Imelda tilted her head. “How did he know where to find you?”
“I imagine one of the guests told him that I’d left the banquet with Signor Sforza.”
“You’re hiding something.” Imelda stood and went to retrieve the towel she’d tossed onto the bed while Ravenna undressed.
Ravenna got to her feet and let Imelda wrap the towel around her. “I’ve told you everything that happened,” she lied.
“Do I need to call for Pietro?”
“Probably,” Ravenna said, thinking quickly. “By now, Saturnino will have told his family what transpired. It’s obvious they are employing people loyal to the pope. Expect the family to retaliate. There will be questions, interviews. Everyone will turn a suspicious eye to the palazzo staff.”
Imelda regarded her coldly. “Remember what’s at stake for your family, Ravenna.”
Ravenna stepped out of the tub, wishing Imelda would leave her in peace. But she clearly meant to ask her more questions. Fine. Ravenna needed answers of her own. Imelda motioned for Ravenna to sit on the armchair by the roaring fire. Ravenna looked at her through her lashes, considering how to broach the subject about her brother. Imelda was already on edge, already suspicious. Acquiring information from her would take careful wording.
Her brother was proficient with that crossbow. His hands had been steady when he fired the shot, as if he’d lined up a target in his line of sight dozens of times. Who had trained him—andwhy?
Ravenna settled into the chair and stared at the flames, comforted by the fire’s symphony; a crackle, snap, and hiss. It reminded her of the inn, of late nights with her family around the dinner table, Ravenna baking bread for the next day.
She thought about the boy her brother had been and the man he had turned out to be. And the people responsible, who had helped make him that way. Ravenna had a very good guess, she only needed confirmation. “My brother underwent significant training in a short period of time.”
Imelda snorted. “I was told your brother was utterly helpless, practically an infant.”
Ravenna’s fingers curled around the armrests, nails digging into the stitched fabric. She kept her tone mild, seeking for more answers. “Antonio never liked to hunt. The sight of blood always bothered him.”
“Not anymore,” Imelda said. “He will be ready for—”
Ravenna shifted around to face Imelda. “Ready forwhat?”
She had been folding Ravenna’s gown, but paused in her movement. She stared at Ravenna, lined in firelight. “For the pope’s final task.”
Terror gripped her. “What will His Holiness have him do?”
Imelda curled her lip. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Ravenna fell silent. “He won’t talk to me anymore.”
“Then he won’t appreciate it if I speak for him,” Imelda snapped.
Ravenna narrowed her eyes at her. “You don’t know what the final task is, do you? The pope still doesn’t trust you with the details.”
Imelda stiffened, her eyes gleaming with a mad light. “It’s your fault he doesn’t.”
A single knock cut off Imelda’s words. Ravenna whipped her head around toward the door. Saturnino’s terrible expression down by the river filled her mind, the feral smile that told her he had scented her blood in the water. She stood, her legs shaking, and waited. He had come for her, and he would not knock again. He only needed to do it once, but she heard his quiet hiss in her ear:Open this fucking door, Ravenna.
Imelda frowned slightly, her gaze moving to the tray sitting on the bed. Ravenna understood her thoughts clearly, as if her dangerous maid had spoken them out loud. It was too late for anyone to pay Ravenna a visit, and she had already received everything she needed for the night; hot water, food, something to drink.
“Are you expecting someone?” Imelda asked, her hands on her hips.
“In a manner of speaking,” Ravenna said grimly. “I would open it if I were you. He won’t wait longer before kicking it in if he has to.”
“You’ve nothing on but a towel,” Imelda said, but she crossed the room, placed her hand on the latch—
Ravenna glanced down in alarm. Shewasonly in a towel. “Wait—”
Imelda pulled the door open, and Saturnino stood on the other side. He’d changed from the clothing he’d worn at the banquet. Nowhe wore a cream long-sleeved tunic that went down past his wrists under a forest-green jerkin and matching hose. His black hair was still damp, the ends giving in to a slight curl that brushed across his shoulders and collarbones.
He regarded Ravenna with a curious, undefinable emotion that glimmered in the dark pool of his murky eyes. His lush mouth tightened at the corners, and Ravenna had the sense that he wanted to shout at her. But with chilling restraint he kept his face nearly devoid of expression.
