Chapter 37
Capitolo Trentasette
Saturnino gripped her hand as they ran through narrow alleys and side streets, avoiding the main thoroughfares as echoes of the fighting chased after them.
Loyalists ran from the Piazza della Signoria, swords drawn, eager to subdue the enraged mob.
Saturnino and Ravenna took Via dei Cimatori, a winding lane covered in shadow, and then made a sharp turn onto Via delle Farine, emerging at the edge of the main square.
The watchtower loomed ahead of them, a medieval fortress that housed Florence’s government.
Saturnino paused in front of a small, unassuming doorway, near hidden in a quiet corner. It was old and weathered, partially concealed by a creeping vine. He glanced at Ravenna over his shoulder, as if to make sure she was in one piece.
She pressed the flat of her hand to her chest, trying to slow her frantic breathing.
The sounds of people yelling for their loved ones rang in her ears, making her heart ache, her body tremble.
Saturnino pulled at a leather strip around his neck, revealing a rusty iron key.
He slipped it into the matching lock, and he pushed the door open with his shoulder.
He pulled Ravenna in first, then slipped in after her.
Total darkness engulfed them.
“One moment,” Saturnino whispered, his breath brushing against her temple.
He fumbled around, at last finding what he needed.
He struck a match and a single flame appeared, illuminating his face.
He retrieved a tapered candle from a basket sitting on a narrow wood shelf and indicated for her to follow after him as he ascended a spiral stone staircase.
“What is this place?” she asked, her voice echoing in the tight space.
“It was constructed as part of a medieval tower, but it’s been forgotten by most of the city.
I paid a witch to disguise the front door; no one sees it unless I want them to.
” The single candle cast shadows against the walls.
The air within tasted old, as if it kept many secrets.
“The walls of the tower are thick, almost fourteen feet across, providing enough space for a secret apartment.”
The top of the staircase led to a narrow, arched door. Saturnino used the same key to unlock it. He stepped to the side, and paused, noting Ravenna’s hesitation. His expression turned contemplative, and he regarded her quietly.
“I won’t hurt you, Ravenna,” he said softly.
“I know, it’s just…” she whispered. “It’s you.”
A raw flash of vulnerability crossed his face. “In a hundred years, you are the first person, the only person, I’ve ever brought here.”
She inhaled, feeling as if she were on the precipice of a sheer cliff.
“Let me take care of you,” he said softly.
The look in his eyes stole her breath. Beneath his cool skin, his icy exterior, there existed a raw flame, and he let her see how it burned for her.
And her alone.
Ravenna took a step forward and then another, the hem of her gown torn, bloodstained, dragging against the cold stone.
She felt it underneath her shoes, chilling her toes.
She stepped through the doorway, finding a narrow but long rectangular apartment divided into several rooms. The first had a stone fireplace, and an old but well-made and sturdy table in front of a single window set high in the wall, offering a view of the Piazza della Signoria below.
The window was slight, not to draw notice, but wide enough to observe the comings and goings.
A lute leaned against the wall in a corner of the room.
A whimsical, almost delicate instrument.
Ravenna’s gaze lingered on it. Did he know how to play music?
She was about to ask, but Saturnino shut the door behind her and motioned for her to step through to the adjacent room.
It contained a single bed, large enough for two people, with a wooden frame and a canopy draped in dark, heavy fabric.
The canopy looked like velvet, lush and expensive.
Dark green in color, the same as Saturnino’s eyes.
Furs and blankets were piled high on one end of the bed, while the other had silk pillows.
She could not take her eyes away from that bed.
Nerves danced under her skin, and she glanced at Saturnino.
But he merely stepped around her and led her straight through to another room.
This one contained a large metal bathtub, a small stool next to it.
A woven basket filled with soap sat on top of the stool, and a wooden ladder held several towels and a dressing gown.
“I’ll heat up water and bring it to you.”
“From where?”
He winked at her, and warmth spread through her. For a moment, she forgot about the world outside, harsh and violent.
“Magic. I’ve spent many years designing this space and I have paid a great sum to several witches to make it exactly the way that I want.” He tucked a long strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll be right back.”
He closed the door behind him, and she undressed slowly, achingly, her body bruised and sore. Her brother’s last moments on earth replayed in her mind. She couldn’t stop crying. Couldn’t stop seeing him torn apart. Ravenna pressed her palms against her eyes and let out a ragged moan.
