Caterina had never been outside by herself this late. She skirted the edge of the Piazza del Duomo and quickly scanned the open space. Groups of men were bunched around the irregularly placed torches, and she could hear a woman’s laughter rising above their voices. A shop that sold flatbread during the day was passing out flagons of ale to the men, right in front of the cathedral.
Caterina looked away. There were a few women in the square, but they were outnumbered at least ten to one by men. Heat rose in her cheeks and she slunk back into the shadows. Servants and errand girls didn’t roam the streets of Florence after midnight. No, only prostitutes dared venture outside when the streets of Florence became a world of men.
She’d just have to stay in the shadows. It was only a few blocks to the Pitti Palace.
Caterina’s senses tingled as she crossed the dark city. Every noise, every footfall, every scurry in the shadows sent a shock through her body. She could taste acid from her lungs in the back of her throat.
I should go back.
But she pressed forward.
And then, she stood in front of the Pitti Palace. She slid around the side of the building until she found a window that was slightly ajar. A boost up to the ledge, a quick rattle, and she was inside.
It was pitch black in the room, and Caterina nearly walked into a marble pillar before she stopped to let her eyes adjust. Moments ago, the streets of Florence had felt dark, but they were like noon compared to the black of this room.
It’s just like wearing a blindfold.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She let her mind imagine being home in her room, eyes covered with the blindfold, perfectly safe.
Finally the room took shape around her. It was some kind of storage room at the back of the palazzo, not the kind of place where Luca Pitti would leave secret documents. A heavy muslin bag of something—almonds?—rubbed against Caterina’s leg as she crept toward the door. Her hand froze on the doorknob as she listened for noise, but the house was as silent as a tomb. She eased the door open and found a hallway, just as dark as the storeroom. Thankfully, her eyes could finally see in the dark.
Right. Or left.
But to the right, she only found locked doors and a dead end. Retracing her steps, she found a staircase. It was narrow, much too narrow for the Pitti family to use. It must be for their servants. Perfect.
She crept up from the ground floor to the first floor, and from the first floor to the second. She’d never been in the Pitti Palace, but all these palazzi were the same. Servants and kitchen on the ground floor. Family quarters on the top floor. Meeting halls and dining spaces on the first floor. Libraries and studies on the second floor.
The second floor. It was as silent as the ground floor, but Caterina knew there must be sleeping people somewhere nearby. Luca Pitti’s own bedchamber might be one floor above. He had children, grandchildren, and maybe even great-grandchildren who filled his house. She might run into a child looking for a cup of water or a nursemaid tending to a baby. This was the most dangerous part of her journey.
Caterina crouched down as she left the safety of the stairwell and stepped into the second floor hall. She pressed her body into the wall as if she could disappear. It felt like it took hours to reach the first door. Locked. The next door. Locked.
Panic bloomed in her chest. She hadn’t expected to find so many locked doors in the house. At her house, they never locked doors at night. She hadn’t practiced lock picking, and even if she had, Caterina hadn’t brought any tools to open doors.
But the next door was unlocked. It squeaked on old hinges as she eased it open. Caterina grimaced at the sound. She froze for a moment, listening so hard her ears ached. But no one stormed up to demand her identity, or worse, challenge her with a sword.
Swords. Another skill she hadn’t mastered.
The room shimmered with eerie gray moonlight. Caterina spotted the heavy oak desk in front of the window and silently rushed to it. Relief washed through her body, sending tingles down her legs. This was what she’d come to find.
The desk contained two neat stacks of paper and four drawers. Caterina grabbed a sheet and held it up to the moonlight. It was a letter to someone named Lorenzo. Caterina scanned it, eager to find some hint of impropriety, but it was about taxes and random financial problems. Caterina quickly picked up the next sheet. Another letter to Lorenzo. Another useless mess of information.
She turned to the next stack. Figures and calculations swam in front of Caterina’s eyes. She’d never had an eye for numbers.
She tried one of the drawers. Locked. The next drawer contained a quill and ink pot, plus a blotter and some wax. Another locked drawer, and at the bottom of the desk, when Caterina had nearly given up hope, she found another stack of papers. These were brittle with age, curling at the edges. She lifted the top one gingerly. The date was impossible to make out in the moonlight, but a word in the first paragraph caught Caterina’s eye: exile. Followed closely by Medici.
It wasn’t a new plot, but it was something. She was about to fold the letter and slip it into her pocket when a flare of light blinded her.
A yell cracked the silence. “Stop! Thief!”
Chapter Nine
James heard the shouting first.
He jumped to his feet—the night shift was deadly dull and ever since the disappointing conversation with Piero, James could only keep half his mind on his guard duties—and turned an ear toward the sound.
It wasn’t coming from outside the back door to the Medici palace, where he’d expect to hear shouting in the hours just before dawn. No, it was coming from inside the building.
James wasn’t supposed to leave his post. But did the shouting signal danger within the palace? Without thinking, he checked that his sword was in place and his belt was tight across his hips. He’d seen combat in the tight corridors of noble palaces, and sometimes there wasn’t time to draw your blade.
