Chapter 39 #2
“If you will all sit down.” She waited to speak again until one by one they all took a seat.
“The pope has an army, unlimited resources, the favor of the mob, the power of Rome, and foreign kings and queens on his side. But he has one weakness we can exploit.” Their faces were blank and not encouraging, but she continued.
“Underneath his robes, he wears chain mail that he never takes off, even while sleeping. It was forged by iron from the fae lands to the east. It is enchanted, elongating his life span, protecting him from disease and old age.”
“If that’s true—”
“Marco, will you shut up?” Saturnino said with some of his old rancor. “Let Ravenna finish.”
“This is the source of the pope’s true power,” Ravenna continued. “It is his greatest strength and his weakness. Destroying a single link in the chain will undo the spell.”
“Splendid,” Marco said. “Let’s all go to Rome and invite ourselves to the pope’s private quarters in the Vatican and—”
Ravenna raised her voice. “He is impossible to assassinate, heavily guarded, and always accompanied by his entourage. But I’m not suggesting we go to him. I’m suggesting we invite him to us.”
“Why would he accept an invitation from a known enemy?” Signor Luni scoffed.
“Because it will be framed as an apology,” Ravenna explained.
Silence reigned in the room.
“No one will apologize,” Signor Luni said softly. “Not us, not the Medici, not Florence.”
“The pope is planning an attack on the city,” Saturnino said. “No one knows when, or how large his army is. We can make a guess, of course, but why leave his arrival to chance? Why give him the upper hand?”
“By apologizing and issuing an invitation, we can lay a trap for him,” Ravenna said.
“Florence will not want the pope here,” Marco snarled. “There will be riots on the street, the people will refuse him entry. In case you haven’t heard, the pope has placed the entire city under interdict. We are all excommunicated.”
Ravenna gaped at him.
“Since when?” Saturnino demanded.
“The news broke earlier this evening,” Signora Luni explained. “No one can bury their dead, attend service, marry, baptize their children.”
“If we apologize—if the Medici issue a formal apology to the pope—he might consider lifting the indictment,” Ravenna said.
“They alone have the power to influence the tide of people’s loyalty and adoration.
Think! They hold the city in their hands.
Let the Medici influence their followers, have them explain how it serves their interests, their souls, when the pope lifts the interdict.
It might be enough to quell an uprising. ”
“This is all well and good, but it doesn’t solve the problem of the spell ending,” Fortuna said coldly. “What do you propose to do about that?”
“I will excavate the remaining Nightflames,” Ravenna said calmly. “And you will have the gemstones.”
Signor Luni eyed her bitterly. “Even if you were to succeed, we haven’t found a witch. They’ve all gone into hiding, thanks to the pope’s penchant for burning them at the stake. It’s been months since we’ve been able to find a single one.”
“I know a wizard who can perform the spell,” Ravenna said. “But he will only agree if we can bring the pope to Florence on our terms when he’s not on his guard.”
“A wizard,” Fortuna repeated. “I don’t believe this. How do you know a wizard?”
Ravenna leaned forward. “I thought you all wanted to live another hundred years. Wasn’t that the whole point of kidnapping me?” She placed her hands flat on the table. “Accept the deal.”
“Let’s say we manage to convince Lorenzo to issue a formal apology,” Signora Luni said. “And let us also say the people accept this decision. What you have not explained is under what pretext the pope will come to Florence, if not for the purpose of war.”
“He will come for a jousting tournament in his honor.”
“A jousting tournament,” Signor Luni echoed flatly.
Saturnino nodded. “Hosted by Lorenzo de’ Medici.”
“You have already been making preparations for one,” Ravenna pointed out.
There was a long, unsettling beat of silence. Ravenna waited, her hands clasped in her lap. Saturnino reached for her under the table, his thumb drawing circles against her thigh. She glanced at him, and in his eyes she heard everything he couldn’t say.
I believe in you, in us, no matter what they think.
“The pope will not come for—”
“He will come because he knows who and what we really are,” Saturnino said quietly. “He knows we are his missing statues. And he also knows that the spell ends on the tenth of May.”
Signor Luni fell back against his chair, aghast. “He will come to collect us himself, then.”
“The jousting tournament is the perfect setting for his assassination,” Ravenna said. “I have the power to kill him. And once he’s gone, the wizard will perform the spell to extend your lives.”
“And on what day will the tournament take place?” Fortuna asked. “I suppose it had better be sooner—”
“Don’t forget that the pope knows what day the spell ends,” Saturnino cut in. “He will demand the tournament be held on that day.”
Another silence. Ravenna fought the swell of impatience crowding her. “Do you have a better option? Another plan to try?”
“Fine,” Signor Luni said. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, Saturnino. We will speak with the Medici, tell them the plan. They will want to involve key allies to be present at the tournament. A champion must be selected to participate in the joust, all for show—”
“I will do it,” Marco said.
“No,” Signor Luni said with a scoff. “Saturnino will, he’s the better competitor. He will need to defeat the pope’s champion; it would be an effective and demoralizing distraction. A humiliation.”
