Graceless heart, p.1
Graceless Heart, page 1
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Copyright Page
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FOR ANYONE WHO DARED TO BARE THEIR SOUL
Love is like a tree: it grows by itself; it strikes its roots deep into our whole being, and frequently continues to put forth green leaves over a heart in ruins. And there is this unaccountable circumstance attending to it, that the blinder the passion, the more tenacious it is.
—The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, Victor Hugo
The lion cannot defend himself against snares and the fox cannot defend himself against wolves. Therefore, it is necessary to be a fox to discover the snares and a lion to terrify the wolves.
—The Prince, Niccolò Machiavelli
1478
The Republic of Florence was the birthplace of the Renaissance, a city filled with artists, innovators, scientists, and philosophers. And yet it was always perched on a knife’s edge, surrounded by powerful rivals and allies: Milan to the north, Naples to the south, and the ever-scheming Rome, ruled by the Holy See. The Medici, Florence’s rulers in all but name, walked a fine line between greed and public service as enemies circled, waiting for the right moment to take down the ruthless family once and for all. And like a tale spun from fable, magic stirred across the peninsula, sometimes hidden in the shadows out of fear of persecution, sometimes welcomed, shaping destinies in irrevocable ways.
Pietra Magiche
SUNSPIRE
Shaped like a spire in radiant gold with shimmering streaks of amber. Produces intense light and warmth, heals wounds, dispels darkness and fear, and grants energy.
SEAWEAVER
Smooth, oval stone in a pale sea-green with rippling, wavelike patterns. Allows control over water and the tides, influencing currents and waves.
SHADOWGLASS
Flat disk in smoky black with translucent, shadowy swirls. Provides invisibility, the ability to traverse through shadows, and absorb and store secrets.
NIGHTFLAME
Hexagonal shaped in deep, midnight blue with fiery veining. Holds an eternal flame in its center, transforms nonliving things into living beings. Allows for the control of fire and life energy.
MOONHAZE
Crescent moon shaped in a pale lavender with glittering white threads. Invokes sleep, alters memories, turns dreams into nightmares, and provides protection from evil spirits.
LODESTAR
Shaped like an arrowhead in glittering silver with a mazelike pattern etched onto the surface. Produces a shimmering path that bends reality, transporting a traveler to their destination almost instantaneously.
ECHOSTONE
An orb in steely blue with a metallic sheen. Allows thoughts, emotions, and communication between two people who possess paired stones, no matter the distance or the differences in language.
Prologo
CAVA DELLA LUCE | QUARRY OF LIGHT
• SEPTEMBER 1468 •
Ravenna Maffei disliked magic because her parents did, but on the day her aunt took her to visit the quarry for the first time, she learned what it was to truly loathe it.
It was her thirteenth birthday. The sky was a perfect bright blue, with lazy clouds meandering far overhead. She tipped her head back, letting the sunlight wash over her face as she made animals out of the wispy shapes. Her aunt maneuvered the old wooden cart on the narrow dirt path, making room for another hauling alabaster blocks to pass them by to their left. Ravenna clung to her arm, breathless and impatient for the first sight of Cava della Luce—she’d been waiting weeks and weeks for this trip.
People who had seen the quarry said the stone sparkled and shimmered in the sunlight, and her imagination had taken flight. To Ravenna, all stones held secrets. But with a chisel and a mallet, she could unearth each one, discover what the stone was meant to be. A brave hero, a clever maiden, a wise owl, a lovely swan. She leaned against her aunt’s arm, wrapping her fingers around the linen sleeve of her tunic.
Her aunt tipped her head down. “What are you dreaming about, Ravenna?”
Ravenna stared at the lush scenery sweeping by them. Cypress trees and vibrant wildflowers dotted the rolling hills. The air was scented by fertile tilled soil and distant olive groves. Ravenna inhaled deeply, not wanting to forget any part of the day she’d waited so long for.
“Sculpting.” A sudden thought had Ravenna straightening next to her. “How much alabaster can we bring back, Zia?”
“You’ll have plenty to practice with,” she said. She flicked the reins, the mules pulling them back to the middle of the well-trodden path. “But remember what your mother said, Ravenna. Sculpting must not get in the way of your chores at the locanda.”
She thought of linens that needed washing, and floors that needed sweeping. There were chamber pots to scrub, and firewood to collect. Her lips twisted, excitement dimming for a moment. As the eldest child of innkeepers, she, unfortunately, had many chores.
But ever since she could remember, all she’d ever wanted to do was make pretty statues the same way her aunt did. Her aunt’s were of heroic men and women with capes that swirled, and hands that gripped bows and arrows. It amazed her how her aunt could capture a pivotal moment in time, how she was able to capture what bravery looked like. Perseus with the sword that beheaded Medusa, Theseus about to slay the Minotaur. Ravenna wanted to carve goddesses. The swift-footed Atalanta, Circe holding her potions, Athena in her armor.
It felt like magic to her, a kind of magic that didn’t feel forbidden or scary.
