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  The crowd booed and hissed, and I felt a shudder of fear go through me. I was hated here. Really hated. For what? They didn’t know me! All I had done was fall in love with a son of Siena! And help my sister escape an evil lord. I hadn’t done anything that any of them might not have done in my place, had the tables been turned…

  I tripped again, and the crowd laughed, then more rotten food came flying. I smelled the vinegar, the mold. I quickly found my feet and ducked between the rump of Lord Greco’s horse and the nearest knight’s. “Go,” I said to my captor.

  He eyed me. “There is another way, Gabriella—”

  “Get on with it!” I shouted, his use of my first name irritating me. It was irrational, I admitted to myself. A million people called me Gabriella, Gabi, Gabs…but not this man. He was not allowed to sound like he knew me. And I wanted him to remember my title, to show me a shadow of civility, even if I was wearing his clothes and was covered in spoiled juice. I wanted him to remember this injustice, that I had been tied to his horse, so that when I had the opportunity, when I regained my sword and my strength…

  He met my gaze without faltering. He knew what I was saying with my eyes, read the hatred there. Then he turned and pulled me forward again, through the city gates. People were running in from every street and alleyway, shoving others aside in an effort to see me. The barrage stopped then, perhaps not allowed inside the city, I thought, but the jeering kept on.

  “So the Sienese adorn their women in the fruits of the past year?”

  “Is she a man or a woman? I cannot tell!”

  “Where is your fearsome sword, girl?”

  “The She-Wolf bleeds!”

  “Behold, the pride of Siena! Today, she is ours!”

  We turned a corner and then another, making our way deeper and deeper into the city until we emerged on the enormous Piazza della Signoria, with the city hall modeled after Siena’s own. Back when the two had been sister cities, not such bitter enemies. Maybe back when Marcello and Rodolfo had been buds.

  The men dismounted, and I glanced over my shoulder. The crowds had all come here, celebrating my capture as if their home team had just won the World Cup or something. But they looked upon me with hatred, panting with a crazy kind of anticipation in their eyes.

  It hit me then.

  They were waiting.

  Waiting for me to be turned over to them.

  For what? What exactly was the sentence for an enemy of the Commune di Firenze?

  CHAPTER 21

  “Tell us, m’lady,” said Lord Greco, hands behind his back as he paced before me. “Have you thought again about our offer?” Beyond him were eleven men sitting in high-backed, ornately carved chairs. Siena’s ruling body was the Nine. In Firenze, I was facing their counterparts.

  And it turned out that Lord Greco was one of ’em.

  Perfect, just perfect. One of the lords had actually gone out just to hunt me and Lia down. I sighed. You really know how to make friends and enemies, Gabs.

  They’d given Lord Greco words of praise for bringing me to them. But they chastised him for losing my sister, “allowing” her to return to the safety of the Sienese and quite possibly warn them.

  “It matters little,” Lord Greco said, brushing off their concerns. He stared down at me, spying my small, defiant smile. “Even if Evangelia reaches Siena, our men will soon be upon them all.”

  He cocked his head, hands on his hips, and said to me again, “Will you agree to gather the Nine in Siena?”

  I slid my eyes up to meet his. “Never.”

  He slapped me then, surprising me. I turned, took a half step back, but kept my feet. What’s with him? He was remarkably different toward me here, in sight of the city and her lords. Meaner. Slowly, carefully I stood straight again. “So it is true,” I said. “The men of Firenze must always resort to violence.” My eyes flicked up to Lord Greco’s. “My father always told me that a man who would strike a woman is no sort of man at all.”

  “Your father,” he said evenly, leaning down, “taught you to be more of a man than woman. You do not know your place.”

  “My place,” I returned, “is to defend all I know that is right and true. Ever since I arrived in Toscana, it has been your men who forced me to raise my sword, my sister to raise her arrows, to defend ourselves. It has been Firenze’s subjects who pursue us, attack us, abuse us.” I glared at him. “Siena has done nothing but show us kindness after kindness.”

  He glared back. “Many men loyal to Firenze have died at the end of your sword, your sister’s arrow.”

  “Forgive me for not relinquishing my sword and allowing myself to be slaughtered as a woman ought. Forgive me for helping to free my sister from the dungeon of Lord Paratore and then attempting to make certain he could never imprison, torture, or threaten another of us again. Forgive me for not dying at the hands of your venomous doctor, sent to poison me.” I glanced at Lord Foraboschi, who hovered in the background with a few other nobles, looking askance at my outburst. I shook my head with a sarcastic little laugh. “You ask far too much, m’lord, from me. From any woman, any woman with a pinch of courage in her heart.” I thumped my chest. “That is what my father taught me. Courage. Standing up for what is right. For who is right. And in this case, it is clearly my Sienese sisters and brothers.”

  He sighed, straightened, and then placed chin in hand, staring at me.

  “The She-Wolf of Siena has a sharp tongue,” said one of the others behind him.

  “Indeed,” said Lord Greco, still studying me.

  Abruptly, the rest of the men stood. Lord Greco bowed and stood to my side, so that all of them might look at me. “Daughter of Siena,” said the man at the center, apparently the main guy. “You shall find that we are not as unmerciful as you seem to think.”

