Festichino, verde lauro, scuro d’ombrello, fango di Parigi.
Ravenna whispered the names of the rainbow, tethering herself to home with every breath. She swept her hand across the expanse of her new bed, the bedding soft under her palm. Silk covered the windows. Brocade panels covered the four walls surrounding her. She’d never been more comfortable in all her life.
And yet dread curled around her, sinking beneath her cold skin.
Ravenna clamped her lips together in frustration.
Her gaze landed on the door as a sudden thought struck her. She dragged herself off the bed and marched to it. One tug of the golden latch confirmed she’d been locked inside. Her frustration morphed into anger. She stared at the keyhole as she reached into her scarsella, withdrawing the thin carving knife from the slim leather case. She dropped to her knees and worked the lock until she heard a softsnick. With a gentle push, the door swung, opening to the darkened corridor. It seemed to stretch for miles.
Well, she had a way out of her room at least.
But where would she go in a city she’d never been? With no money or connections? How would she get out of the palazzo, with its many halls and staircases, twists and turns? And if by God’s grace she was able to get out of Florence, where could she go for sanctuary?
She couldn’t run back to her family. Volterra would bar her entry, even though she was a daughter of the city. Even though the people of Volterra had known her all her life, she was tainted by the magic she had inherited.
She slowly stood and wavered at the threshold. With a little sigh, Ravenna shut the door as she turned back toward the bed. In seconds she’d curled herself into a ball, dragging the lush coverings over her. It was foolish and impractical to try and escape that night, bumbling her way out of the palazzo and straight into the arms of a watchful guard, or worse—Saturnino.
What she needed was a way back home, but how could she earn Volterra’s forgiveness? What could she do to make them welcome her back? Her mind spun, discarding one idea and then another. If only she could defend the city in some way, rid its streets of Florentine guards. If only she could solve the problem of Lorenzo de’ Medici.
Ravenna sat upright, her heart thundering hard against her ribs.
She was inFlorence.
The seat of power and home of the Medici family.
What if she could somehow secure a meeting with him? What if she could force the politician to leave Volterra alone? No more curfew, no more of his wretched guards stalking the streets. Maybe she could return home to a city that no longer despised her but was thankful for her intervention?
It would be a miracle for a powerful man like him to even listen to her.
How would she manage it?
Ravenna threaded her hands through her hair, untangling the ends. It was worth it for her to try something,anything, rather than feeling powerless and helpless in her present situation. But it wasn’t exactly true, was it? The Luni familyneededher. That meant she had power. Leverage to use at the negotiating table. All the pieces were there, she only had to figure out how they all fit together.
Once she did, she could fight for a way back to her life.
A knock on the door jarred Ravenna awake from a fitful sleep. She blinked against the sharp, stabbing light the silk coverings failed to keep out. She sat up slowly, painfully aware that she’d slept in her dirty blue overdress. The hem had dried stiff and the fabric dug into her stocking-clad legs.
“Signorina Ravenna?”
“Yes,” she called, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Come in.”
A girl with dark, curly hair pushed the paneled door open, swingingtoward Ravenna. She was close to Antonio’s age, if Ravenna had to guess, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, and dressed in a serviceable wool dress dyed a pale blue shade. No doubt a nod to the Luni family colors. She had rosy cheeks and eyes that brimmed with curiosity as she regarded Ravenna, still abed even though the morning had come and gone.
“Buongiorno,” the maid said in a soft, girlish voice. “I have come to help you dress for the meeting with the family.”
Ravenna puckered her brow, sliding off the bed, her stiff wool dress sliding up her thighs. “Meeting?”
“You are required to share a meal with the famiglia. They are expecting you in the dining room.”
Ravenna grimaced. “Fine. What would you recommend for the occasion?”
The maid strode to a large wooden wardrobe, the doors painted in a riot of flowers. Colorful butterflies hovered on the delicate petals. She threw them open and pulled out a cream camicia, the straps and hem made of lace.
“A hot bath first,” the maid said, studying Ravenna’s disheveled hip-length hair.
Ravenna nodded. “I’d like your name first, if you please.”
The maid tilted her head, peering at her owlishly. “My name? Why do you wish to know?” The maid sounded partly suspicious, partly afraid. As if Ravenna had some imagined reason to complain about her work already.
