I looked up at the ceiling again and then with a groan, rose, so I could face him, and keep an eye on Fortino, too. “It’s like…what do you want most when you are as tired as you could be?”
“My bed.”
I nodded. “And what do you want most when you are super hungry?”
“Food. Any food. The fastest food possible.”
“More than that,” I pressed, wanting him to see that I was after something different. “Think of Survivor. All those endless days of rice. What do they want most?”
“To win the feast challenge.”
“Right,” I said. “Steaks, hamburgers, icy drinks, fruit, vegetables.” I reached through the bars and opened and closed my fists, figuring out how to translate what I was feeling. “I think I was kind of asleep for a while, coasting through life. Eating an all-rice diet. Having enough food, but not food. Do you know what I mean? This, this”—I sadly glanced down at Fortino, who was breathing so shallowly I could barely see his chest rise and fall—“life here, is full, even if there’s grief. There’s joy, too, in the midst of it. It’s life like I’ve never experienced before. It’s like I only was experiencing it at twenty percent, and now I’m at a hundred.” I looked over to Dad. “Does that make sense?”
He stared back at me. “I understand.” He paused. “Your mother’s right.”
“About what?”
“You’ve grown up. Become a woman. Thinking adult thoughts.”
I returned his tender smile.
“Gabi, I’m sorry that we haven’t been around much in these last years, I mean, before I…”
Before you died. I nodded.
“We were so wrapped up in our work, and once you girls became so good at taking care of yourselves…”
I shook my head and moved away, turning my back to him. “Dad, can we have this talk later?” I asked, lifting a hand. I couldn’t really deal with it right then. Not on top of everything with Fortino. If he kept talking, I knew I’d be weeping, wanting nothing but a hug from him that I couldn’t get.
“Sure,” he said quietly. “I just want you to know, regardless of what comes, that I’m proud of you. And I love you, Gabriella.”
I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak. The knot in my throat was already the size of an orange.
“I trust you,” he said. “To make the best decision you can.”
That really got me. Dad always talked about making the best decision you could at the time and not beating yourself up about it later. It was part of his it is what it is mantra. Him telling me he trusted me to do that, now, when he knew the decisions ahead of me…well, I was both touched and totally irritated.
The irritation won out, and I returned to the bars nearest him. “But Dad…I need you to tell me what to do here. If things”—I paused and eyed the guards and the priest, who was still nodding and muttering in prayer—“don’t go as planned. What am I to do? Marry a man I don’t love? Or spend the rest of my life in a prison like this?”
His look hardened. “We will see you freed, Gabi. From what I already know of Marcello, he will not rest until that is accomplished. And I will be with him.”
“As long as he lives—and you live. You died on me once before…”
“Hey now, quit the negative talk, Gabriella. At the ready!”
I automatically took half a step, as was our routine when sparring, and then smiled. He wanted me to prepare within. For what was coming our way. He smiled back at me.
“Yes!” Fortino said.
We both looked at him in surprise, and I hurried to the corner and kneeled again. “Fortino?”
“Gabriella, do you see them?” he asked in wonder, his speech forceful and lucid, his eye wide and staring upward.
I looked too, searching the stones above him. But saw nothing but moss and a big, fat spider.
“Do you hear them? The singing. Oh, such a song I’ve never heard. They’re beautiful, Gabriella. Beautiful,” he said, practically groaning in his wonder.
I was crying again, finally realizing that he was seeing what I could not.
“Le porte sono aperte,” the priest said, kneeling by Fortino’s head again. The gates are opened. I’d kinda forgotten the holy man was even there.
“Tell me, Fortino,” I said. “What is it that you see?”
“Do not ask it,” admonished the priest. “God will show you, too, when it is your—”
“Angels,” Fortino said, as if he heard no one but me. “Gabriella, are they not the most wondrous creatures you’ve ever seen? Their wings…their wings…”
He reached out and moved his fingers as if he were stroking the edge of something. His face was alight. Glowing.
