“Isn’t it obvious?” the courier asked. “The Luni famiglia have been a thorn in your side for nearly one hundred years. They have allied themselves with the Medici, protecting their position not just in Florence, but financially, too. The famiglia exclusively only bank with them, don’t they? And Cavaliere Saturnino has routinely assassinated any threat posed to the Medici, threatsyou’veorchestrated.”
“Porca Giuda!” the pope seethed. “Where is she?”
“Location is still unknown,” the courier said. “But if she’s still alive, then she will come to Florence.”
“How do you know?”
“She will want to be there when the spell closes. Once a pietra magiche is used in a spell, its power will only last for one hundred years.” The courier paused. “The tenth of May, according to my informant.”
Triumph stole over the pope. His blood ran hot with the promise of victory. He would win his war against Simonetta. “That’s only two weeks away.”
“Correct.”
“I want those statues back,” he raged. “They belong to me, and me alone.”
Malevolent satisfaction sang through him when he pictured each member of the Luni famiglia restored to marble for all eternity. They were made of rock from heaven, stone that was pure and holy, and witness to God’s triumph over the dark. The statues needed to be kept safe. Locked away in a darkened room, hidden for his own pleasure and amusement. He’d never allow anyone to see them again, just him.
He would take pleasure in staring into their lifeless eyes.
“I assume your orders are the same for Simonetta?”
“Shebelongs to me. I don’t care how long it takes,” he said with chilling softness. “And if she’s alive, if you find her, bring her straight to me.” He glared at the glowing orb hovering over the silver dish. The same resentment raged through him as old memories assaulted him. He was usually the one who decided when it was over. But the woman, that enchantress, had abandoned him.
And now she was a fevered obsession. Always out of reach. Probably laughing at him. Anger surged up his throat. He wanted to scream until he had nothing left. Simonetta would belong to him or no one.
The pope knew exactly what to do with witches.
When he got himself under control, he said, “Make contact with Jacopo de’ Pazzi and the Duke of Urbino. It’s time for the next step in my plan. We all go to Milan and prepare for war. Bring the Nightflame.” Incredible how the talk of magic gemstones came so easy now, when it hadn’t initially. It was getting easier and easier to use the magic.
He didn’t think anything of it; it was all for the kingdom.
The orb glowed in response and then dimmed.
Capitolo Trentatré
Ravenna stared at the virgin blocks of stones. All night, she had tossed and turned. All night, she had thought of Saturnino and the choice he’d made for her. He probably loathed her; he would probably never believe a word out of her mouth ever again. There was only one way to make it right between them.
One way she could help save his life.
She’d dressed in a hurry, early-morning light illuminating her painted wardrobe, the rumpled sheets of her bed, her neat row of borrowed shoes. A keen sense of urgency overtook her. There was no time to waste. Ravenna pulled on a cream camicia and layered a green gamurra over it, the color of spring leaves, lined in muslin. A split second after she’d buckled her ankle boots she was out the bedroom door, taking off at a dead run through the palazzo corridors.
Someone had already lit the wall-mounted torches, washing the space in a warm, golden light.Imelda, Ravenna thought absently as she approached the virgin stones. Cool resolve settled over her. Magic buzzed in the circular room, but as she drew near the stones, she felt it still, as if it were holding its breath.
Her stomach twisted sharply.
So far, she’d only made a sizable dent inoneof the stones.
She’d have to do far better than that.
Tools were lying in wait for her, recently cleaned. She took a chisel, a mallet, clutched both in her hands. She dropped to her knees in front of the stone, her hand hovering above its surface. The blue and red veining pulsed, shimmering with life, with purpose. The dark magic between her ribs unfurled, humming gently.
A monster waiting to be unleashed.
Ravenna breathed deeply, catching that thought before it took root. For most of her life, what had mattered to her most was what other people believed about her. The people in Volterra who’d known her since she was in swaddling clothes, her parents who loved her as much as they feared for her, the siblings she helped raise who didn’t know any of her secrets, a pope who preached with a swinging fist and a graceless heart.
None of it was love.
The love that knew no fear. Not of the unknown or the different, not of magic or failure. The love that knew no conditions or limitations. Something wet traced the curve of her cheek. Ravenna blinked, fingers reaching. She hadn’t known she was crying. She stared at the tip of her finger, glistening, realizing how wrong she’d been. About the world, about herself, about heaven itself.
