Her breath was locked tight in her chest, her jaw clenched, as she carefully opened the envelope. Like before, a single sheet, folded in half, greeted her in solemn promise.
The words would not be kind, nor were they avoidable.
Deal with it like the others, Ravenna thought, but she sounded bleak, even in her own mind.
She laid the letter flat on the bedding and read the scant few lines.
Signorina Ravenna,
My associates tell me you’ve been uncooperative. I need not remind you of the lethal consequences waiting for you should you fail in your tasks or impede the tasks of others. The Lord does not view disobedience kindly.
I have learned of the banquet the Luni famiglia will be hosting in your honor. Galeazzo Sforza, a man of great importance to me, will be in attendance. You are to establish a connection, lure him away from the palazzo, and bring him to Ponte Vecchio at midnight.
By any means necessary.
Further instructions will follow. Await my courier.
It was signed by Pope Sixtus IV.
Ravenna frowned at the lines, the ink splatter staining the cornerof the page, as if he’d written while in a hurry. Galeazzo Sforza—sheknewthat name. Had heard it from the travelers routinely coming and going at the locanda. Ravenna gleaned information from their stories, tales of their travels, and more importantly, a steady stream of gossip.
Galeazzo Sforza was theDuke of Milan.
Even she knew who he was: a notorious ally of the Medici family.
The Luni famiglia said they were inviting the cream of Florentine society to the banquet, but why invite him? Why have him come all the way from Milan to meet her? It didn’t makesense. Unless… did it have something to do with the Nightflames? It dawned on her then, belatedly, how focused she was on surviving her time in the palazzo, so much so that she hadn’t thought to wonderwhythe Luni famiglia needed the five gemstones in the first place.
Ravenna lay down on the bed, appetite completely gone, her thoughts swimming. Shame coursed through her. Because now she thought of His Holiness, and whyhewanted the stones for himself. And there she was, stuck in the middle with little understanding of the Nightflame, and what it could do, or what that had to do with her, and yet she was being fought over at both ends.
Who could she turn to? Who could she ask?
Ravenna sighed. What she ought to do was sleep—she couldn’t think about her next move if her mind was foggy with exhaustion. But even that eluded her. She tossed and turned, dwelling on Imelda and Pietro: what they were up to, if they knew of this next assignment, and whoelsethey had on their side in the palazzo.
She tried to push the most worrying thing far from her mind, but despite her efforts, a pair of cool and dark murky green eyes captured her imagination. She thought about the soft slide of his mouth against hers and the possessive hold around her waist.
The glimpses of the soul beneath the facade.
Saturnino, Ravenna dreamed.
When Ravenna woke, her neck was damp and her hair stuck to her forehead. She brushed it aside with an impatient hand, fuming. She tore back the covers, planted both feet onto the plush rug, and made a simple vow to herself. She would not allow Saturnino into her head again. All night, he featured in her dreams. Sometimes she was running from him, other times toward him.
He hated her. He wanted her.
He saved her. He threatened her.
Ravenna refused to think of his better qualities, not that he had many. The list was short, and nothing noteworthy. Better to think of him as evil, like the snake who first appeared in the Garden of Eden, eager to tempt and deceive. She pulled her dressing gown around her as Imelda opened the bedroom door, letting herself in.
Her maid strode to the curtains and yanked them open wide. “Sleep well?”
Ravenna eyed her warily. “Is your abominable companion not with you?”
Imelda sniffed, pulling the wardrobe doors open with a dramatic snap of her wrists. A veritable rainbow of lush gowns sparkled from within. “I think you ought to be in red again today. It looks very pretty on you.”
“Stop,” Ravenna said. “Stop with this whole act. There’s no need for all this… this ceremony.”
Imelda held up the red brocade, stitched with gold thread. It swept down her legs, yards of fabric brushing against the floor. “But it’s not an act. You do look lovely in red. Now, come here and let me help you dress. The Luni famiglia likes beautiful things, and you mustn’t look drab, even while working.”
Ravenna endured the long interval of getting dressed and finally opened the door, instinctively looking for Ombretta. She came every morning at the same time, a queen wanting the attentions of a loyal subject, and kept her company for the rest of the day.
