“I don’t think I ever did,” he said in a marveling tone.
Ravenna looked up at him again, brows tipped into a frown. He studied her, restless eyes moving over her features. The sharp cheekbones and rounded chin, rose-colored lips pursed in skepticism. Saturnino wouldn’t believe him, either. He wasn’t even sure he believed what he’d said, he’d been playing too many roles for decades.
“What happens now?”
His gaze dragged down the length of her. Her damask gown shone in the firelight, ruby red and metallic gold thread, but it was covered in white dust. Her face was dewy with sweat, and she was still breathing hard from the effort of using magic.
“How would you like to meet Lorenzo de’ Medici?” he asked.
He expected her amber eyes to light up, but instead, her expression turned thoughtful, as if she were reevaluating the meeting in a new light. Ravenna nodded to herself, just once, and then said, “I’d like that very much.”
Saturnino watched her narrowly. Suspicion rose inside him, an insatiable creature that knew no bounds. “Go and change, then. My father and I will wait for you in the courtyard.”
“You’re not going to escort me back to my room?”
He arched a brow. “Do I need to?”
She shook her head, solemn. “You do not.”
Ravenna was still hiding something, and it vexed him that he didn’t know what it was. Saturnino didn’t like the pins-and-needles feeling it gave him, tiptoeing up his spine. He couldn’t tear his gaze from hers as doubt billowed in his mind like a sail caught in a maelstrom. Earlier memories rose to the surface, memories of a time when he’d been betrayed and left for dead. He swore he’d never relive them.
But he couldn’t help thinking he was making the same mistake again.
Silvio dei Luni
Silvio dei Luni led the sculptress up the front steps of the Palazzo della Signoria, the defense tower casting a long shadow over the Piazza della Signoria. The large wooden doors stood open, guarded by the standard-bearers and soldiers loyal to the republic and to the Medici. He breezed through and glanced over his shoulder to catch the girl’s awestruck expression as they traversed the echoing space, loud from all the people conducting their business.
He fought an impatient sigh and looked at Saturnino to share a commiserating look, but he didn’t return it. His son was too busy staring at the human, and normally that sort of thing would annoy him, as distractions often did, but he’d tasked Saturnino to watch over her. She was an odd sort, uninterested in the usual fripperies. Yet, despite her feigned indifference, the girl was all too aware of his son. She never looked at him directly and didn’t speak to him if she could help it. Her avoidance was extreme, as if Saturnino’s presence distractedhermore than she cared to admit.
That was telling. That was progress.
Unlike their ridiculous errand.
It would be a waste of time, a waste of his morning. Irritation flowed through him, icy and potent. Time was exactly what he didn’t have enough of. What he needed was more hours in the day; what he needed was for the sculptress to have done more than break off a chunk of stone the size of his palm.
Fortuna had been right all along.
Ravenna was more trouble than she was worth. But none of them had a better option, and so they had to humor her demands.He glanced again over his shoulder to see her peering into a gallery that held statues and sculptures commissioned by Lorenzo. Saturnino stood close to her, attentively listening as she marveled at the techniques used, at the level of detail, the composition, and whatever other trivial observations.
“Keep up,” Silvio said curtly.
Silvio led the girl up the stone staircases lined with thick tapestries, a futile attempt to keep the damp at bay. Saturnino trailed after her, lingering in conversation with whoever crossed his path. With every one of his steps, Silvio was conscious of the whispers trailing after him and the prized artist he had brought to the city with much fanfare. News of their meeting would spread, as would gossip and rumor. He had half a mind to deny her the chance to speak with Lorenzo, but they had turned a corner and were now at his office, where several people waited for the great politician to become available.
As was his routine, he quickly cataloged the crowd.
Florentine advisors and scribes carrying quills and scrolls. Diplomats from Tunisia and Algeria negotiating trade agreements. Egyptian envoys dressed in bright turbans and long flowing robes, a Moroccan diplomat wearing a richly colored djellaba. Dignitaries from Milan, Naples, Venice. Everyone wanted ten minutes with the most powerful man in Florence. Lorenzo’s banking network was becoming global, reaching as far as North Africa and Iberia. And with the increase in his power came more risks. Guards patrolled up and down the corridor, their breastplates and helmets gleaming like polished coins.
Saturnino walked the perimeter of the space, making his presence known. And while he wasn’t wearing his armor, people skirted around him, giving him a wide berth. All of Florence knew of his reputation, had seen him joust in tournaments held in Santa Croce, where he’d brutally claimed victory after victory. Silvio acknowledged his son’s triumphs as a matter of course.
That was what they did for the family.
Nothing else mattered.
Which only soured his mood further when he recalled what theywere doing here. Silvio turned to the human. “Lorenzo is a very busy man,” he said. “To ask for his time in this way, when he has other more important matters on his mind, is the height of selfishness.”
He used a tone that often made grown men squeamish, but not the sculptress. She stared back at him, clear-eyed and poised. It was unnatural for a girl of humble origins to have so much confidence. She even looked the part of a high-born lady, largely thanks to Fortuna’s efforts. Her gown was a rich mulberry trimmed in pearls and shimmering threads that caught the firelight. It was his favorite shade. The color of kings and nobility.
“I’m not asking for his time,” she said, her voice even. “I’m demanding it.”
