“There is no place I’d rather be.”
Okay, so if it was a movie and my sister and I were watching it, we might have burst out laughing. Totally corny. But I swear, when you’re in love, you enter this state where such things sound exactly right. So right, they make you want to weep. Just looking at him, knowing how much I loved him and how much he loved me, made me want to cry.
But even I dimly recognized my love-fest was getting ridiculous. Not that I could help myself. I only wanted more of it. I found myself praying for one more month, one more week, one more day with Marcello.
Don’t let us die today, God. Let us wake tomorrow—both of us. Together.
The guards watched our approach. “State your name and business,” shouted one.
I almost laughed out loud. Dude. Like you don’t know who we are. The town isn’t that big…and this has to be all that your people have been talking about for days.
“I am Lord Marcello Forelli,” my man managed to respond with nothing but a tone of respect. “We are here to meet with the delegates from Firenze, as was arranged.”
The guard looked over the rest of us, his eyes lingering over Lia and me. Then he turned and shouted to someone below him to open the gates. The gates creaked open, inch by inch.
And we moved in.
When the last of our group was in, we were immediately surrounded, with four men to every one of ours.
We looked around in stunned amazement. When the Sansicinians had demanded we limit our numbers, we didn’t expect an attack. In all negotiations between the Fiorentini and Sienese, Marcello had never seen anything like it—I could tell by the surprise on his face.
I couldn’t bear to look back at Mom and Dad. They were probably freaking. I was freaking.
“Lord Forelli,” said a short nobleman with a pointed beard. “I am Lord Ascoli.” He edged past the front group of soldiers, choosing to stay seated on his horse rather than look up at Marcello. Short-man syndrome, I decided. “Forgive the uncommon welcome, but we have greeted our Fiorentini friends in equal manner. So that this process might go as peaceably as possible, I ask that you and your men relinquish your weapons.”
The muscles in Marcello’s cheek tensed, and he paused before responding. “As a defender of this city, surely you recognize that it is unwise for a knight to ever relinquish his sword, especially when he is about to encounter his enemy.”
Lord Ascoli gave him a small smile, and his narrow eyes flicked over to me and Lia. “It has not escaped us that this coming trade requires certain precautions. After all, you once went to great lengths to free your lady from Firenze. You only just now welcomed her back to Siena after a significant time apart. Even with a great love for your brother, what one feels for a woman…” He admired me openly then, and I struggled to remain still. His eyes returned to Marcello. “As administrator of this exchange, I must ensure that both parties do as they have promised. Please hand over your weapons. They shall be returned to you when you depart.”
“How do I know that the Fiorentini have been treated in the same manner?” Marcello bit out. “After all, you allowed them passage through your territory during the last battle. You may very well be siding with them and only feigning your neutral stance as mediator.”
Lord Ascoli’s mouth twitched, and then he turned aside and lifted his arm. “Please join us in the piazza.”
We resumed our march inward, and I cast a worried glance back to Lia and my parents. If our men were forced to give up their weapons, would our plan work at all? How would we fight our way to the walls? As the gates shut behind us, I couldn’t fight the sinking feeling that we had entered a trap that would be far more difficult to escape than we imagined.
I knew that our men would sneak closer to the cliffs at the base of the town come nightfall, but they could not breach the gates, storm the town. We had to go to them, over the wall, in order to find freedom.
The town was designed like most of the other Tuscan hill towns I’d been in. Narrow cobblestone streets, tiny limestone houses that were two or three stories high on either side. Red-tile roofs. Not the orderly, machine-processed kind of tile that we had back in Colorado or California, but hand-pressed, sun-dried tiles that varied in hue from brick to burnt orange. I looked across those tiles to my right, noting how the streets descended beneath us in three rows before hitting the cliff wall. Atop that wall were soldiers, patrolling, prepared.
We had expected to encounter them. But this, before the negotiations even began…I looked to Marcello, and with one glance, I knew he shared my concern.
