Chapter 35
Capitolo Trentacinque
Ravenna trailed after the courier, marveling at the way he seemed to blend in with the night.
He was a creature of darkness, thriving under the light of the moon and little else.
On the way to Santa Croce, the streets became narrower, winding between tightly packed buildings.
The stone underfoot was smooth, even, the cobbles worn down from centuries of use.
The courier stuck to the shadows, passing by open doorways as if he were a phantom, a mere trick of the light. The smells of bread baking and chestnuts roasting spilled out into the night, mingling with the scents of damp cloth and aged wood.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“No.”
Ravenna looked at him askance, her eyes narrowing. He wouldn’t even give her that much. Even now, he seemed guarded against her, against the whole world. His cloak hovered close to his lean, rangy body, his hood drawn up over his head. He was a walking fortress.
He was also the loneliest man she had ever met.
Deliberately lonely.
But he had someone he loved. Someone he protected at all costs, even to himself.
Ravenna wouldn’t press him for any more information.
He was already doing more for her than she’d thought he would.
So she kept her mouth shut the rest of the way, choosing instead to eye the people making their way up and down the narrow street.
They were a mix of types—washerwomen, laborers, artisans dressed in muted tones, plain and serviceable.
The courier stopped in front of a narrow three-story building, its plaster peeling. The front door hung ajar, what little light came from the interior spilling onto the street.
“Here?”
The courier nodded. “Second floor, first door to the right.”
“Grazie.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said in a hard voice. “I did you no favors.”
His face was barely visible under the cover of his cloak. She expected him to turn away, to disappear into the night, but he stood next to her. Quietly, eerily still.
“What is it?” Ravenna whispered.
The courier hesitated. “Your brother is a dangerous man.”
“He won’t hurt me,” Ravenna said.
“Watch your back anyway,” he said, and then he walked away, melting into the cool shadows.
She tipped her head back, looked up at the second-story windows, shuttered against the wind and cold. Her brother was inside, she could feel it. Trepidation stole over her; twice now, different people had told her how dangerous her brother was.
It’s not that she didn’t believe them. It’s just that she believed he wouldn’t become dangerous to her. Antonio had come to Florence looking for her. He had come to save her.
This was what she held on to as she walked through the door.
It was a frail hope anchored by happy memories.
Of all her siblings, she and Antonio were the closest in age.
They were best friends. He had changed, but there were parts of him that she understood.
What happened in Volterra angered her, too.
Fury and revenge had driven many of her own choices.
But she had let it all go, and somehow, she would have to convince Antonio to leave Florence with her.
Because Ravenna now knew, as she walked up the dusty wooden steps, trailing her hand on the banister, that she would not return home without her brother.
No matter her promise to Saturnino.
Antonio answered the door after her first knock.
He gaped at her, silhouetted against the dim lighting spilling from within his small apartment.
Then he reached for her, yanking her inside and slamming the door behind them.
She had a moment to look over where he lived, a far cry from her luxurious room in the palazzo.
The floor was the same simple stone as the outside corridor, the walls bare except for a large wooden cross hanging by the only window.
The room itself was narrow and sparse, with hardly any furniture.
One rough wooden table, three chairs, a wooden chest, and a small hearth. Unlit.
“Who else lives here?” Ravenna asked, continuing her perusal.
There were two narrow cots pushed into a corner of the room.
Both had straw-stuffed mattresses, and some of the straw had spilled onto the floor.
A worn, faded blanket lay on each. A second little table held a clay jug and bowl, and one rosary.
Antonio gaped at her. “Who else lives … Ravenna! How did you find me?”
Ravenna shook her head; she had promised the courier. “What matters is that I did.”
“You can’t be here. You’re needed at the palazzo, it’s imperative that you not risk your position there.”
“It’s already at risk,” Ravenna said quietly. “I’ve left for good. I had to—”
“What? No, you have to go back,” Antonio said. “We need you to be at the palazzo—”
“We?” Ravenna interrupted. “Who is we?”
Antonio snapped his mouth shut. “I told you, we don’t share names.”
She knew that. Even the courier followed that rule. But they all seemed to know her and who she was and where she came from.
Her brother stepped close to her, placed his hands onto her shoulders. He had always been boyishly handsome with his mischievous smirk and laughing eyes, the same color as their mother’s. A stranger looked back at her now.