“Rouse the guard! Rouse the guard!”
This voice came from the other direction, still within the palace. James sprung to action, moving quickly through the dark hallway ahead of him that led to the core of the palace. He spotted another guard in Medici red further down the hallway and quickened his pace. They’d trained for these moments—Piero was convinced that the family might be assaulted by any number of enemies—and James knew where to go.
He listened for the sounds of fighting—grunts, clashing swords, the scream that heralded death—but all he could hear were his footsteps pounding against the stone and the call to rouse the guard, which had been taken up by more voices.
Down the next hallway, James saw the narrow slit of torchlight coming from the courtyard. He turned and nearly smacked into Lorenzo de’ Medici, the arrogant young son of Piero. James apologized and stepped back as Lorenzo ran to the courtyard. If Lorenzo had left his feathered bed, it must be something serious.
A second later James reached the meeting place in the courtyard. Bruzzo stood, sword drawn in his hand, surrounded by a ring of guards. Behind him, Piero was shaking his head and pacing. James hadn’t been in the courtyard since the party where he watched Thomas Poole embarrass himself in front of Piero. The atmosphere was much tenser tonight.
James watched as Lorenzo approached his father and exchanged words, gripping the man’s forearm as he spoke. The son then said something to Bruzzo, who addressed the guards.
“Caterina de’ Medici, the Signore’s youngest daughter, is missing. The night guard on the second floor noticed that her door was open twenty minutes ago, and we’ve searched the palace. She’s not here.”
James’s gaze returned to Piero. His anxiety suddenly made sense. James had witnessed a father’s fear at hearing his daughter was missing once before. That father’s rage had nearly killed James.
Lorenzo stepped forward and raised a hand, commanding the guard’s attention with the gesture. “We have reason to believe she may have snuck out of the palace,” he said. His voice was low and steady, deeper
than James had expected. “We need to organize a search party right away. Bruzzo will divide you into pairs. We’ll check every alley, every corner until we find her. Father will stay here with Bruzzo to coordinate.”
“Pair up with your training partner, if he’s here,” Bruzzo commanded. “Quickly.”
James scanned the courtyard and saw Mazzeo on the other side, his hair sticking up as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He probably had. A quick nod and it was decided—they’d search together.
Lorenzo looked from guard to guard. “We have to find her as quickly as possible. I don’t need to tell you men what can happen to a young girl, alone, on the streets of Florence.”
An icy chill spread from James’s stomach. The girl was, what, sixteen? Seventeen? She was a patrician’s daughter—and not just any patrician, the daughter of a Medici. She probably thought nothing could touch her. A sheltered rich girl, traipsing around the city.
Unless someone had taken her.
That would be even worse.
Steel struck Lorenzo’s voice as he continued. “This must stay quiet. No one can know that she’s missing. No one.”
Even if it was some accident, it could give the family’s rivals ideas. Or a reason to strike.
“Now go,” Lorenzo ordered, leading the way out of the courtyard.
James had just stepped onto the street when they heard a woman’s cry cut through the night. He drew his blade in a single motion. All around him, guards did the same.
But the figures emerging up the street would not require swords. A hunched over widow was pulling a girl toward the Medici Palace, ignoring her feeble noises. In seconds, Lorenzo was at the girl’s side, whispering something in her ear. The old woman objected loudly. “I demand to see Piero! My family will not stand for this treatment!”
Lorenzo stepped back and gestured toward the wide double doors that led back to the courtyard. “I’m sure he’ll speak with you, Signora,” Lorenzo said, letting the old woman drag the girl with her.
The two passed close enough that James could see the widow’s snow-white hair and the dark locks of the young woman she pulled with her. He tried to catch the girl’s face as she passed—so this was the fabled Caterina—but it was too dark. Lorenzo followed them into the courtyard, leaving a dozen guards standing on the street.
“Back to your posts!” Bruzzo ordered.
Mazzeo leaned over. “Did you see what she was wearing? Why is a Medici girl in servant’s gray?” And then he vanished into the palace.
James sheathed his sword and followed the other guards back into the building. He paused by the door, closing it behind the last man. The guards had disbursed, but a question tugged at James. What was Caterina de’ Medici doing, sneaking out in servant clothes? Was she foolish enough to visit a paramour right under her father’s nose?
He stepped toward the courtyard. Piero’s angry voice carried up the wide hall, but his words were lost in the air. James took another step.
Who was the widow? Had she caught the girl in some compromising position? Entangled with a serving boy, perhaps? Or some patrician’s son?
Another step closer and the voices became clear.
The first was a whining girl, just what James would expect from a patrician’s daughters. “But I was only trying to help,” she yelped.
“This is how you help?” Piero raged. “You break into the house of our illustrious allies?”
The widow pipped up. “She didn’t just break in. She was reading my letters. My letters.”
“I didn’t see anything interesting!”
“That doesn’t matter! They’re private.”
“Alessandra, I must apologize for my daughter’s behavior. There is no excuse for her actions this evening.”
“That’s right.”
“The Medici count on your family’s support. I hope we can put this behind us.”