The road ended at a town square—small compared to Siena’s and Firenze’s—a rectangular piazza with a church on one side, a small public building on the other, and four palazzos forming the other edges.
About twenty knights warily rose as one from the steps of the church, where they were surrounded by a hundred of Sansicino’s men. Among them was Lord Greco. Not one of them wore a sword at his belt.
“So you see, m’lord,” said Ascoli, pulling to a stop, “the men of Firenze have indeed been asked to do the same as we have asked of you. We are determined to see this through as we promised. As a point of honor, please do as has been requested of you.”
Marcello’s jaw clenched, and then he gave Lord Ascoli a hard stare. “Where is my brother? The Fiorentini have seen that we have the Ladies Betarrini. But I have yet to see that they have Lord Fortino among them.”
“Relinquish your swords, and we shall take you to him.”
“You shall bring him out here,” Marcello ground out, “or we shall assume this is a trap and draw our swords against you.”
Lord Ascoli raised one brow. “Your brother is in poor condition. Moving him might prove perilous.”
“From what I understand, my brother might not survive the night. I will not condemn these women and my men without even knowing if he is truly here.”
Lord Ascoli gave him a cold stare, and then he turned to lift his chin to two guards. They immediately jogged across the piazza to the public building, which was heavily guarded, and disappeared through the door. Our horses shifted beneath us, agitated by the tension they sensed among us. No one exchanged a word. I noticed, for the first time, that townspeople lined the square in pockets, observing, pointing, whispering.
After several long minutes the knights emerged with two others, each carrying the corners of a blanket with a heavy form inside. They paused beneath the building’s portico.
“Send one over to confirm it is Lord Fortino, and that he yet lives,” said Ascoli. “But the rest of you shall remain here.”
“I will go,” said my mother.
Marcello glanced at her in surprise and then nodded, seeing she was already untying the basket of medical supplies from her saddle.
Dad dismounted and helped Mom down from her horse. She gave Dad a small smile of encouragement and then strode across the piazza like she owned it, well aware that every eye was on her. She knelt beside the man on the blanket, her skirts billowing up beneath her. I could see that she was checking his pulse. She leaned down as if she was trying to hear what he was saying. Then she looked over her shoulder and nodded at Marcello.
It was him. Fortino was here. And alive.
“Call her back,” Lord Ascoli said.
“Allow her to stay and do what she can for him,” Marcello returned. “If he dies, this deal is void.”
“Very well,” the small man said, waving his hand dismissively. “Now relinquish your weapons, and we shall make the exchange. You can leave our town before nightfall and reach Siena tomorrow.”
“I wish to discuss other options.”
“That does not surprise me,” Lord Ascoli said. “But be warned that there is little that you can offer that shall dissuade our friends of Firenze from their mission.”
“There is a great deal for them to consider,” Marcello insisted. “And we would be most grateful to you, our mediator, to see it through. Your work will be well rewarded.”
Yeah, buddy. Money talks, doesn’t it?
“Agreed,” Marcello said.
But our host did not move. “M’lord,” Ascoli said, like a tired parent to a child trying to get away with something. “We shall take your weapons now.”
Marcello grimaced. Maybe he’d hoped they’d forgotten that particular demand. After a moment of hesitation, he gently slid his sword from its saddle scabbard and reluctantly handed it to the closest knight. He nodded over his shoulder, instructing the men to do the same.
Lia and I remained still, hoping they’d forget that we were likely armed beneath our oilskin capes, but Lord Greco spoke up. “Do not forget the Ladies Betarrini. They might prove to be the most perilous opponents of all.”
The Fiorentini laughed, and I sighed. So much for that idea…
They took my sword but either didn’t think to look or didn’t dare to search for the dagger strapped to my calf. They searched the men, but after I gave them my sword and Lia gave them her bow and arrows, they seemed to be satisfied. Marcello noticed it too and wiped away his smile as if he were merely rubbing his face in agitation.
