Graceless heart, p.11
Graceless Heart, page 11
A woman fawning over him.
It had taken only two hushed words spoken in a candlelit corridor to achieve his desired outcome. Ravenna bristled, profoundly annoyed, and Saturnino laughed softly, the sound barely audible.
He had expected that reaction, too.
“Cara sorella,” Saturnino said, addressing someone over Ravenna’s shoulder. “We were just talking about you.”
“Saturnino, there you are. You didn’t come up with us,” Fortuna scolded. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Ravenna half turned as Fortuna approached, noting his sister’s expression before she quickly rearranged it. Fortuna had looked at her older brother with a succession of quick emotions: alarm, annoyance, and panic.
Ravenna could empathize.
The cat arched her back and, with a loud hiss, scurried away the moment Fortuna joined them.
“Knowing you, I can’t hope it was anything flattering,” Fortuna said, her voice haughty. “But I hope you haven’t tried to scare her, have you?”
“Not in so many words.”
Ravenna held herself still. He was wrong. He did frighten her—they all did. They were expecting her to perform, exerting pressure from all sides.
But she would not break.
“Saturnino,” Fortuna chided, running a light hand down her arm. She wore a velvet overdress in a soft gray hue, sewn with pearl embroidery at the collar and hemline. Underneath, her long sleeves were made of a glossy silk, in the same color family as the gown. Fortuna noticed Ravenna’s admiring glance and tapped her sleeve, saying, “You didn’t really get to see it in the light, did you? So dreadfully dark in the dungeon, and the courtyard too wet and dull. But isn’t it lovely? The tailor told me this particular shade is called ‘throat of a dove.’”
“It’s exquisite,” Ravenna admitted.
Fortuna eyed Ravenna’s soiled dress, still damp from the rain, the hem stiff from the drying mud. Her lips pinched in disapproval. “You must be exhausted. You certainly look it.” She tilted her head to the side, her flaxen hair gleaming like spun gold. Ravenna supposed she brushed it to a buttery sheen every night before bed. “Shame on you, Saturnino, for keeping her up this late.”
“She had questions,” Saturnino said.
“I still do,” Ravenna said.
He lifted a brow. Just the one.
Ravenna had thought often about the night they first met and what she had seen. “I still want to know what happened to Capitano Lombardi. What were you and he arguing about?” She paused, and gave the knight a pointed look. “Did you pay him off?”
If Saturnino was surprised by her question, he didn’t show it.
Instead, his sister abruptly turned to Ravenna. “Aren’t you cold? My deplorable brother has neglected your comforts. Come, let me take you to your room so you may look like a lady and not a street urchin.” She threw an exasperated glance at Saturnino. “Dinner will be brought to you, Ravenna, no need to exert yourself.”
Fortuna held out her arm, fully expecting Ravenna to link her arm with hers.
But a feeling of unease bloomed deep in Ravenna’s belly. “I want an answer.”
“He was caught disobeying the rules,” came Saturnino’s oblique reply.
There were many who still did, many who outright refused the Medici’s stronghold on their town. The captain wasn’t a novelty. “Capitano Lombardi was loyal to Volterra. Why would he follow your orders?”
“Because the Medici won, and his side lost, but that didn’t stop him from trying to rouse the rabble.”
“I see.” Ravenna paused. “So you offered him money to go away.”
Saturnino’s flat, dark eyes narrowed. Ravenna had the uncanny sense that she was staring back into that pitch-black cave and she’d just thrown a rock into it. Her body trembled as she waited for whatever sinister creature to creep out.
“Saturnino,” Fortuna warned. “Don’t.”
Too late, Ravenna realized there was something within that cave after all. Saturnino’s inner hostility slithered out of him, devoid of any humanity and unscrupulous to the very bone. In a voice that reminded Ravenna of the coldest nights in Volterra, when bitter winds swept over the hills, Saturnino said, “I slit his throat from ear to ear.”
Saturnino dei Luni
They escorted the little sculptress to her chambers; elegant rooms of which he was sure she had never seen the like. Ravenna went inside without protest, silent and pale. She half turned, a soft hand on the golden latch, her profile limned in the candlelight that washed her room in a hazy glow. He expected her to slam the door in a fit of rebellion, her eyes to fill with unshed tears.
But Ravenna merely lifted her eyes, meeting his own in a level stare that would have brought a mortal man to his knees. The sharp gaze gleamed like polished amber, clear and confident. Her warm-colored hair swept over her shoulders, nearly reaching her waist, and for one fleeting moment he wondered what it would feel like to run his cool fingers through it. He dismissed the thought as an idle curiosity, but then she lifted her chin high, her expression serene but somehow defiant.
She was not afraid to meet his cold cruelty.
Nor was she afraid to meet her fate or change its course with her bare hands if it came to that. A strange feeling unsettled him, like hearing a single haunting note in a quiet room, its resonance hinting at a symphony far richer and more complex than expected. Ravenna Maffei was no simple tune; she lingered, an echo in his mind he couldn’t quiet, no matter how much he wished to.