The silence stretched on. James inched forward until the widow responded. “We can. But we will need to repair our bond. Perhaps a marriage alliance to seal the union.”
“No!” Caterina sounded like a child denied a treat.
“Hold your tongue,” Piero ordered. Then, in a softer voice, “Of course, Alessandra. I hope you realize my apology is more than just words. We will make up the harm caused tonight, I promise.”
The widow held her tongue.
“Lorenzo, please escort Alessandra back to her palazzo. It’s late and we don’t need anymore harm coming to us tonight.”
A second later, Lorenzo and the widow swept past James, too quick for him to move. James stood firm in the dark hall as if at his post. Thankfully, people rarely questioned a guard, even one standing in the middle of a deserted hallway.
Then Piero’s voice pierced the air, low and dangerous. “You’ve gone too far, Caterina. I have given you a great deal of latitude, and you have abused it.”
“But Father—”
“Don’t interrupt. You broke into the Strozzi house and riled through the papers of an old widow. What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t know it was the Strozzi palazzo! I thought it was the Pitti Palace.”
“That’s not any better,” Piero growled.
“I overheard Luca Pitti insulting your rule of Florence. He was plotting against our family! I wanted to bring you proof.”
James’s blood ran cold at the mention of Luca Pitti. Was it possible this girl had uncovered the same plot he’d heard? But James hadn’t learned anything that implied Pitti was working against the Medici. Unless Poole’s interests didn’t really align with the Medici.
It had to be a coincidence.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Piero shot back. “You’re seventeen, and tonight you proved that you have no sense at all. I don’t know how you could possibly think I would want you to break into someone’s house to look for evidence of some imagined plot. These are nothing more than girlish fantasies. Now go to your room and don’t come out until I call for you.”
Caterina made a sound of protest, but it died in her throat. Then she stomped off toward her room. James was close enough to hear Piero suck in a few loud, ragged breaths before he ascended the steps of the courtyard.
Silence returned to the Medici Palace. James rolled out the tension in his shoulders before he returned to his post on the other side of the building.
He had an uneasy feeling that tonight’s clash between father and daughter was only the first round.
Chapter Ten
A convent.
Her parents were sending her to a convent.
Caterina had begged and pleaded, but nothing changed their mind.
It had been a week since she snuck into the Strozzi Palace—how had she gotten the buildings wrong? It was so embarrassing. At least her father was doing everything in his power to keep Caterina’s embarrassment secret. Still, her brothers knew. Her sisters knew. And that was bad enough.
Caterina hadn’t been allowed outside since the disaster. She mostly stayed in her room, her back turned to the door. Fiametta brought food, but Caterina only picked at it. On the third day, she stepped out into the courtyard. But then she’d caught a guard grinning at her and she’d run back inside. The guards knew, too. She didn’t know how many of them knew, but there had been a handful on the street when that old woman had dragged her home.
Caterina couldn’t believe a sixty-year old widow had pulled her down the streets of Florence.
She burned with shame whenever she thought about that night. If only her anguish could take a physical form—she imagined it as a purple, spreading bruise all over her body. That’s how terrible she felt.
But it got even worse on the fifth day, when Fiametta delivered a request from her parents. They wanted to speak with her in her father’s study, right away.
Caterina’s stomach had sunk. She hadn’t even seen her father since that horrible night. He’d never spoken to her like that before. And her mother hadn’t visited or checked on her, not even once. B
ut now both of them demanded her presence. It couldn’t be good news.
She splashed water on her face from the porcelain bowl next to the bed and pulled out a simple white dress from the chest at the foot of her bed. Maybe the innocent color would remind her parents that she was still their devoted daughter. Then she ran her fingers thorough her hair and straightened her spine. She’d walk in with her head tall.
Caterina’s false confidence evaporated when she walked into the study. Piero’s face was granite, not a hint of the smile he always had for his youngest daughter. Lucrezia’s lips were thin and Caterina could read the worry in her mother’s eyes.
This definitely wasn’t good news.
“Caterina. You caused a scandal with a patrician family. It took me days to quell Alessandra’s fury and convince her to keep the matter private. Our two families have a rough history, as you well know—my father exiled Alessandra’s husband, and then her sons, and I only recently lifted the order. Filippo Strozzi is an important ally, at a time when we need all the allies we can get. This could not have come at a worse time.”
Caterina hung her head. Her father’s words felt worse than physical blows.
Her mother spoke next. “We have reached a decision about your future.”
Caterina’s chin shot up. Surely they weren’t going to marry her off now? Yes, her effort to prove her worth had failed—more than failed—but was her punishment really going to be an arranged marriage?
Lucrezia continued. “We love you very much, but we have to protect you. This episode just showed us how unsafe you are, even here in the Medici Palace.”
Caterina frowned. They were upset that she’d snuck out? She’d barely considered that. The debacle of breaking in to the wrong house was bad enough. But maybe there was still a chance to repair everything. “I’ll promise never to leave the house,” she pleaded. “Or send a guard with me everywhere!”
The Medici Prize (The Stolen Crown Trilogy Book 1) Page 7