Another movement drew her notice, a figure dressed in a red doublet, walking toward the same doors. He glanced over his shoulder and Ravenna hastily averted her gaze, instinctively taking a sip of wine. She felt his look brush over her, a scalding caress. The feeling passed and Ravenna looked up as Saturnino slipped out after Signor Medici.
Her intuition fluttered, a soft whisper that urged her to follow.
Thinking quickly, Ravenna turned toward Fortuna and hissed, “I’ll return shortly. I need a few minutes to myself.”
Fortuna looked at her narrowly. “Absolutely not. You’re staying where I can keep an eye on you.”
Without missing a beat, and with a straight face, Ravenna said, “That’s fine. Shall I ask for Tomasso to bring me a chamber pot here?”
Fortuna blanched, rolling her eyes. “A few minutes only.”
“It might be a few more minutes,” Ravenna said apologetically. “I think it must be nerves, because my stomach feels—”
“What a deplorable upbringing you’ve had,” Fortuna said through gritted teeth. “Andare.”
Ravenna stood and pretended to leave the ballroom, but she circled back, keeping close to the wall, darting behind the various sculptures made of sugar, until she reached the glass-paneled doors.
She stepped out after the men, deep into the night.
Capitolo Ventisette
Ravenna tiptoed along one of the familiar paths she’d taken the other day when she’d gone out to search for Ombretta. Lit lanterns guided her way, and the scent of blooming roses, jasmine, and orange blossoms clung to her hair, her skin. Spring was making herself known. Stone walls covered in ivy enclosed the manicured garden, adorned by topiaries, trees, and flower beds. Gravel crunched underneath the soles of her soft leather boots as she crept after the group, the tall hedges flanking her providing the perfect amount of cover. The sounds of conversation and music from the hall faded away, until it was just her pulse ticking hard in her ear.
Low murmuring cut through the still night.
Ravenna turned a corner, her breath light and soft, and paused at the corner of a hedge. There they were. Cloistered together under a vine-covered pergola. She drifted closer, quietly, until her straining ears could hear every word of their conversation.
She peeked around the corner of the hedge, brushing aside a cluster of leaves.
“… has become more crafty,” Lorenzo was saying. “Every day I hear of new spies infiltrating the Signoria.”
“You ought to cast them out and make examples of them,” Marco growled, his hands on his hips, feet set wide apart. “Hang them in the middle of the Piazza della Signoria. See if any more show up after that. Hang the entire Pazzi family while you’re at it.”
“It would certainly make a statement,” Lorenzo agreed. “What do you think, Saturnino?”
Only the knight’s profile was visible to her, limned in the lantern’s soft lighting. The strong line of his jaw, his squared-off chin, paired with a soft, lush mouth. He flicked a speck off his sleeve and said lazily, “I wouldn’t do anything so obvious.”
“What would you do, then?” came Marco’s testy reply.
“I would feed the spies misinformation,” Saturnino said mildly. “If you cut down one spy, another will surely take his place. Why not deal with the same spy to our advantage?”
“A sound notion,” Signor Luni said, nodding. “And quite devious.”
Marco tipped his head back and let out an exasperated groan. “All right, we’ll do it my brother’s way.” He shifted to face Saturnino, scowling. “ButI’lltake care of it. None of your underhanded scheming. What message do we want this”—he spat out the word—“spyto communicate back to the pope?”
“How much does the pope know about Leonardo da Vinci’s war machine?” Saturnino asked.
Ravenna blinked.War machine. The drawing she’d seen in Lorenzo de’ Medici’s office suddenly made sense. She tucked herself closer to the greenery, stomach coiling into a tight knot. Leonardo was right. War was imminent, but Florence had means to defend herself. Not just with soldiers and their bows and arrows, but with a mechanical beast.
The pope wouldn’t excommunicate her or her family if she brought this information to him.
“Let us hope only bits and pieces,” Signor Sforza said. “But it’s hard to know for certain. Milan is a feeding ground for those loyal to Rome. I would assume the pope is in frequent contact with the Pazzi family.”
“Is the war machine operable?” Saturnino asked.
“It is. We only need to make minor adjustments with Leonardo’s proposed changes.” Signor Sforza indicated to Lorenzo with his chin. “Which Signor Medici has just approved.”
Saturnino glanced down and mulled it over. “Say there’s beenmechanical failure. That will muddy his information or, at the very least, delay his next move while he verifies the information,” he said. “The spy will report the inventions are nowhere near ready for use.”
