If only His Holiness hadn’t threatened her soul. Her family. Their lives.
But the mysterious workings of fate had orchestrated a different path for her. She could cower, she could run, and look over her shoulder to see her world burn to ash. Or she could fight fire with fire.
“I have a question for you.”
“I’masking the questions.”
She managed to shrug daintily, as if she weren’t walking on a rickety old bridge. She had to take care, or else feel the pain from one brutal misstep, and there would be no one to catch her when she fell. “I heard an interesting tale recently.”
“Did you.” Saturnino looked at her narrowly. “What about?”
She gazed at him steadily. “About an immortal knight who asked the most powerful man in Florence to accept the request of an unknown sculptress.”
A flush spread over the bridge of Saturnino’s nose.
A hint of pale blue, shimmering under his pale skin.
He went still, desperately still, but only for a split second, enough for the couple nearest them to stumble across them in a swirl of movement. Then he tugged her forward, bringing them back into the rhythm of the dance. He was shockingly competent in keepingup appearances, but Ravenna felt the coiled tension in his arms, in the line of his shoulders. She’d surprised him. Again. And he didn’t like it.
But at least in this, she would have her way.
“Why did you intervene, Saturnino?” It was the first time she had said his name. She watched it ripple across his face, watched the way his neck worked as he swallowed down whatever emotion had swept over him.
Her hand crept up to skim his cheek. “Please tell me.”
“So you’d have a home to return to,” he said quietly.
“An act of kindness.” She let out a shaky breath. “Why do that for someone you don’t care about?”
Saturnino spun her around, and she let out a gasp as the music swelled. His voice came out as a low, tortured whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why do you think?” she asked quietly.
Saturnino looked away from her, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Your feelings aren’t real. I’ve been manipulating you from the beginning.”
“I know you have been,” Ravenna said sharply. “But don’t cheapenmyfeelings. They’re confusing, and inconvenient, and horrible. You are the worst thing that has ever happened to me, and I think, perhaps, I might loathe you. But what I feel in my heart is real. So much so that I have to tell you—” She broke off, dumbstruck. Details of the pope’s task filled her mouth, as if wanting to spill out of her in a mad rush of delusion.
What was she thinking? What was shesaying?
He turned his head back toward hers, slowly, his gaze terrifyingly alert and narrowed. “Tell me what?”
Just then, Galeazzo Sforza came into her line of sight. He spotted her and strode toward them, his expression urgent. “Saturnino, I hate to interrupt, but if you can spare a few minutes of your time?”
Saturnino didn’t take his eyes off Ravenna. “I’m busy.”
“It’s important,” Signor Sforza said, this time with a snip ofimpatience. “Help me gather the others.” He placed his hand on Saturnino’s arm. “She’ll be here when we’re done.”
Saturnino glanced at Signor Sforza’s hand, and the latter quickly withdrew it. Saturnino released Ravenna, inclined his head at her, and swept off the dance floor. The other couples moved aside, allowing him to pass. Ravenna was cut adrift, and she made an awkward turn, looking for a place to land, her head swimming.
She had been about to make a foolish mistake.
The steward spotted her, and motioned to an empty chair with a velvet cushion—directly next to Fortuna. Her lips turned downward. It was a designation meant to honor her, but Ravenna knew it for what it was: a way to keep a close eye on her. Fortuna would likely poison the candied fruit if Ravenna so much as blinked wrong. She sat down next to Fortuna, arranging the pretty embroidered napkin—snowflakes, she thought absently—across her lap, and took a single fortifying breath.
Servers brought forward plate after plate filled with pastry stars, bread studded with dried fruit, grated salami and prosciutto, pigeons baked into a creamy pie filled with pistachio milk, cinnamon, and nutmeg, while other attendants poured spiced wine into goblets.
Besides Saturnino’s sister and Signora Medici, who sat across from her, Ravenna knew no one at her table. Everyone else was a stranger to her, but they were all openly curious, remarking about her pleasing appearance, but what a shame it was to have such rough hands. They were the wives of the upper members of the most powerful guilds in Florence and dressed to showcase their status and wealth. Lush silk and gorgeous brocade, hats adorned with a variety of feathers, puffed sleeves and ruffled collars—and the gems! Precious stones gleaming from throats, ears, wrists, and fingers.
Fortuna turned in her seat, her skin like alabaster in the candlelight, and lifted her glass in a private salute, and Ravenna mimicked the gesture. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Signor Medici walking through the glass-paneled doors that led to the paved terrace that descended down into the garden.
