Every time, Saturnino would wake her, hold her until her body stopped trembling, until the tears slowed. He would make love to her and afterward they slept in each other’s arms. During the day, Ravenna would remain with the virgin stones, using her magic to guide her, freeing the remaining Nightflames. Saturnino brought down a trunk, and Ravenna wrapped each one in linen, before tucking them inside, one by one. She closed the lid and locked all five within.
“They will stay here during the tournament,” Saturnino said. “Once the pope is dead, we’ll return to the palazzo with the courier so he can perform the spell.”
Ravenna reached forward, placing her hand flat against his chest. “Will it hurt, switching out the Nightflame for a new one?”
Saturnino covered her hand with his. “I don’t know, tesoro.”
An awful thought struck her.
He narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”
She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. “You will live for one hundred more years, exactly as you are, but I will age and become older and grayer.”
“In all the seasons of your life, my feelings for you will never change,” Saturnino said. “But Ravenna, has no one ever told you that you will live longer because of the witch blood in your veins? You have enough to slow the process of aging, impossible to know how much.” He smiled faintly. “But it will be many years before your hair turns gray.”
The day arrived when the pope’s reply came.
The family gathered once more in the parrot room as Signor Luni read the letter out loud. In the most flowery and effusive languagepossible, the pope accepted the city’s apology. The date of the tournament was set. His Holiness would come to Florence on the tenth of May.
They had one chance, and one chance only.
The Medici cleared Ravenna’s name when the pope lifted the interdict stifling Florence. The bells of Santa Maria del Fiore rang once more. That same day, Lorenzo de’ Medici gave the order to bring down the bodies hanging from the balcony of the Palazzo della Signoria so that they might be thrown into the river.
Except for the body of Jacopo de’ Pazzi.
His body was dragged through the city streets by an angry mob, mutilated, and then unceremoniously tossed into the river. Ravenna had turned away from the window as the crowd passed the street of the Palazzo dei Luni, stomach roiling.
Desecrating the bodies had become a blood sport.
It took Saturnino a private, heated conversation with Lorenzo to allow Ravenna to bury Antonio on consecrated ground. Ravenna had stared down at the mound of dirt where her brother would rest for eternity and wept. She had wanted her parents with her, but there was no word from the courier.
Wherever the pope was keeping them, it remained a secret.
The streets of Florence were cleaned for the pope’s grand arrival. Any traces of rioting were dealt with swiftly, almost overnight. Ravenna suspected the Medici had ordered the use of magic to remove evidence of the protesting. In Santa Croce, the vibrant home to artisans, craftsmen, and merchants, the piazza in front of the basilica was transformed for the imminent jousting tournament. Gone were the market stalls and workshops, cleared away as construction began for the temporary viewing stands along the sides of the piazza.
The invitations for the joust were sent wide to Rome, the Kingdom of Naples, the Duchy of Milan. The Arte della Lana and Arte della Seta guilds employed members to create banners, flags, and tapestries. Food was brought in for guests, spectators, and jousting participants. Jugglers, musicians, and acrobats showed up in droves. The inns inFlorence prepared for the arrival of guests traveling from every part of the peninsula as news of the tournament spread.
And all the while, the Luni and Medici family put their heads together, and made their plans for the pope: his arrival, the tournament, his murder.
Florence was a city in wait of its prey.
Capitolo Quaranta
Ravenna woke in the circle of Saturnino’s arms, morning light on her skin filtering in through the partially covered window of his bedroom. She refused to open her eyes, didn’t want to greet the morning, because then she would have to accept the unacceptable.
It was Saturnino’s last day on earth.
Ravenna dug deeper into Saturnino’s side, flinging her arm across his chest, and wished she could push back time with her bare hands. She prayed for the return of the night. She turned her face so she could press her nose against the hollow of his throat. His scent wrapped around her, and she breathed it in. It always made her think of snow-covered pines.
Saturnino stroked a lazy line with the pad of his fingers up and down her naked back, gently brushing her long hair out of the way.
“It’s today,” Ravenna whispered.
“It’s today,” Saturnino whispered back.
She pushed herself up so she could meet his eyes. He stared back at her in the soft golden light, his dark green eyes shining: unguarded, raw, vulnerable.
“I can’t bear it,” Ravenna whispered.
