There came a soft chuckle from behind him, and Silvio turned to find Lorenzo striding toward them, surrounded by his advisors. He assessed the politician slowly, taking note of the chain mail peeking out from underneath his long tunic. Lorenzo never went anywhere without protection: chain mail, his mercenary soldiers, and a weapon strapped to his side.
“So this is the famous sculptress,” he said, his dark eyes flickering over her.
“Mio amico,” Silvio said. “May I present to you our newest artist in residence, Ravenna Maffei, a talented sculptress who is tackling a great and noble work in our palazzo.”
“All art is noble work.” Signor Medici smiled at her appreciatively. “You’ve come a long way. I welcome you to our lovely Florence.”
“How kind of you,” Ravenna said. Her expression was neutral, but Silvio detected the icy note in her tone. He gave her a warning look, but she ignored it. Then he gave Saturnino the same look, his eyes narrowing into slits.Keep her in line.
His son merely smiled.
Silvio turned to Lorenzo, seeking to explain her bad behavior. “She is originally from Volterra.”
Understanding lit across Lorenzo’s face. “Ah, that tells me everything. Well, let us have our meeting.”
Silvio and Ravenna followed the politician into his office, but Saturnino lingered at the doorway. His attention flickered over the crowd and, seemingly satisfied with his assessment, closed the door behind him. Silvio nodded at him in approval, always watchful was Saturnino. He supposed it came from a well of deep distrust for humans.
Well, whatever got the job done.
A sturdy desk occupied the center of the room, and it was laden with letters and pots of ink and scores of charcoal drawings. The walls bore tapestries bearing heavenly motifs, and under their feet, a handsome rug softened the sounds of their footsteps. A crackling fire roared in the fireplace, and standing before it was a young man with a handsome face, dark eyes peering at them curiously.
Silvio glanced at Lorenzo, brows rising. He didn’t think it wise for Leonardo to linger in the room; for some reason the idea of the two artists meeting made him uneasy. Artists were a strange sort, with inconvenient, progressive ideas that didn’t serve the republic.Hisrepublic.
“Allow me to introduce you to Leonardo da Vinci,” Lorenzo said. “He is another talented artist who is working on a special project for me in Milan. I had a meeting scheduled with him, but he’s gracious enough to wait a few minutes while I speak with Signorina Ravenna.”
“Are you a sculptor?” Ravenna asked.
“Among many things.” Leonardo’s lips twitched. “What gave me away?”
She gestured to the sleeves of his dark tunic. They were speckled in white dust. “I always look like I’ve walked through a blizzard.”
He gave her a small smile. “You are a sculptor as well?”
Ravenna inclined her head. She was more courteous to the artist than to him, Silvio observed, quietly seething. The sculptress drifted toward the desk, brow furrowing, and peered at the charcoal drawings. Her finger dropped to the corner of the parchment. Leonardo stepped forward, but Lorenzo arrived first, reaching across her to roll up the drawings.
“These aren’t fit to be seen yet,” Lorenzo said, his tone carefully rueful and apologetic. “I meant to throw them out earlier.”
But the sculptress wasn’t fooled. Her furrowed brow deepened, attention locked on the roll of parchment.
Mercifully, Leonardo intervened. “I’d love to see your work,” he said. “Where might I have the honor of seeing it?”
Ravenna tore her gaze from the drawings. “I don’t have—”
“Signorina Ravenna,” Silvio cut in, impatient. He knew exactly the purpose behind Lorenzo’s meeting with the young artist from Milan. She was wasting time,everyone’stime. “Signor Medici is a very busy man. Say what you came here to say.”
She flushed at his tone but nodded and straightened her shoulders to face Lorenzo de’ Medici. The sculptress kept her hands loose at her sides, but the line of her jaw held a stubborn, intractable line. He was coming to hate its sharpness. “Signore, I am here to work for the Luni famiglia, known friends and allies to you. But I am originally from Volterra, as you have just recently learned, a city left in ruin by your leadership.”
Silvio was already reaching for her. “Ravenna.”
Saturnino shifted his stance, his body now angled in front of the sculptress. His son glared at him, warningly.
Silvio threw him a disbelieving look.
Signor Medici held up his hand, forcing him to still. “Let her continue.”
“Since the battle, there have been countless arrests and executions, and my friends and neighbors have had their property confiscated,” Ravenna said in a clear voice. “I would ask for restitution, signore. Please cease the arrests, restore property to its rightful owners, issue no more demands for executions, and, I beg of you, lift the curfew that keeps the people of Volterra trapped in their own homes.”
Ravenna held her breath and waited for his reply. Silvio gaped at the sculptress in open astonishment. The nerve of that girl, to demand such a thing of a man so above her station. Anger raced in his veins, making his face flush with a hint of his bluish-gray blood.