Marco’s jaw dropped. “I have been here the entire time, not Saturnino, who has been gallivanting with a known traitor. I’m capable of defeating whoever I’m up against—”
“You are a child unable to control your temper,” Signor Luni said, dismissive. “And on that day, we will need a winner, not a child.”
Next to her, Ravenna felt Marco seething.
His desire for glory ruled every one of his impulses.
He glanced at Fortuna, who lifted an indolent shoulder, as if to say, You know it’s true.
Signora Luni was no better; she offered not a single word in opposition.
Marco folded his arms across his chest, sinking deeper in his chair, a scowl marring his brow.
A hot flush crept up from underneath the collar of his doublet, a brush of blue gray.
“Then it’s decided,” Signor Luni said. But he turned a stern eye toward Ravenna. “But you will remain here with us until the day of the tournament, and you will work day and night to free the Nightflames.”
Saturnino shook his head. “She will stay with m—”
“Saturnino,” Signora Luni said sharply. “We have made concessions, we have agreed to your plans. The human will stay with us or we renegotiate. Choose wisely.”
Ravenna turned Saturnino’s hand, palm facing upward. She clasped it in her own. “I will stay.”
In the coming days, the city of Florence came under fire.
With the interdict, every church was closed.
No one could bury their dead in consecrated grounds.
Weddings, baptisms, and last rites were forbidden.
The Medici addressed citizens from the Palazzo della Signoria, explaining they all had to repent in order to lift the veil of excommunication.
Saturnino and Ravenna watched from the palazzo windows as the people rioted up and down the streets.
At least one hundred people were hunted down following Giuliano de’ Medici’s violent murder, and bodies were hung in the Piazza della Signoria or thrown into the Arno River.
Saturnino tried to shield Ravenna as best he could, but nightmares frequented her sleep, Antonio’s bloody face turned toward her as he screamed for help.
Every time, Saturnino would wake her, hold her until her body stopped trembling, until the tears slowed.
He would make love to her and afterward they slept in each other’s arms. During the day, Ravenna would remain with the virgin stones, using her magic to guide her, freeing the remaining Nightflames.
Saturnino brought down a trunk, and Ravenna wrapped each one in linen, before tucking them inside, one by one.
She closed the lid and locked all five within.
“They will stay here during the tournament,” Saturnino said. “Once the pope is dead, we’ll return to the palazzo with the courier so he can perform the spell.”
Ravenna reached forward, placing her hand flat against his chest. “Will it hurt, switching out the Nightflame for a new one?”
Saturnino covered her hand with his. “I don’t know, tesoro.”
An awful thought struck her.
He narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”
She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. “You will live for one hundred more years, exactly as you are, but I will age and become older and grayer.”
“In all the seasons of your life, my feelings for you will never change,” Saturnino said.
“But Ravenna, has no one ever told you that you will live longer because of the witch blood in your veins? You have enough to slow the process of aging, impossible to know how much.” He smiled faintly.
“But it will be many years before your hair turns gray.”
The day arrived when the pope’s reply came.
The family gathered once more in the parrot room as Signor Luni read the letter out loud. In the most flowery and effusive language possible, the pope accepted the city’s apology. The date of the tournament was set. His Holiness would come to Florence on the tenth of May.
They had one chance, and one chance only.
The Medici cleared Ravenna’s name when the pope lifted the interdict stifling Florence.
The bells of Santa Maria del Fiore rang once more.
That same day, Lorenzo de’ Medici gave the order to bring down the bodies hanging from the balcony of the Palazzo della Signoria so that they might be thrown into the river.
Except for the body of Jacopo de’ Pazzi.
His body was dragged through the city streets by an angry mob, mutilated, and then unceremoniously tossed into the river. Ravenna had turned away from the window as the crowd passed the street of the Palazzo dei Luni, stomach roiling.
Desecrating the bodies had become a blood sport.
It took Saturnino a private, heated conversation with Lorenzo to allow Ravenna to bury Antonio on consecrated ground. Ravenna had stared down at the mound of dirt where her brother would rest for eternity and wept. She had wanted her parents with her, but there was no word from the courier.
Wherever the pope was keeping them, it remained a secret.
The streets of Florence were cleaned for the pope’s grand arrival.
Any traces of rioting were dealt with swiftly, almost overnight.
Ravenna suspected the Medici had ordered the use of magic to remove evidence of the protesting.
In Santa Croce, the vibrant home to artisans, craftsmen, and merchants, the piazza in front of the basilica was transformed for the imminent jousting tournament.
Gone were the market stalls and workshops, cleared away as construction began for the temporary viewing stands along the sides of the piazza.
The invitations for the joust were sent wide to Rome, the Kingdom of Naples, the Duchy of Milan.
The Arte della Lana and Arte della Seta guilds employed members to create banners, flags, and tapestries.
Food was brought in for guests, spectators, and jousting participants.
Jugglers, musicians, and acrobats showed up in droves.
The inns in Florence prepared for the arrival of guests traveling from every part of the peninsula as news of the tournament spread.
And all the while, the Luni and Medici family put their heads together, and made their plans for the pope: his arrival, the tournament, his murder.
Florence was a city in wait of its prey.