“I’ll come back to you.”
Saturnino let out a shaky exhale. “Ravenna, you areeverythingto me. I’ve never said this to anyone, never dreamed that I would—”
She placed her palm against his mouth. She wanted to hear his words more than she wanted the next breath, but she had the strange sense that he’d purposefully put himself at risk in order to save her life. That he would do whatever it took to give her enough time for her task. “Tell me after you win.”
He stared at her, and in his eyes she read every tender word he held within him. Every word he saved for her alone. Saturnino removed her palm and lowered his head to kiss her. She clung to him, praying this one wouldn’t be their last. Then he lifted his mouth from hers, only to swoop back down to kiss her once more. He released her just as Marco appeared at her elbow.
“Touching,” he said, his lip curled.
Saturnino gave his brother an icy stare. “Marco, if you don’t bring her back to me in one piece, I will skewer you with my lance.”
Marco gave him a mock salute and then took Ravenna’s arm. “Time to find our seats. The pope’s arriving any minute.” He tugged her away, and she glanced over her shoulder. Saturnino stood looking after her, agony etched into his face, before he wiped it away to give her an encouraging smile.
But it didn’t reach his eyes.
His brother tugged her up the steps of one of the viewing stands, each row rapidly filling up with spectators. Signora Luni and Fortuna were already seated in the front row, their gowns spilled across the wooden floor, a riot of colors representing the family’s palette: midnight blue, shimmering silver. Marco indicated the seat next to them.
“Sit,” he said, yanking her forward.
“You don’t have to manhandle me,” Ravenna snapped, pulling her arm free as she sat down.
“I know.” He sat down next to her, his leg pressed against hers. Ravenna shifted, but his leg followed. She glared at him, but his gaze was intent on the crowd. Nobles, commoners, and visitors mingled, enjoying the free entertainment. Vendors sold roasted boar, meat pies filled with dried fruit and spices, capons and pheasants.
Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten anything all day.
Pages and servants passed around platters of cheese: pecorino and ricotta drizzled with honey and garnished with basil and oregano. Marzipan sculptures were the centerpieces at the long banquet tables, surrounded by bowls of sugar-coated nuts and fruit tarts filled with pears, apples, cherries. Jugglers performed in front of laughing children, musicians played for dancing couples, while other spectators found seating, readily available throughout the piazza. Excitement teemed in the air, attendees waiting impatiently for the tournament to begin.
None of them had any idea that the most powerful man in Christendom would fall that day.
Surrounding them were the wealthiest families in Florence, dressed lavishly, and in hues displaying their support of their chosen jouster: Cavaliere Saturnino.
Ahead of Ravenna, barriers marked off the center of the piazza, creating lists where the jousting would begin just as soon as the pope deigned to make his grand entrance. Lorenzo de’ Medici and his family sat with other prominent members of the Signoria, including Signor Luni. Guards dressed as nobles were discreetly situated around him, armed with hidden knives, daggers, tourniquets.
Ravenna’s gaze flickered through the crowd, attempting to locate the rest of the Florentine army. They were there, mingling, but not eating or drinking or smiling. Something leaped into her lap, and she startled, glancing down. Ombretta curled over the plush fabric of Ravenna’s dress, nudging her head against her hand.
“You followed after us, you silly creature,” Ravenna whispered, comforted by the sight of the cat.
A loud horn blasted, coming from the direction of Santa Maria del Fiore. Necks craned to the main street leading into the piazza as the pope’s grand processional arrived. Bishops, cardinals, and other high-ranking church officials dressed in elaborate vestments accompanied the richly decorated carriage, surrounded by the Swiss guards. Musicians played trumpets and drums, while standard-bearers carried the papal banners bearing the keys of Saint Peter ahead of the pope.
From the corner of her eye, Ravenna caught sight of Lorenzo de’ Medici and several Florentine officials making their way toward the pope’s carriage. The music drew to a natural close and the crowd hushed as greetings were exchanged. Everyone smiled at one another; if Ravenna hadn’t been privy to the hatred between them, she would have believed them to be the closest of friends.
Disgust filled her as she caught glimpses of the pope. She’d never been in his presence, had only seen mere representations of him on coins and paintings. His face was pale, framed by blond hair. He had expressive brows, rising to a point, giving him a boyish, mischievous air. Anger unfurled in her belly.Thiswas the man who had ensnared her, threatening her hometown, her family, her soul. She clenched her hands tight in her lap to keep herself from rising in her seat, from bringing him to task for his hypocritical ways that had nothing to do with the Son of God.
“Get ahold of yourself,” Fortuna hissed in her ear. “Or this will have all been for nothing.”
Ravenna inhaled deeply, quieting the monster within her. Her magic snarled, wanting to be let out.
Soon, she thought.Soon.
Lorenzo escorted the pope to his place of honor, a throne decorated in gold leaf and precious gemstones. The pope’s advisors and retinue crowded around him, taking seats on backless chairs that flanked him on either side. Lorenzo exited the platform, and Ravenna watchedas he returned to his seat in the stands, surrounded by his guards in disguise.
Marco turned his head toward her, a smile stretching his lips.
Ravenna blinked. The smile transformed his surly face into one that looked almost boyishly handsome.
“When it’s time to go,” he said through his teeth, “you’ll get up slowly, go down the steps, and wait for me to join you. We’ll go behind the other viewing stands directly to the pope’s tent. I’ll go in first.”
“All right,” she said. “Please stop smiling at me.”