“Dismount, friends,” Lord Ascoli said. “My men shall see that your horses are watered and given a bucket of oats.”
The men followed Marcello’s lead and handed over their reins to the Sansicinians. Marcello and Luca helped Lia and me dismount. “Stay close,” Marcello said, offering his arm.
“Always and forever,” I returned.
We entered the public building and then walked down a long hall to the far side. There, two massive doors opened up into a white-walled room decorated with frescoes of battle scenes and religious occasions—pretty much what you saw in every town with any kind of money at their disposal. Dad was immediately drawn to the frescoes, but I saw Mom was still with Fortino to the right of the door. I hurried over to them as the men moved to banquet tables full of fruit, meat, cheese, and bread. Servants poured goblets of watered wine.
Marcello followed me to his brother and paused when a young, portly priest, dressed in the traditional brown robe and belt, nodded and took a step backward. I looked at him. Why did Marcello pause? Did he know the priest?
But he was already kneeling, across from my mother. I took to my knees beside him, forcing myself to look at Fortino. Fortino’s head was wrapped in bandages, which covered his missing eye. He was terribly gaunt again—had they starved him?—and his skin was the same color it had been when we almost lost him before, a horrible, bluish gray. And the smell…I almost gagged. The odor of rotting flesh told me he was riddled with infection.
“He will not survive a journey,” Mom said sorrowfully, under her breath, to Marcello. Her blue eyes met his brown ones, and she shook her head, as if in pain for him.
Marcello clasped his brother’s hand in his own and brought it to his chest.
“Fortino,” Marcello said lowly, “we are here, brother.”
Fortino opened his eye as if it took everything in him to do so. “You…you should not have come.”
“We had no choice. We had to try.”
“I am dead already.” He looked to me and then closed his eye in pain.
I glanced at Mom, silently asking her for her assessment, as she finished pressing into his belly.
“I think he’s bleeding inside,” she said bitterly, in English. “His belly is distended but hard as a rock. They have beaten him relentlessly,” she continued, switching to Italian. “You must not let them take Gabi.” Maybe seeing Fortino made it all the more real to her. It was one thing to hear of being thrown into a cage and being exposed to the elements. But to see the effects of a physical beating? Her face was stricken—half out of rage over Fortino, half out of panic for me. And Dad was right behind her.
“I will fight it with everything in me,” Marcello promised them.
“M’lord,” said Ascoli, coming closer. “Shall we begin?”
“In a moment.”
Clearly irritated, the small man reluctantly turned away, edging past Luca, Lia, and my father, who had joined our circle.
“Fortino,” Marcello said gently, squeezing his hand.
Fortino stirred, as if he might have fallen asleep for a moment. His good eye blinked open. “You have been a fine brother, Marcello. The best any man could ever ask for.”
Marcello stared at him for a moment and swallowed hard, acknowledging his farewell. “As have you,” he said at last.
“Honor our father’s name.”
“With everything in me,” Marcello pledged. He swallowed hard. “I shall miss you, brother.”
A tiny smile lifted Fortino’s lips, and he looked to me. “Find distraction in Gabriella. She was always meant for you.”
“Well I know it,” Marcello said, smiling too.
But then Fortino was asleep—unconscious?—closing his eye. Marcello hesitated and then leaned forward to put his ear to his brother’s mouth, listening. “He yet lives,” he whispered. In an instant his expression turned from agonizing grief to fierce determination. He rose and assisted me up too, then paused to whisper something in Luca’s ear.
With that we proceeded over to a long table.
“You shall be expected to stand behind my chair,” he said in my ear.
I nodded, shoving down a wave of aggravation. So the boys will sit down and chat for hours, and the women are expected to stand? But I’d promised to stay by his side…so I went and did as was expected. Everyone was seated, and yet there was one open chair. But did they offer it to me? No way.
Yeah, not everything in Medieval-ville was cool. Women’s rights were a ways off. A long ways off.
My eyes followed the direction of Lord Ascoli’s gesture.
