.
Your management of Ravenna has left much to be desired, Imelda. Meet my courier on the 24th of April, at eight in the evening. Osteria dell’Inferno. He will have new instructions for you.
Do not keep him waiting.
It was signed by the pope. Her body buzzed with nervous energy.
This was it, her chance to find Antonio.
It was a slim chance, but desperation fueled her; she had to try something.
Anything. Ravenna glanced up at the sky, subconsciously noting the hour.
The meeting would happen later that evening; she had several hours yet.
Imelda had only just received the message; it explained why her maid had lain in wait for her, testing to see what she would do.
The pope was clearly displeased, and Ravenna could only imagine what pressure he had placed Imelda under.
Her stomach coiled at the thought of willfully putting herself back into the pope’s gaze, but she didn’t really have a choice. Saturnino had saved her from one fate, but she still had to contend with the other.
Saturnino. Again, his face swam in her mind, filled her body with a tethered feeling, as if she were connected to him by a magical current.
He would be furious with her if he knew of her plans.
But she had to stop thinking about him; it physically hurt her to think of him.
It nearly killed her to know with absolute certainty that she’d never see him again.
They were impossible.
She shook her head as if to rid herself of the specter of his presence and set off down the street. There were practical needs she had to meet: clothing, a safe place to stay, a pair of sensible shoes.
A knife to replace the dagger she left behind.
And then, when the moon was high, she’d meet with the courier.
Ravenna ducked into the scheduled meeting place. While running her errands, she had found a serviceable dark cloak, and she wrapped it around her body as her eyes scanned the interior.
Customers sat at tables situated around the space, deep in conversation or drink, while servers waited at the other end of the room, next to a wooden bar. She found the courier tucked into a shadowy corner. His hood covered the upper portion of his face, but his eyes were still visible.
He had seen her the second she appeared through the door.
Ravenna made her way over to him, and he tracked her progress, his expression solemn. But even so, she sensed that she’d surprised him. Profoundly.
“Where’s Imelda?” he asked as she took the seat across from him. She was careful not to block his view of the entrance. He’d want a clear view over her shoulder.
“She’s dead,” Ravenna lied. It was the only way she knew how to protect her from the consequences of having gotten caught. She prayed Imelda had escaped the city by now, that she was as far away from Florence as possible.
The courier absorbed this information. “How?”
“By me.” She shifted in her chair. “It was an accident.”
The only reaction the courier gave was the slightest flattening of his mouth. He dropped two florins onto the scarred wooden table and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“My meeting was with her.”
He took a step, and Ravenna instinctively reached out, gripping his arm.
His gaze dropped to her hand and then slowly lifted to meet hers.
Dark brown eyes clashed with hers. The courier didn’t have to say a single word.
His grim expression told her exactly how he felt.
She had only a second to release him before he would do it for her. And it would not be gentle.
Ravenna ignored the warning, and said in a rush, “His Holiness won’t be pleased.”
The courier looked at her narrowly. “Take your hand off me.”
The quiet menace in his voice sent a chill down her spine. She removed her hand, and as he took another step she said the first thing she could think of. “What will happen to you now that you’ve lost both contacts in the palazzo?”
It was a wild, improbable guess.
But the courier paused, half turning toward her. “There will be others after you.”
“When does it end?” Ravenna asked. “How many more—”
“Not my problem,” he growled.
“But you do have one,” Ravenna said quietly, acting on a hunch. “He has a hold over you, like the rest of us.”
The courier glared at her.
“Tell me it isn’t true,” Ravenna said, a thrill moving through her. Her hunch had been right. She wasn’t the only person the pope had blackmailed. Imelda had fallen prey to his tactics, too, and who knew how many countless others?
The courier dropped down onto the seat across from her, folded his arms, and stared.
He stared at her for so long, she thought that perhaps he was waiting on her to continue, but then he said, “He has me, like he has you.” The words sounded like they’d been dragged out of him, and only because he hated to be under anyone’s thumb.
She’d sensed that about him the first night they met; he’d been a rugged and wild creature captured by the throat. Run ragged.
“Then—”