He snapped his head around, the fake smile gone. “It’s starting.”
Ravenna fixed her attention on the elevated platform, where the pope stood as if he were giving a sermon. He held out his hands over the still and quiet crowd, his voice booming. “My dear Florentines,” he began. “I have come with a full heart and hope for a new day for this great city and its humble people. Let this tournament establish a new era between us, one founded on respect, loyalty, and love for the Holy See in Rome. I humbly and proudly present the champion for the papal office.” He extended a hand, glittering with jewels, to his left, where a towering man came into view at the end of one of the jousting lanes. “I give you my great friend, the Duke of Urbino!”
Shock reverberated through Ravenna.
“Well, well,” Fortuna murmured. “Saturnino has met his match.” At Ravenna’s questioning glance, she added, “He’s never jousted against the duke before, but it’s said they are equals in battle and in jousting.”
Her stomach dropped. It had been the Duke of Urbino who had destroyed parts of her home. At the time, the mercenary leader had been hired by Lorenzo de’ Medici to fight that battle for him. And now there he stood, aligned with the pope. His champion for the jousting tournament. Rage bit into her skin as a litany ofifs swam in her mind.
If the Medici hadn’t hired the Duke of Urbino, Volterra might not have fallen.
If the Duke of Urbino hadn’t singled out her brother and locked him in a cage, Antonio might have resisted the pope’s recruitment.
If she hadn’t been stolen away by the Luni family, her brother might still be alive.
If, if,if.
A soft, inner whisper brushed her mind:But then you would have never met Saturnino.
The sound of a trumpet blasted. Saturnino appeared at the opposite end of the piazza, dressed in full armor polished to a mirrorlike finish, gleaming in the soft afternoon light. It was etched with an intricate design, an armored bear with his quiver of arrows and a crescent moon. Above the armor, Saturnino wore a richly embroidered tabard bearing the Luni family’s crest. In his right hand he held a long lance, painted in the same hues as his tabard. A sword was strapped to his side. His black horse, bred for war and tournaments, was similarly draped in the family colors.
The Duke of Urbino, now armed with his own lance, mounted his destrier. Both riders circled the arena, the crowd cheering and bursting out in thunderous applause. When Saturnino drew close to their side of the piazza, his gloved hands pulled back on the reins. Carefully, he extended his lance in Ravenna’s direction, the tip hovering only a foot away from her.
Ravenna gaped at him as Fortuna nudged her side. “Give him a token,” she said from the corner of her mouth.
Saturnino’s attention landed, briefly, on the curled-up cat tucked in her lap. His laughing eyes met hers as Ravenna fumbled at her gown, trying not to disturb Ombretta, and finally emerged with an embroidered handkerchief. Saturnino had left the visor of his helmet open, and his dark green eyes glinted back at her, warm and sweet.
Ombretta purred and jumped off her lap, disappearing between the legs of the other guests sitting in her row. Ravenna stood, and to her surprise, a tremulous smile stretched her mouth. For a few moments, she let herself gaze at the knight before her, forgetting everything else.
It was only Ravenna and Saturnino.
She hadn’t said the words, they had felt too fragile, too heartbreaking. But as the sun dipped lower and lower to meet the horizon, as their time dwindled to a scant few hours, a pressure built in her chest, and she didn’t care about who might hear the deepest part of her heart.
“I love you, Saturnino dei Luni,” she called out, draping her handkerchief over the tip of his lance.
Saturnino blinked, and even though his mouth wasn’t visible, Ravenna knew he was smiling by the way the corners of his eyes crinkled. He straightened the lance, and her handkerchief slid down; he caught it with his free hand. Deftly, he tied it around his arm, and then he looked back at her.
He winked and set off, but instead of riding to the front of the pope’s canopy where he could pay his respects, he deliberately passed him. A rude, obvious slight. The crowd murmured, their faces shocked, mouths open in horror.
“What the hell is he doing?” Signora Luni exclaimed.
“He’s certainly distracting the pope,” Fortuna said dryly, looking toward the canopy where the pope’s outrage was clearly visible. “Along with everyone else.”
The trumpet blared again.
Saturnino went to his start position, his horse’s hooves pounding the ground, readying for the gallop. The Duke of Urbino lowered his visor; Saturnino did the same. Both riders spurred their horses, charging down the list, lances aimed at each other. The sounds of the crowd clapping and roaring, the clanging of armor, reverberated through Ravenna.
“Time to go,” Marco said.
But Ravenna couldn’t take her eyes off Saturnino. The two opponents were seconds from making contact. Her pulse thrummed wildly in her throat. Marco leaped to his feet, reached for Ravenna, and all but dragged her off the seat. She raced down the steps, eager to view the match from whatever vantage point that she could. The crowd gave a thunderous cheer, and Ravenna’s heart jumped.
Had Saturnino won already?
She was about to squeeze through the crowd, but Marco seized her, taking hold of her hand and pulling her behind the viewing stand. “Try not to be an idiot,” Marco muttered.
“Is it over?”
“I repeat, try not to be an idiot,” Marco said. “They had the first pass, there are two more to go. Now, keep up.”
