“I do, signorina,” Imelda said. “Cavaliere Saturnino demanded it.”
Ravenna turned her face away with a grimace.
Ofcoursehe would.
True to her word, Imelda escorted her back to her chambers. Ravenna bid her good evening, and then closed the heavy door behind her. She barely registered moving to the bed, sinking down onto it in a heap of sodden skirts and sweaty limbs. White powder covered her hands, and there were smears of it in her hair, caked on her shoes.
She had worked forhours.Without rest. None of the cheese hadbeen eaten. None of the pastries. They lay untouched as Ravenna fought the virgin stone with everything she had. It refused to be coaxed into submission, refused to work with her. With every strike, it had healed itself, had hissed steam until her cheeks were a furious red, until her clothes were uncomfortably heavy and damp.
Ravenna swallowed a sudden swell of panic.
It was only the first day. Surely the famiglia didn’t expect her to perform a miracle on her first attempt, or even her fifth or sixth. There was still time.Not enough, she thought bleakly. The irony was not lost on her. For years she’d run from her magic, believing it would damn her soul, only to discover it was the only thing that could possibly save her life. Ravenna stood, nervous energy propelling her around the room in widening circles. The work could not be done. The Nightflames were too well protected, too far beyond her reach. She had the uncanny sense that with every second that ticked by, she was closer to her death.
Hermurder.
She would not wait meekly for that to happen.
A glance out the window told her it was a clear night, quiet. The moon hung high above them; it was near midnight or close to it. The city slept. How far could she make it on her own? Ravenna bit her lip. She thought of Amina and the urgent way she had asked after her safety. If nothing else, Ravenna had somewhere she could hide; she only had to make it there. It was a risk, but her chances of survival were greater outside the palazzo than within.
She’d take her chances.
She went to the wardrobe, pulled out a warm cloak, switched her slippers to balletto shoes, sturdier and made of supple leather, buttery soft. She tucked the dagger her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday into her shoe. It was the same dagger Saturnino had returned to her—she still didn’t understand why he had, but whatever his reasons might have been, she was glad to have it now.
What else? Ravenna glanced around the room.
There was a canvas bag tucked in a corner; she filled it with a shawland a blue satin day dress with simple ties at the back. She searched the rest of the furniture and found a drawer full of hair pieces: jeweled clips, pearl combs, velvet ribbons. Diadems adorned with gemstones and made of silver and gold were swept into the bag. Her conscience prickled, but she ignored it. The family had stolen her from home, now they would pay for her escape. Supplies on the road cost money, and Ravenna tallied everything she’d need: food, lodging, a horse.
More pearl-studded ribbons went into the bag.
Just in case.
Ravenna glanced around the bedroom, her hands absently brushing against her scarsella riveted to her leather belt. She steeled herself by counting everything she had to help her home: a way out of the palazzo, items to sell or barter, the cover of darkness. She’d find the inn, stay the night, and tomorrow, she’d purchase a horse for hire to take her the rest of the way. Her reception in Volterra was another problem, but she’d think of something.
She always did.
Ignoring her inner magic swirling awake in protest, she opened the door and slipped through.
Capitolo Quindici
Guards patrolled in pairs, their boots scuffing against the stone floors, conversation between them hushed but sharp, like the short swords strapped to their sides. Firelight from their lanterns cast long shadows against the tapestry-adorned walls. They paused every so often to check corners, heads tilted, listening for anything out of the ordinary.
Like, say, an artist under house arrest, attempting escape.
Ravenna crept down the staircase, keeping a close eye on the guards below. The faint clink of her tools in her belt sounded like thunderclaps to her ears. She froze, her breath caught at the back of her throat. The guards’ voices drifted upward; a burst of laughter broke the tension swirling around her, followed by an oppressive silence. She continued her descent, her every step reverberating inside her body. Only one more floor to go before the courtyard. The sudden glow of the lantern forced her into a recessed alcove. She hugged the shadows, pressed herself against the cold stone. A rat scuttled past her foot and she flinched, clamping a hand over her mouth.
The firelight illuminated the very tips of her balletto shoes.
The guards moved on, chattering quietly.
Ravenna let out a slow breath. She pushed away from the wall and continued down until she reached the courtyard. Careful to keep to shadowed corners, she made her way to the arched wooden door leading down to the basement and grotto. The iron lock wasn’t the hardest she’d ever broken into, but it came a close second. After fiddling with it for several long minutes, during which she hardly breathed, her slim chisel came through. The door sang loudly when it openedand Ravenna grimaced as she ducked inside, closing it behind her, that same mournful song breaking the quiet.
The black-and-white-tiled corridor stretched out before her, the air damp with the metallic tang of iron. Ravenna sprinted the whole way, veering sharply when she came to a fork in the path, the sound of dripping water guiding her. Imelda had said there was a way out past the grotto. She followed her nose until she at last came across it. A pool of water reflected warped shapes on the craggy walls. She didn’t stop running, her breath tight in her chest, almost passing the tight passageway out. The ceiling was low, cramped, forcing her to stoop. Spiderwebs brushed her face, but she pressed forward, feeling her way in the sudden dark.
At the end of the passageway she came to a thick door; it took all of her strength to push the thing open, her hands flat against the old wood. At last, it gave and she spilled out into the night in a flurry of movement and a soft gasp. Cool air swept against her cheeks, carrying the damp from the Arno River not too far away. The breeze rustled the edges of her wool cloak. She crept along the palazzo wall, following it to the street corner. The cobblestones were slick under her feet; it must have rained during the night. Lanterns attached to the walls of buildings offered small pools of golden light, but the shadows in between were dark and impenetrable.
Her nose detected the unmistakable scent of horse sweat.
Ravenna peered around the edge of the palazzo to find a row of horses tied to the iron rings fixed onto the front of the palazzo. They snorted and stomped, hooves loud against the damp stone. She darted to the closest one, her hands reaching for the rope. The horse nickered over her head, its breath awful and hot. Drool dribbled onto her shoulder. She moved out of the way—
