They’d offer shelter, refuge, rest.
Sanctuary.
Tears burned at the back of her eyes as the musician’s song rose higher, louder, sweeping her up, gifting her a profound sense of peace.
“Music has always felt like church to me,” Saturnino said softly. “Beautiful, filled with grace, and truer than the empty prayers offered by men who count coins.”
She turned to him, surprised. She’d forgotten he was there; she’d been so caught up in the song of Florence.
“He’s very talented,” Ravenna commented between delicate bites.
“Malik da Firenze also sings in the choir,” Saturnino said. “He’s preparing to perform in Rome, Avignon, Seville. It’s a greatopportunity for others to hear his work, and perhaps he’ll finally have a wider appreciation and acclaim for his talent.”
Her brow furrowed. “How do you know so much about him?”
“I’m his patron,” he explained.
Her eyebrows rose. “You mean your father is?”
“No, I mean I am.”
“I didn’t realize you had an appreciation of the arts,” she said.
“There are many things you don’t know about me,” he said pointedly. Ravenna supposed that was true. “And to answer your question, we are not rushing back to the palazzo because you’ve made great progress today on one of the stones. There’s time enough for you to enjoy a meal out in the sunshine, not hidden away in the palazzo.”
Again, she had the sense he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. “But that’s not all.”
“No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”
“What else?” she prodded, suspicious.
He glanced away from her, his attention returning to the musician. A reluctant smile edged the corner of his mouth. When he looked at her again, his expression had softened. “I’ve always appreciated artists for their vision and creativity. When you were working on the stone, I wondered what you’d have made of it if it hadn’t contained the Nightflame. How you would choose the subject, where you might draw your inspiration from.” He shrugged, his manner a little abashed. “You’ve drawn my eye, Ravenna.”
There were many things he could have said, and in truth, Ravenna had expected another veiled threat, or a request made innocently but premeditatedly. She had even braced herself for one of his chess moves, an attempt to put her on her guard or back her into a corner. But of everything he could have said, he’d chosen the one thing that made her walls crack. It was rare for Ravenna to speak of sculpting, or the imagination that sparked whenever she looked at a block of stone.
“This isn’t a scheme,” Saturnino said quietly. “My questions are genuine.”
She didn’t believe him; sherefusedto, but still, she hesitated.
Because there was an annoying part of her thatwantedto believe him.
There was a reason why she spoke of sculpting so little. Her parents were overworked, and often tired, sinking into their beds at night exhausted. Her siblings were young and had their own interests. The only people she’d had to confide in were Maria, who now had a young child to look after and an endless amount of work to make ends meet, and Antonio, who had been changed by the war. He didn’t have the patience to talk about art or go with her to buy blocks of stone.
So she had stopped sharing a piece of her heart with him.
To do so again now felt daunting—especially with Saturnino.
“I don’t know what I would carve from the stone,” Ravenna began slowly, her thoughts still in turmoil. “It’s so clearly meant to protect the Nightflame, everything else feels or seems absurd.”
“Then say it was not that particular block of stone. What would you do?”
Ravenna turned wistful. “Every block of stone has this quality to it, a soul of its own, a heart trapped at its center. Sometimes I can tell what it is just by looking at it, from the veining or the way the edges might curve. Sometimes, the discovery of what that stone is might take me hours with a sketch pad until it finally reveals its secret. Every project is different, every block of stone has its own tale. My job is to listen.”
“And what about my last question?”
She smiled slightly, then gently poked Saturnino’s chest. “You know what catches my eye. You know what inspires me.”
The soft laugh he made reminded Ravenna of raw stone, scraping and rough. It was deep, even as his eyes remained serious. “Do I?”
