Capitolo 41 #2
Anger flushed his pale cheeks; she’d struck a nerve.
Then he raised his hand again, made a gesture to one of the troops who waited below.
More commotion drew Ravenna’s notice to the opposite end of the piazza.
Dozens of people were attempting to flee, but the pope’s troops had blocked off the exits, creating a line of soldiers in the middle of the streets.
Ravenna crept to the edge of the viewing platform.
From somewhere beyond the piazza, the sound of men hauling another structure thundered.
They all turned in time to see an immense armored stage, mounted on heavy, reinforced wheels, appear at the other end of the piazza.
It was a towering leviathan, a beast resembling a mobile siege engine, massive and terrifying.
Its main weapon was a gigantic mechanical ballista capable of launching explosive-tipped bolts.
Its arms held battering rams capped in iron and rotating drills, large enough to burrow through walls, to dig trenches.
A long tail arched over its body, the end opening into a spout.
Ravenna immediately thought of the defenses built into the Palazzo dei Luni, equipped with designated spaces for pouring burning oil over attackers.
The machine was terrifying, deadly, capable of inhumane levels of destruction and devastation.
But then the tail moved on its own, sweeping high into the air with a sound of gears screeching.
The crowd gasped, horrified murmurings sweeping up and down the Piazza Santa Croce.
Mothers grabbed their children, merchants left their stalls, while the rest tried in vain to flee the area.
But they were blocked at every turn by the papal guards.
Ravenna’s jaw dropped. They were all trapped—and within reach of the mechanical monster.
“I’d like to present to you Il Dragone,” the pope said silkily.
“An incredible war beast designed by a young artist in Milan. I believe it was Galeazzo Sforza who had commissioned the project, but alas, as he is no longer with us, the machine has found a new owner. A fortunate intervention. Can you imagine the total devastation this creature would wreak on a city?” His thin lips bent into a smile.
“And yet, I can think of one city that might deserve it.”
Ravenna swayed, sweat beading at her hairline, dripping down her spine. Her hands shook. The pope meant to destroy Florence—and everyone within it.
The dragon tail reached higher into the air; the sound of gurgling liquid rose high above the panicking crowd.
“Look closer, Ravenna,” the pope said. “Can’t you see your contribution?”
Ravenna forced her gaze back to the war machine, her blood pumping furiously in her veins.
A glimmer of blue fire caught her eye; she had missed seeing it before.
At the base of the machine’s tail was a single Nightflame gemstone clutched in metal claws.
Her breath caught sharply at the back of her throat.
The tail swerved, gears crunching, and a stream of fire poured out of its spout.
Whole sections of the piazza went up in flames.
People scattered as smoke and ash plumed over them. Vendor stalls caught fire, one after the other. Screams tore through the air, loud and earsplitting. The sounds carried high over the city of Florence as the fire spread.
“That particular Nightflame once belonged to you,” the pope whispered into her ear.
Ravenna gasped, clutching at her throat. Somehow, he had gotten ahold of her marble statue of Pluto from the competition and taken the Nightflame for himself. The pope, limned in firelight, dragged his finger down Ravenna’s cheek, a maniacal smile curving his mouth.
Staring deep into her eyes, the pope said, “Build a pyre for the bitch. She’s a witch in disguise.”
Ravenna’s magic flared to life, and she turned toward the guards, hands raised—but it was Marco who snatched her, Marco who dragged her down the steps, kicking and screaming.
Her magic spilled out of her in shades of dark blue, swirling around him, trying to eat at his flesh.
But her magic couldn’t bite into him, couldn’t find purchase in the face of his immortality.
He held her in a bruising grip, and she bit, scratched, clawed at his skin, leaving deep score lines that bled silver-blue blood.
Saturnino roared her name, anguished, fighting tooth and nail to get to her.
His movements were stilted and jerking as if he stood on sinking sand and he couldn’t pick up his feet. Despair curled through her.
The sun was no longer visible, disappearing behind the many buildings lining the piazza.
The pope pointed a long ring-covered finger toward Ravenna. “Light her on fire,” he yelled.
