Her breath caught at the back of her throat, and she stiffened, wishing it didn’t feel as if she’d somehow ensnared the attention of a predator. He hunted her down in the swell of the crowd, wobbly on her tippy toes, trying to look over the shoulders of the men standing in front of her.
He arched a sleek, black brow.
A prickling sensation crept over the back of her neck. Ravenna immediately dropped to the flat of her feet, as if his stare had scorched every thought from her mind. She turned away from Saturnino’s sharp cold-star look, nervous energy skittering across her skin. No one had looked at her that way before. It hadn’t been romantic, but methodical. As if he’d somehow seen the secret parts of herself she kept hidden. Secret dreams and wishes for her life.
A hope to create art from stone. A yearning to atone for the dark shadow of her magic.
It was an impractical dream she’d never spoken out loud.
Even if she’d carried it within her for a long time.
“Let us begin!” Signor Luni finished, wrenching Ravenna from her thoughts.
There was great applause as the trumpet blasted again, somehow reaching the four corners of the piazza despite the thunder rumblingoverhead. The famiglia sliced through the crowd. Up and down the long wooden tables, the other sculptors straightened their shoulders, like proud parents presenting their children at court.
The Luni family approached her table, all the statues spread out like a banquet to weigh and taste and judge. They studied one piece after another, slowly at first, but then they moved quicker, as if they knew what they were looking for but weren’t finding it.
Her stomach somersaulted.
Somewhere in the piazza, her own family watched the proceedings, no doubt holding their breath, clutching at each other, wondering what had gotten into their dutiful and respectful daughter. Ravenna glanced up to her brother and found him staring down at her, his hands wrapped tight around the bars.
His expression changed when their eyes met. All his exasperation, his frustration, melted away to reveal a desperate yearning for freedom. She lowered her eyes, fighting the rise of nervous energy climbing up her throat.
It was up to her.
God, what if she failed?
The thought of Antonio’s fate tore at her. She couldn’t bear it.
“I suppose someone in the world might think this pretty, but I’ve seen this idea athousandtimes before,” Contessa Fortuna, the youngest Luni child, said in a cool and limpid voice. She drew away from her family with an air of impatience, walking quickly down the line. No one got in her way, giving her enough space to sashay past, her light eyes quickly scanning each statue.
“Trite,” she said, passing another work.
At the next, Contessa Fortuna glared, as if deeply offended by its existence.
“His face looks constipated,” she said of a statue depicting the Roman god Prometheus as a vulture ate his liver. The contessa moved on with a roll of her eyes. But then she paused at another statue—Ravenna thought she might.
It was a Madonna and child, the cloak of the virgin covered invarious glimmering stones. Contessa Fortuna leaned forward, and Ravenna held her breath. Out of all the sculptors present, she feared this one the most. Bramante’s talent was renowned, and Ravenna guessed that everyone in Volterra thought he’d win the competition outright.
But then Fortuna shook her head slightly and pressed on. “Nearly perfect, but not enough to fully impress.”
Ravenna couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping. If Bramante wasnearly perfect, what hope did she have? She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. The contessa was only four statues away from her Pluto.
“Well, well,” a cool voice whispered from behind her. “It’s you.”
Ravenna startled, turning from the table. She’d been fixated on the contessa and hadn’t noticed the dangerous knight moving toward her. He stood not a foot away from her, so close she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. His voice had a solid quality to it—not loud, but distinct and measured with blunt edges. She imagined that if his words were tangible things, they’d weigh as much as blocks of stone.
And if they were made of stone, she’d carve every one of them into a weapon.
“Buonasera, Cavaliere.”
The knight’s words held a mocking note. “Where is your ladder?”
“Kind of you to ask. It’s in the shed, where it’s supposed to be.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, and while caution told her to keep quiet, she couldn’t manage it. “Capitano Lombardi is missing.”
The knight looked her over, slowly, as if taking her measure. “Is he.”
“What happened to him?” If she were brave enough, Ravenna would ask him what she really wanted to know:Did you offer the good capitano a bribe?