She didn’t know when, she didn’t know how, but one day, she’d have to tell her parents. The twins. Tereza. One day, she would have to tell them they’d lost a son, a brother.
And she didn’t know how she’d survive the telling of it.
When Saturnino returned, she stood in the middle of the room, the dressing gown draped around her. He had a single bucket with him, steam curling above it, and he dumped the contents into the metal tub. The water kept pouring and pouring, until it filled up, almost to the brim.
“Magic,” she whispered.
“A Seaweaver gemstone was used in the spell.” Saturnino stared at her, the bruised temple, the swollen lip.
“Still think I look lovely?” Ravenna asked, a bare whisper.
“Lovelier,” he said in a hushed voice. “It hurts me to look at you sometimes. You are strong and resilient, and yet so fragile. Beautiful and stern, gracious and snappish when you’re cross.
” He placed a soft palm against the rapid beating of her heart.
“Your beauty shines from within, and it is your heart that has stolen my own.”
Her breath caught. “I have your heart?”
“How can you doubt it, Ravenna?” he said in the same hushed voice. “Everything I once breathed for—power and glory, my life—none of that matters to me anymore if I can’t keep you safe.” He swallowed hard. “Even from me.”
“Saturnino,” she chided softly. “I am safe.”
He gave her a faint smile. “Tesoro, you’re looking at the one thing you’ll never be safe from.” He stepped away from her with visible effort. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be close.”
The door shut behind him. Ravenna played with the knot of her robe, thinking, her face flushed from the rising steam emanating from the bath.
She pulled at the fabric, the dressing gown slipped down her body, and then took a hesitant step into the tub.
It was the perfect temperature, and she let out a little sigh of bliss.
Ravenna sank fully into the water, leaning back against the edge. Her eyes fluttered closed, but she was acutely aware of Saturnino waiting on the other side of that door. He wouldn’t touch her, not without her consent.
And even then, he might deny her.
She reached for the bar of soap, washing her legs, her arms. The hot water soothed her scrapes, the sore ache near her ribs.
The shock was wearing off, and she yearned for connection.
After seeing so much death, she wanted to feel alive.
She needed Saturnino, his strength, his vitality.
She wanted his touch, his arms around her.
She wanted oblivion. Anticipation built steadily within her.
She knew what she desired. And a single door was the only thing between them now.
“Saturnino,” she called softly.
The door opened a crack. “Yes? What do you need?”
“You,” she said, breathless.
A long beat followed. He must have heard the question in her voice, the subtle note of yearning, because his voice came out stilted, a touch exasperated. “Ravenna.”
“I do,” she said, her voice cracking. “I need you.”
There was a soft thud against the door, as if he’d dropped his head against it. There was a desperate quality to the tone of his voice she found riveting. “Don’t do this to me. Please.”
Ravenna knew when to pivot in a negotiation. “I need help washing my hair.”
Saturnino pushed the door open wider, poking his head inside. His gaze was pointedly fixed toward the ground. “Are you lying to me?”
“Yes.”
He turned his head to glower at her, but his lips froze, parted at the sight of her in the tub.
Her long, autumn-colored hair covered her shoulders, the swells of her breasts.
Her knees were bent, soapy bubbles freckling her skin.
As if pulled by a magnetic force, he drew away from the door, stepping closer to her.
He was battle-worn, clothing rumpled, knuckles raw and bruised, slowly healing.
A blue-tinged flush crested the bridge of his nose.
“Damn it, Ravenna,” he said hoarsely.
Wordlessly, she handed him the bar of soap.
He stared down at it for a long moment, before finally taking it from her with a sharp exhale.
His hand was trembling. Then he gently worked his fingers through the strands of her hair, massaging her scalp, lathering the soap.
She closed her eyes, leaning against the edge.
He used the bucket to rinse her hair, and when he finished, she opened her eyes slowly, lazily. Tipped her chin up to peer at him.
Saturnino stared down at her. “Is that all?”
“No,” she whispered. “Join me. Please.”
He swallowed hard, desire heating his heavy-lidded eyes. “This will be a painful memory for you when I’m gone. I want to save you from it, Ravenna.”