Because it wasn’t the same God she believed in. It couldn’t be.
When Antonio finished praying, he passed the rosary on to the tall priest, who’d made himself comfortable on the cot. The other patiently waited for his turn on the remaining blanket, his light eyes seeking out hers from across the room.
Ravenna found his outright staring unnerving, but she forced herself not to lower her gaze. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her. She wouldn’t cower. For hours she’d tried to escape, her wrists rubbed raw from the tight rope binding them together. Anger had built in her slowly. Her brother was afraid of these two men, even if he didn’t want to admit it. She knew Antonio like she knew her own soul, and every time he was near them, his body locked up, bracing for a blow.
The bald-headed priest received the rosary, and when he was finished he blew out the single candle, engulfing the room in darkness.
Ravenna didn’t fall asleep. All night she listened to their breathing, ears straining for movement. It wasn’t until dawn was finally breaking, the hint of morning light seeping into the room from the only window, that she allowed her eyes to drift closed.
When she opened them again, all three of the men had gone. They’d left the window open, the room flooded in bright sunlight. All of their possessions were gone. The clay jug and bowl, the rosary, the blankets, and the little wooden chest. The knives and swords were gone.
They had also taken the money Saturnino had gifted her; she could no longer hear the coins clinking as she moved.
Ravenna yanked on the rope, seething. But then her thoughts circled around the pile of weapons on the table, and a rush of fear enveloped her. Where had they gone? What were they planning on doingso early in the morning? It wasSunday. No one would be out and about. Government was shut down for the day.
The door swung open, the hinges squeaking. Ravenna jerked her face toward the entrance to find the courier standing within the frame. He’d opened the door with his sword, the tip of his blade pressed at the center. His hood was up and over his head, covering the top portion of his face in shadow. He looked up and down the narrow room; convinced she was alone, he strode toward her, yanking the hood back.
The courier placed a knee on the bed, and stared down at her, his expression a mixture of exasperation and impatience. His face was pale, sallow, as if he’d been terribly ill. He used a slim dagger to cut through her binds.
“Hello, courier.” She squinted at him. “You look awful.”
“I told you to be careful,” he said flatly.
“Three against one,” she said, sitting up, and wincing. Her back was sore and stiff. “What made you come back for me?”
“Sheer lunacy,” he muttered, getting off the bed. “Let’s go.”
She stood, her knees wobbling. She shook one leg and then the other, and then stomped both of her feet. “What time is it?”
“It’s early yet,” he said from the doorway. “Move, Ravenna.”
They went down the creaky stairs, and were out the front door moments later. Florence was beginning to wake up. The smell of baking bread wafted in the air from the open windows above them, and the sound of horses clip-clopping over the cobblestones interrupted the quiet.
The courier turned to her, pulling his hood back over his head. He was half in shadow again, shrinking from the sunlight. “That was the last time I help you, Ravenna. Go home and forget what I said about the pope. You have no chance against him.” He dipped his chin and gave her a pointed look. “Or your brother.”
“I understand,” she said, her heart cracking.
He nodded, turned to go.
“Wait,” Ravenna said, gripping his sleeve. “They were planningsomething. They had weapons, knives, and swords. What are they doing? Where were they going?”
The courier stepped out of her reach. “What did Ijustsay—”
“Please, tell me. What have they planned?”
“Not this time, Ravenna,” he said softly. “You don’t want to witness this.”
“What is it?” she cried.
The courier hissed at her, dragged her to the side of the building, away from the wakening street. “Lower your damn voice.”
Somewhere in the distance, the bells of Santa Maria del Fiore tolled. Ravenna jerked her head in the direction of the cathedral, the blood draining from her face. It dawned on her then. It wasEasterSunday. Everyone in Florence was getting ready to attend service. Soon, the pews in the biggest church in the city would fill up with parishioners.
Merchants. Laborers and traders. Prominent guild members.
The Medici family. The Luni family.
Saturnino.
