And came face-to-face with a guard.
His weathered countenance creased, dark eyes widening. The tunic that stretched across his broad chest bore the Luni family’s colors, blue and the glint of silver thread. His hand dropped to the hilt of his short sword. “Thief!”
Ravenna backed away, running into the horse that pulled at his reins. She yanked her dagger out of her boot, the magic inside her crashing against her ribs. The guard marched toward her, steps heavy and boots splashing in the shallow puddles. The clang of steel rose between them as he drew his weapon out of its scabbard.
The guard raised his sword.
The magic within her crept up her arms; she curled her hands into fists to keep it contained. Her grip on the dagger was bone white. “Per favore. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Ladra!” he snarled.
Ravenna gritted her teeth. She took another step back. The air turned bitter cold, black spots swimming in her vision. She blinked.
No. Not spots.
Dark shadows curled around the guard, rising up and up, swirling around him in long tentacles. He half turned around, his jaw sagging. “What magia is this?”
“It isn’t me,” Ravenna said, horrified. “It’s not.”
An unfamiliar form stepped out of the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered, his face covered by a thick hood. His hand gripped a long staff, moonlight glinting off the five small gemstones embedded on its surface. Red eyes gleamed at the guard before blinking out. The stranger lifted his staff, spun it for one full turn, hissing a spell under his breath. The crescent-shaped gemstone glowed, violet and glimmering white. Spools of purple light struck the guard across his brow; he slumped to his knees and then crashed headfirst onto the ground with a loud thud.
The hair at the nape of Ravenna’s neck stood on end. She lifted her dagger, point facing out, caught between the mad desire to use her magic and the wish to subdue it.
“There’s no need for such dramatics,” came a bored drawl.
Terror made her voice shake. “Who are you?”
The stranger pulled back his hood. He was thin-lipped, with tired circles under his eyes. His brown hair hung in loose waves, almost brushing the tops of his broad shoulders. He was not classicallyhandsome—his appearance was too rugged, too blunt—but he exuded an air of menacing competence. Her gaze flickered to the wide leather belt cinched around his waist, cataloging his weapons: sword tucked into the scabbard, slim dagger next to it, a quiver of arrows at his back.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Ravenna assessed the man’s strengths, comparing them to her own. She was strong from the years of working with stone, from carrying pails of water, and from the miles she spent roaming the hills of Volterra.
But she was no match for the man before her.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to see you.” He reached into his leather satchel. His clothing was travel-worn but expertly tailored, with uncomplicated stitches and expensive fabric. Whoever he was, he made good money. “I’ve a letter for you.”
Ravenna gaped at him, still clutching her knife. Her gaze flickered beyond him to the narrow street. Could she dart past him? Would she be safer running back inside?
The man stomped forward, and Ravenna darted backward. He loomed in front of her, a nightmare that had taken shape, quietly threatening her space. The gemstones in his staff glittered with ominous power.
Ravenna finally found her voice. “There are people waiting for me within the palazzo.”
He cocked his head. “You mean the people you’re wanting to escape from?”
“I’m just a traveler looking for her horse—”
“Liar,” he cut in softly. “We don’t have time for this.” He held out an envelope. “Take it.”
It was imprinted with a triple crown, an emblem representing the Bishop of Rome, where he reigned in the Eternal City. She ignored the letter. Instinct told her not to close the space between them. “What is this?”
His arm dropped; fingers curled around the envelope. “Pleasedon’t be difficult. The letter will explain all. So I suggest the next time I offer it to you that you take it from me and read what it says. Then return to the palazzo without fuss.”
Thepleasegave her pause. He didn’t sound remotely polite, rather like someone who had come a long way, tired and hungry, someone who was only moments from snapping. She didn’t want to be near him when he did.
“I can’t read,” she said. “Please, can’t you help me home?”
“You’re lying again, and no, I can’t,” he said, the boredom draining from his voice. The lines across his brow deepened, grim fissures that did not bode well for her. “I’m just the courier.”