She closed the door and his thoughts scattered. He shook his head, as if to rid himself of whatever ridiculous notions had fractured his initial impression of the girl. He’d dealt with humans like her before. Sanctimonious and self-serving, with a face that knew how to look innocent and sincere. A witch hiding her powers.
It was all an act.
He was conscious of Fortuna’s assessing presence, her judgment like a blunt blade at his throat. She stepped close, her rose perfume scenting the air between them. Being around her always made him think of thorns. Of her vile potions that destroyed lives.
“What possessed you to reveal such a thing to her?” Fortuna hissed through her teeth. “We need her trust now that she knows.” She took his arm and urged him to lead her down to the family rooms. Her slippered feet ought to have been silent, but she moved with forceful strides, her steps thudding against the stone.
“We need her to behave,” Saturnino corrected. “It’s as you said, that girl isn’t impressed by our connections, wealth, or beauty. Fear will keep her obedient.”
Fortuna shook her head. “Fear breeds rebellion.”
“I know her type,” he said. “She’s the worst sort—an accomplished liar who lies about being a decent person. Fortunately, she does have her weaknesses.”
“Which are?”
Saturnino arched a black brow. He wouldn’t reveal anything of the sort to Fortuna, who liked interfering with his plans to the detriment of his sanity.
She glared at him, peeved by his continued silence. But something caught her eye, and the corners of her lips turned downward. “Why is that cat following you?”
The tone was unique to her and she employed it often. It was partly curious, partly disdainful, as if she couldn’t believe so stupid a notion had crossed her path. She used it with servants and with Marco, and sometimes she tried to use it with him.
Saturnino glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the black feline had returned to his side. She had locked eyes with him the second he’d arrived at the palazzo and hadn’t really left him since. “Is it?”
An almost gleeful expression crept over her face. “You’ve always been fond of animals.”
Impatience rippled through him. Fortuna had the annoying habit of trying to find any apparent weakness in him. Some hint that he cared about something, anything. But he’d cut all attachments decades earlier. None of it was worth it. “Not this one.”
The cat drew close to his leg, and he used the side of his polished leather boot to firmly nudge her aside. She looked up at him and Saturnino could have sworn he discerned a glimmer of mischief in her feline eyes.
Saturnino bared his teeth at her again and the cat darted away.
“Sei propio un coglione,” Fortuna said coldly, returning to the subject of the human. “Don’t let your past ruin a perfectly good plan.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, slashing the air with her hand. “Stop antagonizing her. Seduce her and be done with it. She’ll be obedient then. Fidati di me.”
Fortuna strode off.
Saturnino let her go, having no interest in winning her over. He didn’t care about winning anyone over anymore. However … Fortuna’s words grated. Saturnino glanced back the way they had come, the corridor lit by a tidy row of oil lamps.
Ravenna’s door was barely visible.
An image of her long hair flooded his mind; it made him think of his favorite wool coat, a warm barrier against the constant chill of his skin. He contemplated his sister’s words—her words, but his idea originally, to seduce the sculptress. He’d only veered off course because he sensed Ravenna’s strong will. She would not yield to him easily.
But then, he hadn’t really tried.
Saturnino allowed himself a smile, private and merciless.
The Pope
The pope stared at the glowing blue orb in impotent fury. He didn’t like a word of what his courier had said to him. His breath came out in a quick staccato as he tried to make sense of the situation. A headache bloomed in his temples.
“Say that to me again,” he snarled. “Who is she?”
The courier’s cool voice broke the quiet in his chambers. “Ravenna Maffei. The Luni famiglia kidnapped her and have now brought her to Florence. She is the daughter of an innkeeper but also happens to be a sculptress. By all accounts she’s the quiet sort, and very close to her family.”
The pope’s voice rose to a near shout. “But she’s a sculptress who can do magic?”
“It’s uncertain how much,” the courier said. “However, it’s safe to assume the Luni famiglia has need of her ability with a Nightflame.”
“To better plot against me!” the pope hissed. “What will they use her for?”
“That I don’t know.”
The color red stole across the pope’s vision. The courier was incompetent, and for a moment, he reconsidered burning him at the stake. “Clearly,” he spat.
The courier remained unruffled, confound him. His tone continued to be annoyingly even. “What are your orders?”
The pope inhaled sharply, forcing his thoughts into a semblance of order. “Find out everything you can about her: family, finances, weaknesses. Everything. Recruit them to our side, if possible. And I will need you to deliver a message to her in all possible haste.”
“It will be no problem. I’ll use a Lodestar gemstone to return to Florence.” The courier paused. “Word has spread about the new sculptress to every household. People who caught a glimpse of her arrival spoke of her beauty and humility. It’s been said the Medici are eager to meet her, a woman dedicated to her craft with a rare magical talent.” There was another weighted pause. “A rare and miraculous talent.”
Fury detonated within him.
The nerve of the immortal family inflamed him. He saw through their tactics and all the ways they sought to diminish his position. They wished to undermine the power of the Church. They wished to undermine him. With word spreading of Ravenna’s miraculous talent, they wished to dismantle his hold over his hard-won empire. He alone had the God-given right to perform miracles.
He alone could harness the power and will of God Almighty.
