Ravenna flinched. “But you need the money.”
Signor Bodone spat at her feet. “Not from the likes of you.”
His wife clutched at her daughter’s shoulders. Her tone was kinder, but firm. “Please, you are only making our situation worse.”
Ravenna turned away, eyes burning. Doubt coursed through her, making it hard to breathe. Her parents had been right. If she didn’t win, the people in the city would come for her, would come for her family and their inn. The crowd parted before her, unwilling to let even the hem of her gown brush against their shoes.
Ravenna ignored them as best she could.
She must win.
Ravenna held back her shoulders, keeping her spine straight, and made her way back to the presentation table. More townsfolk gathered, not out of interest in the art displayed, but in the hope of catching a glimpse of the immortal family deigning to visit their city. Necks were craning left to right, children ran around their parents’ knees, turning the day’s event into a game. Who would spot the first glimpse of a lavish jacket sleeve, gleaming buckle, or plumed hat?
A trumpet blasted, the piercing sound rising above the hush of conversation, and there were a few surprised shouts and some nervous laughter. An older gentleman startled, waving his arms aboutas if ridding the air of flies, and Ravenna lunged forward to save her work from toppling over. She glared at him, but he paid her no attention. His weathered face was turned toward the archway lining the square.
The immortal family had arrived.
Capitolo Quattro
The pulsing crowd shifted around Ravenna, a collective heartbeat that accelerated faster and faster as the Luni famiglia made their way to the center of the piazza. A wispy plume of a feather was in her line of sight, and she followed its progression as it fluttered in the harsh wind. She shifted onto her tippy-toes and at last was able to see them, lined up on the platform, dressed in varying shades of blue, surveying the people of Volterra as if they ruled over them all.
Given their close friendship with the Medici, it probably wasn’t far from the truth.
Her gaze went from the patriarch, dressed in velvet and brocade, to his wife, adorned by so many jewels she looked like a comet, that harbinger of doom astrologers were always warning about. And then it tipped to a man at her shoulder, lean and—
Ravenna gasped.
It was the stranger from the night before. The one she’d seen with Capitano Lombardi. She turned to the participants standing next to her, intent on telling them what she had seen, but they drew away from her as if she were an open flame. Expressions of unease and distrust flitted across their faces. The words died at the back of Ravenna’s throat.
She had destroyed her reputation and any credibility she had.
No one would listen to her now. Even if she spoke, she would not be believed.
Frustration lanced her.
Reluctantly, she returned her attention to the dais. The man stood nearly a head taller than his siblings, and his black hair shone like apolished helmet. His clothes were as elaborate as his father’s: silver thread, velvet fabric, everything expertly tailored to his broad-shouldered frame. Over his navy doublet gleamed a plate of armor, polished to a mirror finish. Blue enamel lined the edges of his armor, around the gauntlets and pauldrons, and his breastplate displayed an armored bear beneath a crescent moon, painted in silver. His legs were muscular, likely from years of horseback riding and jousting, a common pastime of wealthy nobles. He probably knew how to defend himself with a sword while reciting lines of poetry from the masters.
All while not allowing even a speck of dirt to sully his clothing, Ravenna thought sourly.
There was something about him that made her think of a fae prince making doomed bargains with gullible humans. She knew such devilish princes existed near the eastern coast of the peninsula, beyond the Foresta Umbra, but they wouldn’t venture this close to a human city. They didn’t like the hustle and bustle, the strange smells, the houses made of stone and brick.
Well, whatever he was, he was certainly immortal. The stories and songs were true. He was beautiful.
Suspicion cut through her as she examined his perfect face. How might a man’s soul be affected by such unnatural beauty? Ravenna guessed that it could only lead to ruin, for himandthe unlucky women who had the misfortune of falling in love with him.
Signor Luni stepped forward, stretching his arms out wide. “Thank you, people of Volterra, for welcoming my family into your city,” the man said. “I am Silvio Luni, Duca di Firenze, and this is my wife, Duchessa Juno.” He gestured to the handsome woman with a curvy and supple figure at his side. Large brown eyes dominated her face. They were heavy lidded and expressive, and they flicked from one end of the piazza to the other. “And these are my children, Cavaliere Saturnino,” he said, indicating the young man to the right of his wife. Then he gestured down the line to his other children. “Cavaliere Marco, and our youngest, Contessa Fortuna.”
Everyone in Volterra knew of the Luni family’s connection to the tyrannical Medici family, but the women in the crowd curtseyed and the men bowed their heads regardless. Like any guild member, Ravenna knew how to comport herself in the face of nobility, though what she thought in private was another matter. Signor Luni continued with his speech, but her attention was fixed on the eldest son.
So that was his name.
The knight Saturnino, heir to a dukedom.
No doubt named for the Roman god of time and harvest.
Goose bumps prickled her skin. Names had meaning and power, everyone knew that. He watched the assembly, aloof and imperious, a cold star, harsh in its beauty and power.
His dark eyes unerringly cut to hers.