That was the only way I could describe it. Total and complete glory in every inch of his body, as if he was being lifted to heaven right before my very eyes. As if he was already a part of it.
The room felt electric. Every hair on my body was standing up. I felt flushed, hot, weirdly filled, while at the same time surrounded, warmed.
And at the same time I could feel the chill of Fortino’s withdrawal. “Fortino,” I said, choking on my tears. “Not yet.”
But he didn’t answer. Only smiled, his one eye filled with a vision I could not see, only felt.
I wept. Because it was the end.
Because Marcello wasn’t here to see it.
Because Fortino was experiencing something so enticing and perfect and I felt a part of it, and yet, not.
And then he took a breath.
His last one.
Chapter Nine
The guards came and collected his body and departed, the priest following behind. I cried and paced, long after he was gone, unable to stay still. I got lost in plans to go to the Etruscan tomb with Lia and Mom and Dad and return earlier than before, to save Fortino. To wade into battle, help prevent Fortino’s capture, to regain Castello Forelli, to spare Marcello my long absence. But in cascading back and forth like a ping-pong ball between paddles of time, would we get lost somewhere in between? Would our luck truly hold?
And what had we just witnessed? Had there truly been angels in the cell with Fortino? Could he see them because he had some sort of inside track? Because of the priest’s prayers? Or had he just been hallucinating, his body giving out? But his eyes had been so different, his face glowing so much that it had practically lit the room…
Dad stared over at me. “I wonder…when I died…I wonder if I saw anything like that.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know. But doesn’t everyone? You know, ‘go to the light’ and all?”
“Maybe,” he said distractedly. “Maybe.”
I kept pacing while Dad settled down and after a while snored softly in the corner of his cell. Really, Dad? Really? Who could sleep at a time like this? Didn’t he know that Fortino’s death had most likely unlocked some freaky gears of change? Was the deal off the table, as Marcello said? Or would the Sansicinians release Dad and send me off with Greco, like Ascoli said? Why wasn’t anyone coming?
I clasped the rough bars and leaned my forehead against them, welcoming the shock of their frigid temperatures as if the cold might numb and slow my crazy, rambling thoughts. The rhythmic sound of Dad’s gentle snore comforted me after a while—he was here, with me; I wasn’t alone—and it made me realize how tired I was too. I finally gave in and sank down into the far corner of the cell, pulling my knees close to my chest in an effort to keep warm and leaning my head against the rough stones of the wall. I was so tired of trying to figure out what came next, of trying to rethink and outwit the past. So weary after all the tears I’d cried over Fortino.
Sleep, Gabi. Sleep, sleep, sleep—
What felt like seconds later, rough hands awakened me, pulling me to my feet and then lifting me. But judging from my stiffness, it had been hours. A hand clasped over my mouth, muffling my scream.
Dad heard my cries anyway. “Gabi? Gabi! Gabriella!” he cried. “Stop! You have no claim upon her! With Fortino gone
, there is no trade to be made!” But the men carried me upstairs with as much care as they would take with a sack of potatoes. In a small room they set me upright.
Lord Ascoli was there, as were Greco and Barbato.
Paratore hovered in the corner, smirking. “With Fortino’s demise your time in Sansicino has ended. Have you decided, m’lady? Will it be Lord Greco or Firenze’s dungeons that you shall brave?” He hid a smile behind his hand.
“My father was right. Fortino is dead. You must now release me! There is no more negotiation.”
“That, my dear, is not an option,” Barbato said. “Firenze needs her prize. And we aim to give it to her, regardless of our lack of agreement with your Sienese lord.”
“I am far more than a pawn in your game,” I grit out, throwing back my shoulders and lifting my chin. “Cross me, cross Marcello now, and you shall live to regret it.”
“Come now. It is hardly a harsh sentence to marry Lord Greco,” said Lord Barbato, appraising Rodolfo. “You may protest as much as you wish in order to preserve your honor, but I imagine you will soon succumb to his charms, just as so many of our eligible daughters have at home.”
