“Fine,” Ravenna said, still eerily calm. “You’ve found me out. What do you two intend to do?”
Pietro advanced on her, fists clenched. But she bent down quickly, retrieved her slim dagger from out of her boot and brought it up, backing away from him. “Listen to me, the family will react strongly if you hurt me—”
“You’re disposable to them,” Pietro snarled. “You should have figured that out by now.”
“Not to Saturnino,” Ravenna said, frantic, ducking around one of the statues. She tripped over a bucket filled with files and rasps, and landed hard on her hands and knees. Her dagger skidded away from her, out of her reach. Pietro let out a barked laugh, short and terrifying, as he cut around the same statue. Ravenna called for her magic, but it ignored her, still recuperating.
Merda.
She blindly reached for the bucket, pulling out the first thing her hand found. Pietro bent at the hip, yanked fistfuls of her hair, drawing her up to her knees. Ravenna screamed, tears pricking her eyes from the sudden pain. She gripped the narrow chisel by its wooden handle and plunged it downward, straight into the meat of Pietro’s thigh.
He released her, howling.
“Pietro? Pietro!” Imelda screeched.
Ravenna gripped the handle of the bucket with both hands, swiveled around, and swung upward in a wide arc. It struck Pietro across his face, shattering his nose. He stumbled back, hand flying up his face as blood poured between his fingers. Ravenna jumped to her feet, swinging the bucket again, and his head jerked to theside from the force of the blow. He tumbled to the ground, unconscious.
Imelda rushed forward, gripping her chisel so tightly her knuckles were white. She swung her weapon at Ravenna, who darted out of reach, slipping a little on the blood pooling beneath Pietro, mixing with the white marble dust on the stone floor. Imelda came at her again, erratically swinging the chisel. Ravenna yanked a small statue from a pedestal and used it as a shield. Imelda’s chisel struck it, chipping off a small chunk.
Ravenna threw the statue at Imelda, causing her to stagger back into the workbench. Pails filled with tools scattered in every direction, clamoring loudly. Imelda recovered quickly, grabbed a hammer, and swung it at Ravenna’s head. Ravenna swerved, narrowly avoiding the blow. She pivoted nimbly and launched herself at Imelda, wrestling her to the ground in a cloud of white dust. They rolled in a complete circle, Imelda on top of Ravenna, straddling her. Ravenna flung her hand outward, fingers scrambling; she found a stray chisel, instinctively thrusting it upward. Imelda lurched sideways with a loud yell and then swung forward, her hands wrapping around Ravenna’s throat.
In seconds, Ravenna went back to the night on the parapet, to when they first had tried to choke the life out of her. She could almost feel the chill of the night on her skin, the brisk wind teasing her hair. The distance to the ground, many stories below her. She was going to fall. Imelda dug her thumbs into her skin. Her vision darkened, black spots dancing before her. Imelda’s face became blurry.
Seconds before the last of her air ran out, the dungeon door crashed open. She was dimly aware of another force entering the room—a disruption in the very air. Leather boots appeared in the corner of Ravenna’s vision. She heard someone curse, a familiar low baritone.
Saturnino.
Imelda loosened her hold and Ravenna gasped for air. She reached for Imelda blindly, but a moment later she disappeared. Vanished from her sight. Ravenna rolled to her side, gasping, finally able tobreathe deeply. She pushed up onto her hands and knees, then stood on wobbling legs.
Saturnino had his hands around Imelda in an iron grip.
“Saturnino,” she croaked, her throat bruised and sore. “Don’t.”
He stared down at Imelda with a pitiless gaze, completely inhuman, as if he’d been stolen back into the darkness where he thought he belonged. “She would have killed you.”
Imelda stood stock-still, her face bled of all color. But she wasn’t looking at Saturnino. It was Ravenna she soundlessly bargained with, letting her eyes communicate her terror.
“Saturnino.” Ravenna took a step forward. “Show her mercy.”
“No,” he snarled.
“Please. For me.”
“She doesn’t deserve your mercy.”
“I decide that, not—”
“She’s a spy for the pope,” Saturnino said in a hard voice, his hands climbing up to Imelda’s throat.
“She isme,” Ravenna cried. “Little better than a puppet with no good choices. The pope has power and influence, there’s very little hope once he has a hold over you. Don’t I deserve mercy? Doesn’t she?” Tears swam in her eyes. “Saturnino, let her go.”
Saturnino gritted his teeth, visibly shaking from his anger. “Come here and search her.”
Ravenna darted forward, locking eyes with Imelda. She carefully searched her pockets and pulled out a handful of spare coins and a hairpin, beautiful and expensive. Too fine for a maid. Ravenna stared at it wonderingly; it was an odd thing to carry around. Her eyes flicked to Imelda, who stared intently at it, her jaw clenched. The item was a clue to who Imelda had been before she ever stepped foot in the palazzo, to a life that had been cut short.
Ravenna slipped the hairpin back into the pocket and switched to the other side, working quickly. Her fingers found an envelope. She smiled grimly to herself as she withdrew it. It was the same expensivepaper the pope used for his correspondence with her. She flipped it over; sure enough, remnants of the bloodred wax he used were still visible.
She was about to read the note inside when Imelda asked, “What are you going to do with me?”