“When was the last time you slept?” Ravenna asked. “When was the last time you ate?”
He shook her. “You’re not listening to me.”
“Imelda has left Florence and Pietro is dead.”
His hands slipped off her shoulders, his jaw sagging. His words were a hoarse whisper, the rustle of leaves over a tombstone. “What have you done?”
“Antonio, listen to me.” She placed her hand on his arm, stopping him from crying out. “I have money. We can leave right now.”
“Madonna santa.” He appeared stricken, his face draining of color. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re leaving Florence,” Ravenna said. “Now, immediately.” She gestured to the room. “Pack up your things and come with me.”
His face was the picture of disbelief, eyes wide, brows reaching his hairline. He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe they shared blood. “Have you gone mad? I can’t leave. His Holiness is depending on me. He needs me to cleanse the city and rid it of the Medici filth.”
“He’s using you!” Ravenna cried. “Can’t you see what he’s done? You’re not sleeping, not eating—”
“A small price to pay for the chance to bring down the Medici,” Antonio said, eyes feverishly bright. “The pope has given me holy orders, I must not fail him. He understands my pain, our pain. How could you forget what they’ve done to me?”
Desperation clawed at her. How was she ever going to get through to him?
She felt as if they were speaking different languages.
She was arguing with someone who had forgotten where they had come from.
Their family. Their life. He had gone down a road she wouldn’t follow, one that took him away from himself.
She wanted her brother back.
“Fratello, look at me.” Ravenna grasped his hands. “I love you. This isn’t you—”
His voice dropped low, lower than a whisper. “Even if we were to run, His Holiness would find us. He’ll excommunicate our entire family. I can’t go.”
Her desperation turned feral, a hungry animal that fed off her worst fears. Everything he said was true. But he was looking at her now with sudden clarity, without the haze of anger.
“Ravenna,” he said in that same low voice. “This is what I’m meant to do. It’s the only way.” He swallowed hard. “If you won’t help me, then for your own good, I need you to leave.”
“I won’t leave without you!” Ravenna shouted.
“That’s enough,” barked a voice from the door.
Ravenna turned to find two priests coming inside, their hoods flung back. One was bald, and the other was a head taller than all of them, long and skinny with pronounced cheekbones. The shorter one marched over to her and snatched her wrist.
“Let go of me—” Ravenna gasped.
He yanked her to a cot. “Get the rope.”
Antonio backed into the wall, his lips trembling. “She didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, she did,” the tall priest snapped, rummaging through the wooden chest. “If she isn’t for us, then she’s against us. Your sister is a liability.” He pulled out a bundle of rope and tossed it at the bald-headed priest.
Ravenna wrenched her arm free, turned to her brother. “Come with me, ple—”
The priest struck her cheek. Her head whipped to the side, and she dropped onto the cot.
Thunder roared in her ears. She heard her brother cry out, but it didn’t matter.
The bald-headed priest was tying her hands to the post. Ravenna kicked out her leg; her foot connected with his shin.
He cried out and smacked her across the face again.
Ravenna’s vision blurred as she slumped to the side, her hands propped over her head, snug against the post. Her eyes fluttered closed; she was oddly lightheaded.
“There’s blood on her gown,” one of them remarked. “Where did she come from?”
“How did she find us?” asked the other.
“I told her how to contact me,” Antonio said quickly. “I never dreamed that she would come herself.”
“Fool,” one of the priests snarled. Ravenna couldn’t discern which; it hurt to move her head, hurt to open her eyes.
“You’ve compromised the mission,” the other said quietly.
“I haven’t!” Antonio cried. “Please don’t—”
There was an awful sound. A fist hitting bone. Her brother let out a harsh moan, and there was a loud crashing noise. It sounded like he’d tried to sit but missed the chair entirely.
“Don’t hurt him,” Ravenna said through gritted teeth. Her head still spun; her lips were bleeding. “Don’t—”
One of them hit the side of her body, near her ribs. She inhaled sharply, coughed. Another blow came.
Ravenna blacked out at the sound of her brother crying.
When she woke, it was to see her brother hovering over her, dribbling water through her lips. She blinked at him, her vision blurring at first, until it slowly crystallized. He had a massive bruise on his left cheek and his lip was split.