“Then he can marry one of them,” I spat, staring at Rodolfo, trying to get a read on him. What was he thinking? Was this all an elaborate setup to help me escape?
“As Rodolfo suggested,” Lord Barbato went on, “it would be a first step toward meaningful peace between our provinces. Your ‘sacrifice’ would benefit many.”
“There shall be no peace. Lord Marcello will lead the Sienese in an attack.”
“I think not. Marcello knows that as soon as the first arrow flies, your neck shall be cut.”
I stared back into his small eyes. “And if I choose the dungeon?”
“A most enticing idea,” Paratore put in. “I know the perfect one.”
Barbato paused and considered me. “You do not wish to take that route, m’lady. Many more of your beloved Sienese shall die. You know as well as we do that they would undoubtedly fight, and die for, their She-Wolf.”
“As would a great number of Fiorentini,” I said tiredly. Death, so much death. I’d just told my dad it made me hunger for life. And at this point I was starving for life. Fortino’s face had been so full of it, right before he died. It was time for life, love, peace. I ached for it.
I shook my head. Whatever. I just wanted to move. Escape this sense of claustrophobia. Be on my way…somewhere. Outta here. Perhaps on the road, out of this hilltop fortress, Marcello and his men could rescue me. Or I might find my opening to escape—I still had the dagger. I stilled and looked at Lord Ascoli. “What of Marcello and his men, my parents, my sister?”
“The Fiorentini will depart now, with you as their promised prize. In an hour I shall release the Sienese, who have been divided and are held in various parts of the city. Lord Fortino’s body”—he paused to make the sign of the cross from forehead to chest and across, as did the others—“is already in the finest casket our woodworkers make.” He said it like he was the big man, generous and all.
Wow. Can you be any more proud of yourself? I fought the urge to roll my eyes and closed them instead, as if the mention of Fortino’s name brought me to tears again. Think, Gabi. Think!
“In addition, Lord Forelli shall receive his castello back, a most dear concession on behalf of Firenze,” Barbato said. “Even though he declared otherwise, we know it shall help assuage his angst over losing you.”
I couldn’t help myself; I smiled inwardly at the thought of Marcello back where he belonged. Home. And out of the creepy palazzo where none of us could escape the memories of the Rossis, no matter how many layers of whitewash they put on the plaster.
Once he and his men had control of the castello again, it’d be hard to roust them from it. It was a serious win for Siena, even if Marcello had denied it. He wanted it; he just didn’t want the Fiorentini to know how dearly he wanted it. Not that he’d ever trade it for me—I knew that. But if I could win it for him as part of this crazy gamble…
“I think you shall find life at my side not entirely disagreeable,” Rodolfo said gently. His eyes totally said trust me. I wanted to, but I remembered that I didn’t like him much when he was playing Captain Firenze. I only really liked him when he was playing Covert Friend. Was that what he was doing now?
“M’lady,” he said, reaching out his hand and falling to one knee. “Upon my life, you shall be safe with me. You would do me and Firenze a great honor in becoming my bride.”
And if Marcello trusted him…
And if I was to escape, these dudes had to let their guard down…
Slowly I reached out my hand to place it in his. “I accept, on behalf of all the women who will not have to bury a husband, a son, a friend, be they citizens of Firenze or Siena.”
Not that I was really going to do it. You know, marry him. But Lord Ascoli clapped excitedly, and Lord Barbato smiled broadly. Paratore, of course, continued to grumble. He was probably ticked I hadn’t chosen the whole Dungeon Doorway.
Rodolfo did not let my eyes go as he rose and covered my hand with his other. “Stay at my side, and I shall see no harm comes to you,” he said, looking down at me tenderly.
I slipped my hand from his and shifted, overcome by the sense of betrayal I was feeling. Hadn’t Marcello asked the very same of me just the day before? But what could I do? I could arrive in Firenze in chains again, dragged behind a horse—yeah, been there, done that—or I could arrive atop one. It would be far easier for me to make a break for it if they didn’t think I was going to try. And if I wasn’t exhausted. Marcello would understand. I had to play the part. If I was to survive.