Her aunt tweaked her nose. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. Thirteen years old. I can’t believe it.” She pointed ahead, her hand wrinkled and weathered. Wind teased her long, curly hair, gone completely white. “We’re almost there.”
They crested a hill and at last the quarry came into view, a sprawling open pit carved into the hillside, opening to various tunnels. The sun’s golden rays sparkled over the creamy white stone, glimmering like a polished mirror. The silver veining caught the sunlight, like a lightning bolt in a thunderstorm. Ravenna craned her neck, shifting forward in her seat for a better look. Wooden scaffolds, pulleys, and cranes lined the edge of the quarry. Quarrymen moved like industrious ants on the ledges and paths carved into the stone walls.
Her aunt pulled back on the reins, the mules coming to a gradual stop. Ravenna leaped off the wooden seat, her skirt flying around her stocking-clad legs.
“Ravenna, stay close and don’t wander,” her aunt warned, but she said it with a smile as she carefully climbed down. She massaged her lower back, wincing. “Now, help me find—”
But Ravenna was already running toward the edge of the pit, heels thudding against the uneven path. The wind tore at her hair as she streaked ahead; she thought she heard her aunt laughing. When she was as close to the edge as she dared go, she chanced a look down. Terraced ledges spiraled downward, making her think of the seashells her aunt brought her from the coast.
“Still impatient, I see,” her aunt said dryly, taking hold of her hand. “Let’s go down together.” They followed the path, giving a wide berth to the quarrymen who were transporting tools and shouting instructions. Ravenna swung her aunt’s arm forward and backward, unable to contain her excitement. The sound of picks striking stones filled the air, interspersed with the groaning of the cranes lifting the heavy blocks. With her free hand, Ravenna brushed the pads of her fingers against the wall, marred by deep grooves left behind by chisels and picks.
“I think this is what the moon must look like,” she said. “Don’t you think?”
Her aunt smiled. “The moon is yours to make of it what you will.”
They finally reached the bottom, and her aunt waved to a middle-aged man in conversation with several workers. He glanced over his shoulder at them, his graying brows rising to meet his hairline at the sight of Ravenna. He finished instructing his workers, and then approached them with long, purposeful strides.
“An odd place to bring a child,” he said by way of greeting. He was a short man, worn down by the sun and the toil of hauling rocks. The coarse linen of his tunic was dusty and streaked with dirt. He tugged at his wide-brimmed hat, also dusty.
Ravenna’s aunt tugged her close to her side, and she was engulfed by her billowing tunic and strong arm around her narrow shoulders. “Buongiorno, Gioberto. My niece has been wanting to learn how to sculpt, and we’re here to pick the perfect stone for her birthday.”
His weathered face tightened. “She’ll be another oddity in the family.”
Ravenna flinched, pressing closer to her aunt.
“Thank God for it,” her aunt said brightly, unperturbed by his manner. Her aunt was a renowned sculptress, but she’d never married and had no children of her own. Ravenna heard the gossip about her whenever she went to the market, but it never bothered her. She supposed because it didn t seem to bother her aunt.
Her aunt jingled the leather bag strapped to her belt and arched a brow. “We’ll take a look at the stone, if you’re still interested in selling it to us?”
The man’s eyes brightened at the promise of a sale. He gestured to a makeshift shelter where a group of men were sharpening their tools. “This way. I have much to show you.”
Ravenna followed the pair, keen gaze flickering from the tall stacks of alabaster, ready for loading onto carts, to the tools—chisels, picks, mallets, and wedges—scattered about. She veered off, finding an abandoned chisel and picked it up. She glanced at her aunt, deep in conversation about sizing and pricing and she didn’t know what else. Ravenna drew close to the wall, jagged and sharp, and struck it with the chisel. She kept going, moving along, her attention on the shimmering veins of the stone, following its progression into a tunnel. It sparkled even in the dark.
Delighted, she kept going.
The noise of the workers faded, and the path twisted and turned, walls towering around her like a maze, every so often revealing the entrance to another tunnel. Ravenna kept to the main path, going deeper into the earth. Even then, she didn’t think to be afraid. The veining shimmered under her touch, and she thought of what she might make of it, if the stone belonged to her. She crept farther, entranced, images of lightning bolts streaking across her mind.
She made another turn, deeper into the gloom.
Ravenna stilled, awareness creeping over her. She had wandered too far, and now her mind filled with her mother’s scolding, reminding her of the creatures that thrived in the dark, wolves and sleeping bears and vampyres who lived off blood. She turned around, intent on following the glimmering veining back out into the sunshine. A hint of it clung to the shadows, illuminating enough of the pathway for her to see.
A shape materialized from out of one of the tunnels, a hulking outline of a man towering over her. Ravenna stopped, her breath catching. Was he human—? Her grip tightened on the chisel, the wood rough against her palm.
His voice was a gruff whisper. “Now, where did you come from?”
“I came with my aunt,” she said. Her voice sounded so small compared to his.
“I saw,” the man grunted. “An old woman.”
Her words were dust in her mouth. She could barely swallow from her terror. “She’s waiting for me.”
“You ought to go back,” he said. “This is no place for a child.”
