But when his gaze lifted, he stared at her, clear-eyed and emotionless.
“Tell me what happened,” he whispered, his voice like the brushing of silk against her skin.
Quiet tension swirled around them. They were cut off from the rest of the palazzo. Alone in the dark, with only a pair of guttering torches illuminating the rippling water, the craggy walls. A prickle of awareness crept over her. Her gaze flicked to his pile of clothes, to the sword close by, within reach. This man took a weapon with him while bathing.
The strategist, prepared for anything. A rescue in the middle of the street. An unlikely bargain made under the cover of darkness. An interrogation in a grotto. But there was a peculiar note in his manner, in his tone, that arrested her. Was it possible… was heangrysomeone had endangered her life?
“Ravenna,” he said warningly. The sculpted lines of his face sharpened. “I want to know what happened.”
She bit her lip, considering the best way forward. “My meeting with Lorenzo de’ Medici was not received well.”
“Bywhom?”
“I can’t tell you that.” She set her jaw. “Iwon’ttell you that.”
His jaw tightened, a flicker of incredulity crossing his features, as if he were struggling to accept her stubbornness. But every time Ravenna held her ground, it gave her the strength to keep going.
She had done it before, she could do it again.
“It’s self-preservation,” she explained. “I don’t want to lie, but if you could see the look on your face, I think you’d understand why I’m tempted to.” Ravenna smiled faintly. “How’s that for reckless honesty?”
The slightest note of amusement tiptoed across his face before he smothered it. Ravenna was riveted by the hint of humanity that slipped out of him.
But again his formidable self-control took over.
“You owe me information,” he said, in a tone that reminded her that he wasn’t a friend or an ally in this game. That he wouldnevertrust her.
Saturnino drew closer.
His black hair was slicked away from his brow, curving aroundhis head to kiss his collarbones. An angry scar ran from the top of his shoulder down to his left breast, ending above his heart. Her gaze dropped lower, and with a start, Ravenna realized he was naked, his pale frame a blur under the rippling water. She wrenched her gaze back to the puckered scar as heat spread through her, filling her belly, spreading over the bridge of her nose, her cheeks.
He looked at her knowingly, his brows rising slightly, as if her reaction to his body didn’t surprise him. But the scars mapping his body were unexpected, and Ravenna couldn’t look away from them. They spoke of pain and a surprising fragility. It was a side of him she had never seen, had never expected to exist.
Saturnino used his index finger to lightly tap against his chest. “Jousting tournament.”
“How can you participate in jousting tournaments?” Ravenna asked, incredulous. “That hardly seems fair.”
“I can be struck down. Clearly.” He flicked water at her, and she let out a startled laugh. Saturnino softened, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “And just because I’m immortal, it doesn’t mean I excel at everything.”
She eyed him skeptically. “You don’t excel at jousting?”
“Ravenna,” he said, smiling evilly. “I’m terrifying with a lance.”
Her gaze dropped down to his scar again. “Looks painful,” she said. “Though I would have…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish her thought.
“What?”
“It’s just…” She gestured with her hand toward the imperfections crisscrossing his lithe, muscled body. “In all the stories I was told as a girl, immortal creatures healed quickly, leaving no trace of the wound.” She glanced away, uneasy. Talking about his immortality discomfited her. She didn’t like being at a disadvantage.
“They do.”
Ravenna looked back at him, raised her brows. She indicated another puckered scar. “Then?”
“That was an assassination attempt.”
It didn’t exactly answer her question. “But you’re immortal.”
His smile was lazy. “That doesn’t stop them from trying, the fools.”