Because the last thing I wanted was to end up in that stupid birdcage again.
They hustled me out to the courtyard, where the Fiorentini were already mounted and ready. The knights grinned when they saw me on Lord Greco’s arm, but they all kept silent. Wherever they were keeping the Sienese men at bay, they apparently didn’t wish to make them aware of their victory in claiming me. At least not until we had gained enough ground between us. Then, I was sure, the taunting would begin.
Rodolfo swept my wool cape around my shoulders, fastening it under my chin as if he were already the attentive husband. Then he led me to a beautiful white mare outfitted with one of those aggravating sidesaddles. They made riding twice as hard—and it was nearly impossible to hold my own reins. Which was by design, of course. Keep the She-Wolf on her leash and all.
He bent and took hold of my waist in his hands and lifted me up to it, then settled my slippered feet into the stirrups. All the while, he cast me small, lingering glances with his gorgeous, smoky-hot eyes, making me shift in the saddle, feeling uncomfortably warm. What was that about? Was he playing the role of entranced fiancé? I didn’t know; I just knew that it was making me feel some kind of uncomfortable. And disgusted with myself for kind of liking it.
He took hold of the edge of my skirt and settled it to the side, totally covering my feet again, and a few men near us chuckled, as if he’d looked up my skirt instead. Oh brother, I thought. Stupid boys were stupid boys, no matter the era.
They quieted when Lord Greco frowned in their direction, and it was my turn to smile. He mounted his gray gelding beside me, and we all headed out, two by two, down the street and out the open gates, then across the long, descending bridge.
Beneath fading stars I could see the very beginning of the sunrise, the color of a dark, red rose. My breath clouded before my face. “It is beautiful, is it not?” I murmured, using the excuse of looking to the east as my chance to scan for any sign of Marcello’s men. Could they see me, in the faint light of day? Know I needed help?
“You enjoy sunrises, m’lady? Or the color of roses?”
I stole a glance at him, surprised that he had come to the same conclusion on the color. But Rodolfo had that habit—surprising me, as if he had some sort of inner knowledge of my thoughts.
“Both,” I said with a smal
l smile that I thought would appear flirty. The guys behind me would eat that up. Talk about it around the campfire that night. Spread the rumor when we reached Firenze. That there really was something between us besides politics. And maybe, just maybe, that would help me stay alive to better pick my opportunity to escape—when it didn’t require a dip in the icy Arno River and dodging arrows, etc. That, I could do without. And the cage. There was a lot in Firenze, when I thought about it, that I could add to my Most Dreaded List.
“As my bride, m’lady,” he said, reaching out a hand, “I shall fill your rooms with roses and kiss you awake at sunrise.”
I was glad it was still pretty dark as a burning blush climbed my neck. Did he know I was only pretending to go for this? And his words were a little…forward, right? Whether we were engaged or not? Well, maybe if they had come from Marcello, I would feel differently…
He lifted his hand again, waiting, and I saw it then. A tiny piece of parchment, peeking between his fingers.
I took his warm hand and looked into his eyes. “I shall look forward to it, m’lord,” I said. Now that, I thought, will give the boys something to talk about.
Slowly I slid my hand from his, and with it, the piece of parchment. For the first time, I was glad I wasn’t holding the reins, which were tied to Lord Greco’s.
I was dying to read the note, but first, there wasn’t enough light, and second, the dudes behind me would totally see. I had to wait. Forced myself to wait. My palm grew sweaty waiting as we finally finished crossing the bridge and started down the western road. But when we were deep into the eastern woods of the Chianti region and reached the first crossroads that would lead north to Firenze, the men pulled up and circled.
Paratore was departing, speaking in low tones with Lords Barbato and Greco. With one last sneer in my direction, he wheeled his horse around and headed east, with two men on either side of him. Back home. To Castello Paratore, most likely. Perhaps to be ready as Marcello neared.
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