The guards opened the tall doors, and through them strode Lord Cosmo Paratore.
I stared at him, openmouthed for a second, panic stalling my heart and then sending it into a rapid thud-thud-thud.
Marcello saw him then and abruptly stood, taking a half step between me and the man who surely wanted to see me dead. “Lord Ascoli,” Marcello sputtered. “How could you invite such—such—vermin inside your city walls?” He said it to our host, but he looked to Lord Greco, who was sitting back and casually eating a date. Was Greco putting on an act? Or had he known?
“Cease your theatrics, Marcello,” Cosmo Paratore said, sitting down and gesturing toward Marcello’s empty chair. “Come, let us speak of what is to be done, once and for all.”
Marcello put his fists on the table and leaned menacingly toward the man, with an unwavering stare. “Order the release of my brother as well as my rightful property. Retreat to the border that was established by our grandfathers. That is what can be done.”
Cosmo arched a brow and reached for a date; then, for the first time, he allowed his eyes to go to me. He’d let his hair grow long, covering his damaged ears. The ears I’d ordered cut from his head. His green eyes were bright with interest. He pursed his lips. “I notice that in your demands you do not plead for your lady’s hand, her safety,” he said, biting into the date.
Marcello faltered, embarrassed. It wasn’t part of the plan. I knew that. I knew it. But it still stung. Just as Paratore hoped it would. He knew something was up. As did Ascoli. My heart settled into a triple-time beat. We were in trouble. Big trouble.
“We are here,” Marcello said belatedly, “solely to negotiate Fortino’s release, one way or another.” He paused, took a breath, then sat down and looked toward Lord Greco. Like a man now, not a boy begging for a chance. “I am prepared to offer Firenze a chest full of gold in exchange for my brother,” Marcello said. “And our mediator ten percent for his trouble.” He glanced at Lord Ascoli. The man gave him a regal nod, barely hiding his smile.
“Unacceptable,” said Paratore, beside Rodolfo.
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“It was made clear that we would exchange Lord Fortino Forelli only for the Ladies Betarrini,” said another short lord. I tried to remember his name. He was one of the grandi I’d met in Firenze.
“Surely you don’t believe I will hand them over to you. My brother is barely alive, so poorly has he been treated!” Marcello growled.
Lord Barbato, I finally remembered. He was short and scruffy, with a beard that was closely trimmed over a rounded chin. I remembered that I thought of him as a terrier the first time we met in Firenze. All high energy and ego. It was easier to focus on him than my enemy, Cosmo Paratore.
“Fortino’s imprisonment has long spared your people further battle,” Barbato said simply. “The people’s fury was assuaged by punishment meted out to him.”
“The people?” Marcello challenged. “Or her governors?”
“Both,” Barbato returned easily.
Marcello took a deep breath and placed his hands on the table, palms down, as if steeling himself. “Such is the terrible price some of us must pay,” he said carefully. “Fortino knew it as well as I. But you’ve extracted his worth and more. To take home my gold, enough gold to feed a thousand families for a year, is more than fair in exchange for allowing us to take him home to die. The Ladies Betarrini are no longer a part of this bargain.”
Lord Barbato considered him, then looked down the table. All of them slowly shook their heads, including Lord Greco. Cosmo Paratore simply wore a small smile directed at me that said You are sooo in trouble. His confidence sent a shiver of fear down my back. Were our hosts truly neutral? Or were they on the side of the Firenze, ultimately?
Barbato looked back to Marcello. “We must adhere to the original terms that brought us to this table. We cannot return to Firenze with anything less.”
Lord Ascoli, at the head of the table, cleared his throat. “The original terms, Lord Forelli. Your brother in exchange for Lady Gabriella and Lady Evangelia Betarrini.”
Marcello let out a scoffing sound. “It would be one thing if you were offering my brother, well and whole. If he had been treated as a nobleman ought in this past year.” He lowered his voice. “But you have brought me little more than his corpse.”
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