His orders were followed with alacrity. Men tore at the stands, piling wood around a single pillar.
Then they dragged her toward her death as scalding tears ran down her cheeks.
Marco pulled her up onto the pile of wood, forcing her to stand in front of the pillar.
A guard tossed him a bundle of rope, and he used it to tie her wrists to the stake.
“Don’t do this, Marco,” Ravenna said. “Please. The pope won’t keep his end of the bargain, he won’t turn you back into a human, he will—”
“You know what has always irritated me,” Marco said, making a double knot.
“Everyone’s assumption that I’m an idiot.
” He lifted his head, spearing her with a glare.
His skin was turning pale, ash gray. To her horror, his hands were stiffening, becoming stony.
“I only brought the pope one of the Nightflames. If he wants the others, then he’ll have to ask me where I hid them. ”
He stumbled away from her, his movements uncoordinated, then turned his head toward the platform to where the pope watched the proceedings with a mad smile. “If you want the others, you’ll use your wizard to turn me back.”
The pope lost his smile, realization dawning at Marco’s deception. He turned away from him, frantic, heading to the trunk. He lifted the lid, uncovered the other gems … only to find ordinary rocks. He held them up and launched them over the railing of the viewing platform in a fit of rage.
“What is the meaning of this?” the pope asked, snarling.
“Insurance,” Marco said with a smug smile, as the stone devoured him whole.
A horrible realization struck her. How would the courier turn Saturnino back if he didn’t know where Marco had hidden the Nightflames?
The answer stole her breath. He couldn’t.
Ravenna glanced over her shoulder at Saturnino.
She let out a heart-wrenching yell at the sight of the magic consuming him.
His body was turning lifeless ash gray, the stone creeping over his legs, his arms, and up his chest. Every second, the spell stole him away from her.
Saturnino looked at her, his gaze blue-rimmed, watery.
Above all the noise, cutting through the fear and horror permeating the air as the world came apart around them, he bellowed it, voice hoarse, shattering.
“I love you, Ravenna!”
She didn’t have time to say it back; the stone was merciless. It crept over his jaw, his mouth, covered his nose and cheekbones. His eyes were locked on hers, and they widened one last time, one last plea, before the gray overtook him entirely.
He was gone.
Forever out of her reach.
Her throat felt narrow, too tight. Not even a cry of anguish could escape her lips. She couldn’t accept what was happening, she couldn’t believe this was his fate, the cruel impossibility of it.
Saturnino was stone, and Ravenna would burn.
A tremor of emotion shook her. Despair blurred her vision. She couldn’t fight back anymore; she was crying too hard, breaking too fast. Her grief knew no bounds. It had no sense of time or place, no place to land. If the fire didn’t kill her, her sorrow would.
The pope came down the steps of the platform. “I want you to know that after your family watches you turn to ash, they will all be executed. You’ll die knowing you have failed everyone.”
Ravenna began to struggle anew, kicking at the pillar, her heels slapping the wood. None of it worked. Ravenna took a last look at her family. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
Her family screamed her name as one of the pope’s soldiers set the pyre alight, the flames growing hungrily beneath her feet. Smoke rose, curling around her, deadly. She blinked, trying to focus on her family.
A familiar black cat streaked toward her, toward the pyre.
Its luminous eyes caught the firelight and the air seemed to ripple with magic.
Ravenna coughed, her eyes straining. The cat’s sleek fur rippled, smoothing, stretching, paws becoming arms, delicate hands, arched feet.
The spine curved upward. A flash of golden light burst across Ravenna’s vision, like the crash of lightning blazing across a thunderstorm sky.
There was a loud laugh, booming amid the fire wreaking havoc across the piazza.
The pope turned toward the sound, eyes narrowed, the war machine rising high behind him.
He staggered at the sight of a beautiful woman, naked and lithe, blond hair falling in waves down to her waist. The pope reared back, his jaw sagging. His eyes were wide, brows reaching his hairline.
“Simonetta.”
The witch tipped her head back and laughed.