The courier’s lips thinned. It must have been his favorite expression. Disdain laced with impatience. “He’s launching a war against the Medici, surely even you have noticed.”
She thought of her conversation with Saturnino in the mercato. He’d spoken passionately of a city flourishing side by side with magic and faith and art. A trinity the pope would never let stand.
“Yes,” Ravenna said. “But it’s not likeHis Holinesscan handle the Nightflames himself—” She broke off abruptly. “He can’t mean that I have something to do with his plot? With his war?” Ravenna placed both her hands on the table, her eyes widening. “Whatmorewill he ask of me?”
“He will use every tool within reach, Ravenna.” He paused. “Even me.”
She stared at him. His rugged appearance highlighted his innocuous employment. A road-weary wizard carting messages back and forth, one who slept little, who clearly kept to himself. His voice sounded gruff. From disuse, probably.
But was thatallhe was?
Perhaps not.
After all, she wasn’tjusta sculptress.
“What is His Holiness planning?” Ravenna asked. “What will he have you do?”
“That is information you don’t need right now,” he said. “But His Holiness does want you to know one thing.”
Ravenna stilled, dreading what he would say. “What is it?”
His tone was curiously flat, devoid of any emotion, to say nothing of his expression. It held no emotion at all, save for the subtle tightening of his eyes. “If you complete this task, the pope will grant you absolution for your soul, despite your heritage.”
All the air went out of her; she felt weightless, as if she’d been thrown off a horse. Ravenna gripped the ends of the table, her knuckles white. She forced a word out through bloodless lips. “Absolution.”
The courier nodded, grim. “The pope’s forgiveness is your protection.”
She couldn’t speak. She hardly dared to hope.Did that mean…?
The courier continued, answering the question written across her face. “You will never need to fear the stake.”
Ravenna crumpled against her seat, boneless. It was one of herworstfears, being set on fire, the flames consuming her in one slow burn. She wanted to be spared from such a fate. But there was no way she could complete that task. Not with Saturnino spying on her. Not with Imelda hovering over her shoulder. Ravenna’s throat no longer worked. A sharp ache left it dry and useless.
But she managed a single nod.
“Good.” He stood, pulling his hood back over his head. “Wait ten minutes before leaving the tavern. Make sure you’re not followed back to the palazzo. I’ll be in touch with your next assignment.” He turned to leave, but then paused. There was a slight pitying note in his expression, in the loosening of his jaw, the uncoiling of his hands. “It will get much worse, Ravenna, before it gets better.Ifit gets better at all. Do what you’re told. It’s your only hope of living through this ordeal.”
She blinked, her lips parting.
The courier vanished before she could say a word.
Capitolo Diciannove
Ravenna retraced her steps. The streets were deceptively empty, but faint murmurings of conversation drifted down to her from the wrought iron balconies above the shops and taverns she passed by. The distant sound of horses clip-clopping against the cobbled stone further disturbed the still night. She quickened her stride, eager to return to the safety of the palazzo.
A humorless chuckle worked itself up her throat.
She wasn’t safe at the palazzo. She wasn’t safeanywhere.
A black cat streaked across the street, and Ravenna’s pace faltered.
Two figures emerged at the end of the cobbled path, their boots scraping against stone. Their eyes fixed on her, and, as one, they pivoted, veering toward her. Ravenna gripped the walking stick, taking note of her surroundings. She had an innate sense of direction; she was only minutes away from the palazzo.
If she ran, she might make it. But they clearly sensed her intent because they split and flanked her on both sides. Ravenna gritted her teeth against the panic clawing at her. The magic within her stirred, a low, terrifying hum that began to vibrate through her bones. She gripped the walking stick, angling it upward.
She didn’twantto hurt anyone, but she would as the absolute last resort. With or without her magic.
“Cosa abbiamo qui?” one of them remarked.