Tension eased off her shoulders, but only a little. He was still a stranger. Ravenna nodded, backing away from him, not looking where she was going. He stayed where he was, keeping his distance, but then frowned suddenly.
“Careful, there’s a shaft behind—”
Ravenna’s heel slipped, and she lost her balance. Her arms went wide, windmilling, but she was still falling backward, down a sharp incline. The man lunged for her, fingers curled like claws, and latched on to her arm.
“Careful,” he yelled, the sound reverberating in the dark.
The pebbled ground gave way beneath them, and now they were both sliding down. The man yanked her back, and Ravenna’s teeth clacked together. She glanced over her shoulder. A dark pit loomed behind her, nearly obscured in darkness. Stark terror filled her—it made it hard to think, it made her dizzy. Her body trembled, violent shakes she couldn’t control. Something strange unfurled within her, bubbling to the surface in a cresting wave that soared over her. Whatever it was, it moved like a current, sweeping outward, flowing through her veins, shooting past her fingertips. Blue light filled the tight space of the tunnel, glimmering in the dark, washing over them both.
“Che cazzo!” The man exclaimed as he tugged them up to level ground.
Ravenna gaped at the magic flowing out of her, watched it wrap around the man in a tight grip. Confusion speared her. “What—I don’t—”
He released her, but the magic still clung to him. It clawed its way beneath his clothes, forced itself into his mouth, rushed into his ears, filling him up.
She shrank back, her back hitting the jagged wall. “No, no!”
The man screamed as his skin wrinkled with age, slowly at first, but then faster and faster. His back bowed, his tall frame shrunk, worn down in a matter of seconds. The man’s hair went from brown to gray to stark white.
Shame clouded her mind, making her head swim. “I’m sorry,” Ravenna sobbed. “I’m sorry.”
Footsteps pounded down the tunnel. Her aunt came into view, panting, chest heaving. She gasped at the sight of the magic swirling around the man, covering him as he turned brittle, old before their eyes. He let out a rattling cough, the last sound he made in life, before slumping to the ground.
But the magic still wasn’t finished.
It hovered over the body, feeding off the sagging flesh, licking it clean until there was only a pile of bones left. Ravenna dropped to her knees, tears dripping down her cheeks. Horror climbed up her throat; it tasted like acid. Nausea grabbed ahold of her; she was going to be sick.
The magic hovered over the remains, and then it drifted back toward her, shimmering blue. Ravenna cried out and held up her hands to ward it off, but it swept into her again, racing up her veins and settling deep in her chest. It snaked through her like a serpent who’d found its prey.
She looked up to her aunt, cheeks scalding hot, tearstained. Emotions battled within her: shame, terror, confusion. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. Her life had changed in an instant, she’d been human mere moments ago, and even at thirteen, she understood that perhaps she … wasn’t anymore.
It was unthinkable.
The quarryman’s screaming reverberated through her, relentless. She’d killed him. She had sinned. He was gone, dead because of her. Ravenna trembled, flooded with guilt. An odd sensation curled between her ribs, as if there were something resting near her heart.
Ravenna knew what it was: evil.
She recalled suddenly a time when, one cold winter years ago, a witch had come to the inn, begging for a safe place to spend the night. Her parents had allowed her to stay one night. The next morning, they told her never to grace their door again.
Magic of any kind was not welcomed in Volterra, but most especially witches.
Her aunt stared back at Ravenna, her hands high into her curling hair, gripping the roots. Her skin was pale, dark eyes huge in her narrow face. “Your mother is going to kill me.”
Capitolo Uno
VOLTERRA
• THE NINTH OF APRIL, 1478 •
They put her little brother in a cage.
Her brother, who wasn’t so little anymore, but because Ravenna Maffei was older, she would always think of him that way. Antonio hung in a wrought iron cage for a full day before the Florentine army allowed her to see him. And even then, it was only from a distance, just close enough to see his long legs dangling fifteen feet over the Piazza dei Priori, just close enough to see his grubby hands curled around the bars in a tight grip. She had taken one look at him and anger had cut through her, sharp and lethal, like a blow from a sword. It hurt to think, to breathe.
Because her anger was useless.
And Ravenna didn’t like to feel useless.
Which was why she was now carrying a bulky ladder through the narrow lanes of Volterra in the dead of night. Overhead, the moon glowed serenely, illuminating the uneven path. Ravenna gritted her teeth, sweat dripping down her face and the back of her neck, following the line of her spine, made strong by years of carrying and carving stone. She’d been walking for what felt like hours, covered head to toe in a dark cloak that did its job too well. Despite the cold wind nipping at her cheeks, heat coated her skin. She didn’t dare remove the hood, however.
No one was allowed out of their homes past sunset.
She swept her gaze up and down the cobbled street, ignoring the nervous energy bubbling in her belly. It was a risk to be out during the night at all with the curfew in full effect, but what was she supposed to do?
Allow her younger brother to slowly starve? Absolutely not.
Her pulse ticked hard in her throat. It was time to act, but carefully. There were still those loyal to Florence, hidden within the city, still those in thrall to the accursed Medici family.
