Tears scalded her cheeks.
“Drop your weapons,” the pope said. “Or I’ll have my bowmen shoot.”
Lorenzo de’ Medici locked his jaw, the line of his back unyielding, even with the number of arrows aimed at his heart. His clothing lay in tatters on his frame, his dark, chin-length hair damp with sweat.
“I would do what he says,” Marco said.
The entire Luni famiglia visibly reacted to seeing Marco standingalongside the pope, looking down at them with the smug smile of a bully who’d stolen a priceless jewel. Signor and Signora Luni were both struck dumb to have been outmaneuvered, Fortuna let out a harsh, bitter laugh, while Saturnino… Saturnino’s face was murderous, cold, carved in hell frost.
But they dropped their weapons.
The pope turned to Ravenna with a sly grin. “Did you think that was all?”
Ravenna held her ground. “What more of hell did you bring with you, YourHoliness?”
Anger flushed his pale cheeks; she’d struck a nerve. Then he raised his hand again, made a gesture to one of the troops who waited below. More commotion drew Ravenna’s notice to the opposite end of the piazza. Dozens of people were attempting to flee, but the pope’s troops had blocked off the exits, creating a line of soldiers in the middle of the streets.
Ravenna crept to the edge of the viewing platform.
From somewhere beyond the piazza, the sound of men hauling another structure thundered. They all turned in time to see an immense armored stage, mounted on heavy, reinforced wheels, appear at the other end of the piazza. It was a towering leviathan, a beast resembling a mobile siege engine, massive and terrifying.
Its main weapon was a gigantic mechanical ballista capable of launching explosive-tipped bolts. Its arms held battering rams capped in iron and rotating drills, large enough to burrow through walls, to dig trenches. A long tail arched over its body, the end opening into a spout. Ravenna immediately thought of the defenses built into the Palazzo dei Luni, equipped with designated spaces for pouring burning oil over attackers.
The machine was terrifying, deadly, capable of inhumane levels of destruction and devastation.
But then the tail moved on its own, sweeping high into the air with a sound of gears screeching. The crowd gasped, horrified murmurings sweeping up and down the Piazza Santa Croce. Mothersgrabbed their children, merchants left their stalls, while the rest tried in vain to flee the area. But they were blocked at every turn by the papal guards.
Ravenna’s jaw dropped. They were all trapped—and within reach of the mechanical monster.
“I’d like to present to you Il Dragone,” the pope said silkily. “An incredible war beast designed by a young artist in Milan. I believe it was Galeazzo Sforza who had commissioned the project, but alas, as he is no longer with us, the machine has found a new owner. A fortunate intervention. Can you imagine the total devastation this creature would wreak on a city?” His thin lips bent into a smile. “And yet, I can think of one city that might deserve it.”
Ravenna swayed, sweat beading at her hairline, dripping down her spine. Her hands shook. The pope meant to destroy Florence—and everyone within it.
The dragon tail reached higher into the air; the sound of gurgling liquid rose high above the panicking crowd.
“Look closer, Ravenna,” the pope said. “Can’t you see your contribution?”
Ravenna forced her gaze back to the war machine, her blood pumping furiously in her veins. A glimmer of blue fire caught her eye; she had missed seeing it before. At the base of the machine’s tail was a single Nightflame gemstone clutched in metal claws. Her breath caught sharply at the back of her throat. The tail swerved, gears crunching, and a stream of fire poured out of its spout. Whole sections of the piazza went up in flames.
People scattered as smoke and ash plumed over them. Vendor stalls caught fire, one after the other. Screams tore through the air, loud and earsplitting. The sounds carried high over the city of Florence as the fire spread.
“That particular Nightflame once belonged to you,” the pope whispered into her ear.
Ravenna gasped, clutching at her throat. Somehow, he had gottenahold of her marble statue of Pluto from the competition and taken the Nightflame for himself. The pope, limned in firelight, dragged his finger down Ravenna’s cheek, a maniacal smile curving his mouth.
Staring deep into her eyes, the pope said, “Build a pyre for the bitch. She’s a witch in disguise.”
Ravenna’s magic flared to life, and she turned toward the guards, hands raised—but it was Marco who snatched her, Marco who dragged her down the steps, kicking and screaming. Her magic spilled out of her in shades of dark blue, swirling around him, trying to eat at his flesh. But her magic couldn’t bite into him, couldn’t find purchase in the face of his immortality.
He held her in a bruising grip, and she bit, scratched, clawed at his skin, leaving deep score lines that bled silver-blue blood. Saturnino roared her name, anguished, fighting tooth and nail to get to her. His movements were stilted and jerking as if he stood on sinking sand and he couldn’t pick up his feet. Despair curled through her.
The sun was no longer visible, disappearing behind the many buildings lining the piazza.
The pope pointed a long ring-covered finger toward Ravenna. “Light her on fire,” he yelled.
His orders were followed with alacrity. Men tore at the stands, piling wood around a single pillar. Then they dragged her toward her death as scalding tears ran down her cheeks. Marco pulled her up onto the pile of wood, forcing her to stand in front of the pillar. A guard tossed him a bundle of rope, and he used it to tie her wrists to the stake.
“Don’t do this, Marco,” Ravenna said. “Please.The pope won’t keep his end of the bargain, he won’t turn you back into a human, he will—”
