The last name he yelled out was her own.
Capitolo Trentotto
Ravenna stood in front of the window, looking down at the herald as he repeated the list of names, his voice, laced in condemnation, echoing through the square. On all four sides, he was surrounded by the imposing buildings making up the main piazza, the heart of Florence. Behind him stood the Arnolfo Tower, where the bodies of the executed conspirators hung as a warning.
The Medici had set all of Florence to hunt her down.
Saturnino was at her side, his expression grim, his eyes narrowed in anger, lips flattened. Ravenna had come to know his face intimately. She recognized the lethal hostility flaring in his features, but she also noted his fear.
For her.
Already, a crowd gathered around the herald, restless for justice as he called out the names, over and over. They cried out in support of the Medici, cried out for justice. She listened as strangers—merchants, nobles, commoners alike—demanded her head.
“Ravenna Maffei,” the herald yelled. “Sister to Antonio Maffei, known conspirator—” He gestured behind him, pointing to one of the bodies. She looked in that direction, squinting, wondering… Ravenna swayed, horror gripping her.
Saturnino reached for her, taking hold of her hand.
Antonio’s maimed body hung over the piazza.
Ravenna collapsed against Saturnino, and he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest, bringing her back to his bed. He tucked her around him, pulling the blankets over them, and held her as she grieved her little brother. She cried and cried and cried,and all the while Saturnino caressed her back, stroked her hair, keeping her close, safe, heard.
He wiped her tears, and didn’t rush her sorrow.
“How can I bury him?” Ravenna asked in a broken whisper. “He ought to have a proper Christian burial.”
“No one will allow for that,” Saturnino said gently. “If he goes missing, it will only increase their fervor to find you. And I think…”
“What?”
“The pope’s retaliation will be swift,” he said, grim. “He won’t let what happened go unpunished. The whole city will be condemned. It’s only a matter of time.”
Ravenna pressed her forehead against his cool chest, overcome. She didn’t know how she could bear any of it. What would her parents say when she told them? Would they blame her?
The day crept forward, but time seemed to stand still in the cocoon Saturnino had made around them.
“I can’t remember the last time I cried so much,” she whispered against his throat.
He was quiet for so long that she didn’t think he would respond, but eventually he said, “I remember the last time I cried.”
Ravenna shifted, turning fully on her side, propping her head with the cradle of her hand so she could better look at him. “Will you tell me?”
“I’ve never told anyone,” Saturnino said, his voice hushed, barely audible.
She reached for him, placing her hand on his heart. “You don’t have to tell me now.”
“If it’s not you, it’s no one,” Saturnino said. “I’m a coward, Ravenna, but I want to be brave enough to be known fully. By you.” He sucked in a deep breath. “How much do you know about magic, love?”
“Very little.”
He plucked a strand of her hair, curled it around his finger. “The fae live on lands that hold ancient magic, and they cultivate their domain, taking care of the rivers and streams, their caves and their soil.” He paused. “Stop me if you know any of this.”
“I never wanted to learn about magic. Not until now.”
Saturnino peered at her closely. “The fae can’t perform magic, but witches and the odd wizard can, and so a bargain was made centuries ago to allow for a trade. It is an ancient accord between the two races, the Sacramentum Lignorum.”
“Oath of the Woods,” Ravenna translated.
“Yes. Over the centuries, the fae have collected hundreds upon hundreds of spells.”