Now they had brought a woman into their fold as a symbol of their rebellion. A Jeanne d’Arc—and he was no better than the English king who had her killed. That was something he would not let stand. But little did the Luni famiglia know of the serpent in their midst. Little did they know how he was orchestrating their downfall from behind their own walls. And soon, he’d have another informant.
Ravenna would belong to him, and him alone.
“Send me the letter,” the courier prompted. “I will watch for her until I can approach her when she’s on her own.”
The pope crossed the room and set down the silver bowl with the blue orb suspended above it onto his desk, next to an ornate rosary and his Bible, bound in fine leather. Stacks of paper were perched on the corner, along with a quill and pot of ink. He scrawled out a letter to the young woman, folded the sheet in half, and tucked it into an envelope. Using a match, he warmed red wax until it dripped onto the flap.
Then he stamped it with his own seal, a triple crown.
The pope pushed the envelope toward the orb, and it slowly disappeared inside, the magic hungry. He stared into the glowing blue orb, anger roiling inside him. His control on the situation was tenuous, but he understood that sculptress, much like he understood many magical creatures who darkened the door of a church.
They all wanted one thing, the poor mites.
“Make sure she reads the letter in front of you,” he murmured.
“Understood.”
“Has your informant found out what’s inside the crates?”
“No, the room is too heavily guarded.”
“Mi hai rotto i coglioni,” the pope hissed. “Someone better get inside that room soon.”
Now the courier sounded bored. “Understood.”
A niggling feeling in the pope’s gut gave him pause. He didn’t like loose ends, nor did he like to leave anything to chance. Ravenna might bend to his will with her soul on the line, but she would move mountains for him if her family was in danger. After a moment’s consideration, he added, “I’ll need you to move in on her family and bring them to me.”
“Done. Anything else?”
Yes, as a matter of fact. He did have one more question, but it galled him to keep asking. It was a question he had asked routinely, across multiple decades. Over and over, damn his feebleness. He wrestled with the desire, fighting his body, his flesh; fury at his weakness coursed through his veins. He was better than this, stronger than the devil himself—God had made him so, hadn’t he?
But his flesh won the battle. The question ripped out of him.
“Have you found her?” He forced himself to say the name. “Have you found Simonetta?”
The pope waited for the answer, his pulse roaring in his ears, his body taut with pent-up desire. He waited to hear where his love had gone, waited to know what life was worth more than what he offered her. Waited to understand why their child, a bastard he’d refused to claim, a mere shadow of himself, was worth more than the love and wealth he had given her. He wanted the answers like he wanted eternal life. Like he wanted back the statues she’d stolen from him.
He held his breath and fought to keep his flesh in control.
“She is still lost.”
The orb winked out.
Capitolo Dieci
Saturnino had murdered Capitano Lombardi.
Ravenna’s mind grappled with the new information. In the short time since she’d first met the knight, he’d killed not one, but two people. One right in front of her. She was haunted by how she had done nothing to help. She hadn’t even made a sound.
But what could she have done?
Saturnino had killed the man in seconds.
Her situation was worse than she realized.
Exhaustion pulled her toward the lavish expanse of the bed, and she stretched across it on her back. Her gaze latched on to the view above her. For all her life, Ravenna had stared up at the same ceiling, the notched wooden beams as familiar to her as the lines that ran across her palm. She’d drift to sleep with the sounds of soft snoring coming from Tereza, her little body curled around her for warmth. Ravenna would run her fingers through her sister’s hair, lazily untangling knots.
The ceiling above was a stranger to her.
It was far finer than the one from home, ornate and heavily adorned by golden filigree, with lavish swirls painted in various shades of red and orange and green. Every few years, Ravenna visited the tailor to purchase new fabric to outfit their family. New tunics for the twins, Giovanni and Stefano, a new overdress for Tereza. They were all growing quickly. Her favorite part of the errand was reading the names of the fabric shipped from Florence.
Fanciful names like cherry, lung, and flicker.
Rosso ciliegia, il pulmone, la fiametta.
Festivity, laurel, shadow of the umbrella, and her personal favorite, mud of Paris.
Festichino, verde lauro, scuro d’ombrello, fango di Parigi.
Ravenna whispered the names of the rainbow, tethering herself to home with every breath. She swept her hand across the expanse of her new bed, the bedding soft under her palm. Silk covered the windows. Brocade panels covered the four walls surrounding her. She’d never been more comfortable in all her life.
And yet dread curled around her, sinking beneath her cold skin.
Ravenna clamped her lips together in frustration.
Her gaze landed on the door as a sudden thought struck her. She dragged herself off the bed and marched to it. One tug of the golden latch confirmed she’d been locked inside. Her frustration morphed into anger. She stared at the keyhole as she reached into her scarsella, withdrawing the thin carving knife from the slim leather case. She dropped to her knees and worked the lock until she heard a soft snick. With a gentle push, the door swung, opening to the darkened corridor. It seemed to stretch for miles.
Well, she had a way out of her room at least.
But where would she go in a city she’d never been? With no money or connections? How would she get out of the palazzo, with its many halls and staircases, twists and turns? And if by God’s grace she was able to get out of Florence, where could she go for sanctuary?
