The cat drew close to his leg, and he used the side of his polished leather boot to firmly nudge her aside. She looked up at him and Saturnino could have sworn he discerned a glimmer of mischief in her feline eyes.
Saturnino bared his teeth at her again and the cat darted away.
“Sei propio un coglione,” Fortuna said coldly, returning to the subject of the human. “Don’t let your past ruin a perfectly good plan.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, slashing the air with her hand. “Stop antagonizing her. Seduce her and be done with it. She’ll be obedient then. Fidati di me.”
Fortuna strode off.
Saturnino let her go, having no interest in winning her over. He didn’t care about winning anyone over anymore. However… Fortuna’s words grated. Saturnino glanced back the way they had come, the corridor lit by a tidy row of oil lamps.
Ravenna’s door was barely visible.
An image of her long hair flooded his mind; it made him think of his favorite wool coat, a warm barrier against the constant chill of his skin. He contemplated his sister’s words—her words, buthisidea originally, to seduce the sculptress. He’d only veered off course because he sensed Ravenna’s strong will. She would not yield to him easily.
But then, he hadn’t really tried.
Saturnino allowed himself a smile, private and merciless.
The Pope
The pope stared at the glowing blue orb in impotent fury. He didn’t like a word of what his courier had said to him. His breath came out in a quick staccato as he tried to make sense of the situation. A headache bloomed in his temples.
“Say that to me again,” he snarled. “Whoisshe?”
The courier’s cool voice broke the quiet in his chambers. “Ravenna Maffei. The Luni famiglia kidnapped her and have now brought her to Florence. She is the daughter of an innkeeper but also happens to be a sculptress. By all accounts she’s the quiet sort, and very close to her family.”
The pope’s voice rose to a near shout. “But she’s a sculptress who can domagic?”
“It’s uncertain how much,” the courier said. “However, it’s safe to assume the Luni famiglia has need of her ability with a Nightflame.”
“To better plot against me!” the pope hissed. “What will they use her for?”
“That I don’t know.”
The color red stole across the pope’s vision. The courier was incompetent, and for a moment, he reconsidered burning him at the stake. “Clearly,” he spat.
The courier remained unruffled, confound him. His tone continued to be annoyingly even. “What are your orders?”
The pope inhaled sharply, forcing his thoughts into a semblance of order. “Find out everything you can about her: family, finances,weaknesses.Everything. Recruit them to our side, if possible. And I will need you to deliver a message to her in all possible haste.”
“It will be no problem. I’ll use a Lodestar gemstone to return to Florence.” The courier paused. “Word has spread about the new sculptress to every household. People who caught a glimpse of her arrival spoke of her beauty and humility. It’s been said the Medici are eager to meet her, a woman dedicated to her craft with a rare magical talent.” There was another weighted pause. “A rare andmiraculoustalent.”
Fury detonated within him.
The nerve of the immortal family inflamed him. He saw through their tactics and all the ways they sought to diminish his position. They wished to undermine the power of the Church. They wished to underminehim.With word spreading of Ravenna’s miraculous talent, they wished to dismantle his hold over his hard-won empire. He alone had the God-given right to perform miracles.
He alone could harness the power and will of God Almighty.
Now they had brought a woman into their fold as a symbol of their rebellion. A Jeanne d’Arc—andhewas no better than the English king who had her killed. That was something he would not let stand. But little did the Luni famiglia know of the serpent in their midst. Little did they know how he was orchestrating their downfall from behind their own walls. And soon, he’d have another informant.
Ravenna would belong to him, and him alone.
“Send me the letter,” the courier prompted. “I will watch for her until I can approach her when she’s on her own.”
The pope crossed the room and set down the silver bowl with the blue orb suspended above it onto his desk, next to an ornate rosary and his Bible, bound in fine leather. Stacks of paper were perched on the corner, along with a quill and pot of ink. He scrawled out a letter to the young woman, folded the sheet in half, and tucked it into an envelope. Using a match, he warmed red wax until it dripped onto the flap.
