They crossed the tiled corridor, the walls lime-washed and adorned by a neat row of paintings featuring men at arms, jousting, or throwing spears. Then it was well-dressed ladies sitting demurely on plush cushions, or on a bench under the shade of a tree. Imelda led her to the central staircase, and on their right, they passed a large window overlooking a spectacular view of the Florentine skyline and, beyond, the Arno River.
The palazzo was an immense building with countless rooms spread across all four stories. Ravenna flicked a glance to the walls. They seemed thick; she recalled how most buildings in Florence were outfitted with secret doors that opened to hidden passageways.
“I don’t know how I’ll remember the way,” Ravenna remarked. “I’m used to knowing every nook and cranny of my home.” She paused, gave her voice a more contemplative tone, and added, “It didn’t have nearly this many rooms… or secret passageways.”
Imelda motioned for Ravenna to follow her down the next flight of stairs, decorated by a myriad of banners and tapestries that hung on iron hooks. “There are many of those.”
Ravenna smiled to herself.
She would find a time during the night to explore the palazzo while everyone slept.
Imelda continued with the tour, and Ravenna remained silent, choosing instead to pay attention to the many corridors and quick turns. They reached the intended floor and walked through several chambers, some large, some small, through a library and a sitting room, then another long corridor that had high ceilings with wooden beams stretching across. Finally, Imelda stopped in front of tall wooden double doors, handsomely carved with the Luni family’s crest.
“Through here,” Imelda said.
“Grazie,” Ravenna replied, her attention fixed on the brass latch. The family waited for her on the other side, and thanks to Saturnino, lions came to mind. He was a bastard for trying to frighten her.
“Keep your head down,” Imelda said softly. “And you will be fine.”
Ravenna’s gaze flew to Imelda’s. Her maid regarded her steadily, and a sense of connection flew between them. Like her, Imelda was away from family and friends. She was cut off from her community and working for immortals who thought of her as disposable.
Ravenna licked her lips. “Will you answer a question for me?” She studied Imelda, her warm eyes and kind face. “If I needed to find a secret way out of the palazzo, which way should I go?”
“Well…” Imelda tilted her head. “If, say, one needed to leave suddenly, and without drawing notice, one could always take the path leading out of the palazzo via the grotto. It opens to the gardens, which has a little entrance to a side street.”
Relief flooded her. Now she had a way out. She’d taken care of the first problem, leaving her with the biggest one: landing in Volterra’s good graces.
“If you ever need help, come find me.” Imelda said it so quietly, Ravenna had to lean closer to hear her. “Now, hurry. You’re late for the meeting.” The maid turned to go, but then paused, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
“What is it?” Ravenna asked.
“It’s only…” Imelda began in a halting voice. “There are other servants who I work with that I don’t trust.”
“Like who?”
“Those in close positions to the family. Personal maids, valets. The steward,” she whispered. “Watch yourself, signorina.”
A stark loneliness rose within Ravenna, the inside of her chest feeling hollow. She had been thrown into a pit and was surrounded by vipers. In her entire sheltered life, nothing like this had ever happened to her.
Imelda gazed at her with apparent sympathy, and Ravenna managed a quiet, “Thank you for the warning.”
Her maid bowed her head and disappeared down the long corridor, and Ravenna felt more alone than ever. She faced the dining room doors and braced herself for another confrontation with the abominable Luni family. Her hand dropped onto the latch.
“Buongiorno, Ravenna,” came a soft voice from behind her.
At her back stood Saturnino.
The murderer.
Capitolo Undici
In a short period of time, Saturnino’s voice had become irritatingly distinct in her mind. She could pick it out of a crowd, hear it from miles away. But the way he spoke to her just then felt different. It was a voice suitable for a bedroom. Meant for whispering against bare skin. Spoken in a hush against a pursed mouth.
And heknewit.
Saturnino could use his beauty as a weapon, one that he’d no doubt spent decades sharpening. Anger skipped up her spine. But that wasn’t why it irritated her. People would go to any lengths in the name of survival. This immortal was no different. And, if she were being honest with herself, neither was she. Ravenna was irritated because Saturnino had suddenly decided to use his weapon againsther.
“Will you not face me?” Saturnino asked in a husky whisper.
