She shook her head reluctantly.
She was too tired, and fear of drowning kept her moving forward,rubbing her eyes and yawning hugely as she trudged after her maid. Ombretta darted forward, tail swishing, every now and then looking over her shoulder to Ravenna as if to make sure she was still behind her. Then she stopped, alerted to something, and raced back the way they had come, toward the grotto.
Imelda glanced at Ravenna. “We’ll take a shorter way to your room.”
“There’s ashorterway?” Ravenna asked accusingly, or it would have sounded accusing if she had the energy.
“A passage through the walls,” Imelda said.
Ravenna brightened a fraction. The work had sucked up all of her energy and time, she’d had little left for exploring the palazzo. Imelda gestured for Ravenna to follow after her into the Sala delle Carte Geografiche.The room of many roads, thought Ravenna. And it made her think of Saturnino, and the way a lock of his hair had darkened his brow, and the look on his face when she had told him the color of his eyes.
Stop, Ravenna.
What was thematterwith her?
“Through here,” Imelda said, knocking on the paneled wall. A door swung inward, opening to an ascending spiral staircase. Her maid disappeared as she began the climb and Ravenna scuttled after her, gripping her dress to raise it several inches off the ground. She loved this particular shade of red, which complemented her autumn hair and amber eyes. The pale blue embroidery made Ravenna think of the wildflowers that grew by the locanda. She was loath to ruin it, and she’d tried, she’dreallytried, to keep it pristine, but the leather apron she wore only covered so much.
Her efforts didn’t matter.
The dress had been lost within an hour of her work, caked in dust and sweat.
They continued climbing upward, one step after another. Ravenna wiped her brow, wishing for an icy milk bath. Finally, Imelda reached a wooden door, opened it, and then darted through. Ravenna trudgedafter her, and it took a moment to comprehend the sensation she felt on her face.
Cold, blustery wind.
She blinked as she stepped through the door, flanked by two guttering earthenware bowls filled with oil. A large flame danced across the surface of each. Ahead of her stretched a long parapet walk with another wooden door at the end, flanked by the same lighting. A low wall edged the path, and Ravenna gaped as she followed Imelda across. Overhead, a full moon illuminated their way, accompanied by a million shimmering stars. Ravenna breathed deeply, tasting that crisp apple bite in the air.
Ravenna paused at the center of the parapet walk, admiring the view that stretched in every direction: the Arno River, sleek and silver under the moonbeam; the city of Florence below, the skyline marked by the cathedral, Santa Maria del Fiore. Ravenna itched to visit. Maybe a change of scenery would help unlock an answer to her problem. Maybe—
The door at the opposite end of the walk creaked open.
Ravenna turned her head, frowning slightly, but relaxed when she recognized the man who helped collect the clutter in the dungeon.Pietro, she thought absently. Then her mind sharpened as he approached, his tense expression stern and unforgiving.
“What’s happened?” Ravenna asked, anxious, her mind immediately moving to the virgin stones. Maybe they were still hissing steam, maybe the stone she’d worked on had healed itself entirely. Maybe the guards had passed out from the scalding heat.
At that point, anything was possible. “Is something amiss?”
“Yes,” he said curtly. He kept marching forward, and didn’t stop until he had wrapped his hand around Ravenna’s throat. His fingers were blazing hot, his thumb pressed hard on her pulse.
Ravenna didn’t have time to scream, didn’t have time to utter a sound before he pushed her back against the low wall, until her feet left the ground. Ravenna flung her arms up and reached for him, her hands gripping his long, muscled arm so she didn’t fall. The windtore at her hair, and she gasped, fighting for breath. Pietro gave her a centimeter of margin, allowing her just enough precious air to keep from suffocating. She held on tight to his forearm, relieving some of the pressure.
“We need to ask you a question or two,” Imelda said, drawing forward. Her young, girlish voice had vanished. She stood straight and poised, appearing to have aged by a decade. Ravenna saw an experienced older woman staring back at her with eyes that had seen too much.
Ravenna nodded, frantic, terrified.
“Pietro, bring her forward,” Imelda said softly. “If you scream, my companion here will have no qualms about throwing you over the wall. Do we understand each other?”
Again, Ravenna nodded.
Imelda’s companion inched Ravenna forward until her feet hit the ground. He loosened his hand around her throat, enough for her to inhale deeply. His fingers brushed her throat in a soft caress, and Ravenna flinched.
“Only a warning,” he said languidly. “A reminder that your life is in my hands.”
“Stop playing with her,” Imelda said. She stood behind Pietro’s broad shoulder, peering at Ravenna in concern. “She won’t be of use to us if you hurt her too badly.”
“She’s puttingyouat risk, Imelda.”
Ravenna looked between them, trying to follow along with their exchange over the roar of her beating heart. It thrummed loudly in her ears. “Who are you people?”
