The square was a riot of noise and movement, filled with screams and shouts, people fleeing in every direction. People tripped over dead bodies, the cobblestones wet with blood. Men were locked in combat, using whatever they could reach—swords, daggers, their hands. Wooden stalls lay overturned with fruit and goods scattered on the ground.
Ravenna gasped, pressing both her palms against her mouth.
In the distance, Medici guards dragged men toward makeshift gallows, hastily constructed by an enraged mob hell-bent on finding conspirators. A man was hoisted up by his neck, his feet kicking desperately as the crowd surrounding him cheered. He was barely older than her brother.
Fear and nausea curdled deep in Ravenna’s belly.
No trials, no mercy, no quarter given to anyone suspected of involvement with the murder plot against the Medici. Her brother was gone. She felt it in her bones. Above her the cathedral bell tolled, a haunting melody, drowning out the cries for help, the cries for blood.
Saturnino swept Ravenna up against him, his arm banding around her waist. His lips pressed against her ear, low and urgent. “Ravenna, if I have to drag you—”
She spun in the circle of his arms, wrapping herself around him, holding tight to something solid against the chaos. “Take me away.”
Capitolo Trentasette
Saturnino gripped her hand as they ran through narrow alleys and side streets, avoiding the main thoroughfares as echoes of the fighting chased after them. Loyalists ran from the Piazza della Signoria, swords drawn, eager to subdue the enraged mob. Saturnino and Ravenna took Via dei Cimatori, a winding lane covered in shadow, and then made a sharp turn onto Via delle Farine, emerging at the edge of the main square. The watchtower loomed ahead of them, a medieval fortress that housed Florence’s government.
Saturnino paused in front of a small, unassuming doorway, near hidden in a quiet corner. It was old and weathered, partially concealed by a creeping vine. He glanced at Ravenna over his shoulder, as if to make sure she was in one piece.
She pressed the flat of her hand to her chest, trying to slow her frantic breathing. The sounds of people yelling for their loved ones rang in her ears, making her heart ache, her body tremble. Saturnino pulled at a leather strip around his neck, revealing a rusty iron key. He slipped it into the matching lock, and he pushed the door open with his shoulder.
He pulled Ravenna in first, then slipped in after her.
Total darkness engulfed them.
“One moment,” Saturnino whispered, his breath brushing against her temple. He fumbled around, at last finding what he needed. He struck a match and a single flame appeared, illuminating his face. He retrieved a tapered candle from a basket sitting on a narrow wood shelf and indicated for her to follow after him as he ascended a spiral stone staircase.
“What is this place?” she asked, her voice echoing in the tight space.
“It was constructed as part of a medieval tower, but it’s been forgotten by most of the city. I paid a witch to disguise the front door; no one sees it unless I want them to.” The single candle cast shadows against the walls. The air within tasted old, as if it kept many secrets. “The walls of the tower are thick, almost fourteen feet across, providing enough space for a secret apartment.”
The top of the staircase led to a narrow, arched door. Saturnino used the same key to unlock it. He stepped to the side, and paused, noting Ravenna’s hesitation. His expression turned contemplative, and he regarded her quietly.
“I won’t hurt you, Ravenna,” he said softly.
“I know, it’s just…” she whispered. “It’s you.”
A raw flash of vulnerability crossed his face. “In a hundred years, you are the first person, theonlyperson, I’ve ever brought here.”
She inhaled, feeling as if she were on the precipice of a sheer cliff.
“Let me take care of you,” he said softly.
The look in his eyes stole her breath. Beneath his cool skin, his icy exterior, there existed a raw flame, and he let her see how it burned for her.
And her alone.
Ravenna took a step forward and then another, the hem of her gown torn, bloodstained, dragging against the cold stone. She felt it underneath her shoes, chilling her toes. She stepped through the doorway, finding a narrow but long rectangular apartment divided into several rooms. The first had a stone fireplace, and an old but well-made and sturdy table in front of a single window set high in the wall, offering a view of the Piazza della Signoria below. The window was slight, not to draw notice, but wide enough to observe the comings and goings.
A lute leaned against the wall in a corner of the room.
A whimsical, almost delicate instrument. Ravenna’s gaze lingered on it. Did he know how to play music? She was about to ask, butSaturnino shut the door behind her and motioned for her to step through to the adjacent room. It contained a single bed, large enough for two people, with a wooden frame and a canopy draped in dark, heavy fabric. The canopy looked like velvet, lush and expensive. Dark green in color, the same as Saturnino’s eyes. Furs and blankets were piled high on one end of the bed, while the other had silk pillows.
She could not take her eyes away from that bed. Nerves danced under her skin, and she glanced at Saturnino. But he merely stepped around her and led her straight through to another room. This one contained a large metal bathtub, a small stool next to it. A woven basket filled with soap sat on top of the stool, and a wooden ladder held several towels and a dressing gown.
“I’ll heat up water and bring it to you.”
“Fromwhere?”