  He walked toward me, and Lord Greco grabbed hold of my arm from one side, his knight taking the other. What? Do they think I’ll deck this guy or what? I wasn’t an idiot.

  The man was short, no taller than my chest, reminding me of Lord Rossi with his steady, methodical mannerisms. But when he looked into my eyes, I saw that while he was small, he was as tough as a terrier with a cornered rat. “You are the one that saved Lord Fortino Forelli? You are the one whom Sir Marcello Forelli loves, are you not?”

  I stared over his head at the wall beyond him. I would not be a part of selling out Marcello or Fortino. I would not.

  “She is, Lord Barbato,” Lord Greco said at last.

  Lord Barbato peered up into my face. “What do you believe the brothers Forelli might give us in exchange for your freedom? Might they relinquish Castello Paratore and Castello Forelli? Might they swear their allegiance to us?”

  I let out a breath through my nose, just barely keeping it from a snort. What scheme led them to believe they could conquer the castle, her men? Whatever their plans, I knew no man within the Forelli household would ever aid them. “Never.” I looked down into his eyes. “Never.”

  He smiled, then. “I am not so certain.” He reached out and touched a strand of my hair. “Even in such disarray, my dear, you are quite becoming. I can see why Sir Marcello is smitten, why you and your sister have stolen the heart of every man in Siena.”

  I tried to wrench away, but the men at my side kept me in place.

  “What would the Forellis do,” Lord Barbato said slowly, “if Marcello Forelli’s intended had but days left to live?” He smiled. His teeth were small but straight and white. “Lord Forelli is likely dismayed at his own interrupted nuptials, this day. With greater disruptions ahead.” The men shared a laugh.

  Yuk it up, fellas. I’m all LOL myself.

  Lord Barbato turned back to me. “Would Sir Marcello come for you?”

  I refused to give him the satisfaction of a response.

  He glanced back over at the other men, then up at Lord Greco. “Would a man in love not do anything he could to save his woman?”

  Barbato interlaced his fingers and turned them out, cracking
them. “We offer a truce. We do not have to conquer Siena, though we have the power to do so. No, we can be magnanimous neighbors, offering a celebration as proof of our good intentions. Our desire for unity.” He paced back and forth, tapping his chin, nodding to himself, then he looked to me. “We are not the villains you make us out to be,” he said. “We would relish a lasting peace with our neighbors. But we shall have Castello Forelli and Castello Paratore, as well as other castles on the northern border—if not Siena herself—before this battle is done. The Forellis would be wise to go the way of the Rossis.”

  So. There it was. Another confirmation that the Rossis were in on it.

  He turned away from me, strode to his seat, and stared back. “Bathe and dress her in the finest wedding gown the dressmakers can create. Braid flowers into her hair. Then send this message to her beloved: ‘Lady Betarrini awaits you, Sir Marcello Forelli, in a cage at the Firenze city gates, a lovely bridal bird, seeking her groom. If you can meet her bride price. But she has limited time, for she shall have no food or water. If you do not arrive in time, she shall perish in her cage.’”

  “Lord Barbato,” said Lord Greco at my side. “She could convince the Nine to gather within Siena, I am certain of it. And we could follow through on our original plan, avoiding much bloodshed on both sides.”

  Lord Barbato flicked out his hand dismissively. “Look at her, Lord Greco. Into her eyes. She has no intention of aiding our cause. We shall follow our alternative plan. Without the seven castle outposts, they shall be crippled, in disarray. I believe we shall find the Nine far more amenable to negotiation once we have them in hand. Siena shall become our sister city once again, eager to do as we ask rather than defy us at every turn. We can take the other five. I am confident that shall be done in a week’s time. ’Tis Castello Paratore and Castello Forelli that must be breached, or they shall stand for months, giving Siena far too much time to rally her support.”

  The others were nodding.

  “And if Sir Forelli does not capitulate?” asked Lord Greco. “What if he does not come to claim his bride? Or Lord Forelli forbids it?”

  “Then the road becomes more difficult,” Lord Barbato said casually, picking at a hangnail. He glanced up. “Lady Betarrini shall die, her corpse shriveling and decaying in the cage.” He gave me a look that sent shivers up my spine.

  “That was never our—” Lord Greco tried.

  “Lady Betarrini will become an entirely new symbol for Siena,” Lord Barbato said, rising. “All shall see what becomes of those who dare to defy Firenze. Weakness exposed. Love, unrequited. Desire, unmet. Life itself, coming to a perilous end.”

  I was taken to Lord Greco’s home, a palazzo on a hill in the heart of the city. There was a fine garden and fountain in back. The knights brought me to a grand hall, and I collapsed on the warm stones in front of a blazing fire, shivering in spite of it. My mind was swirling, trying to figure a way out without betraying Siena.

  Lord Greco did not remain with me. He hadn’t said a word to me all the way to the mansion, even when I begged him to let me go.

  An army of female servants entered a half hour after we arrived, and the knights disappeared outside the doors, closing them firmly behind them. I knew they stood right outside, at the ready. Even if I managed to escape the room, could I make it to the edge of Firenze unseen?

  I was undressed without ceremony and given a thorough bath, and clean bandages were wound around my feet, thigh, and ribs. The maids remained eerily silent, as if they knew they were contributing to my murder. A light, delicately woven underdress, reminding me of butterfly wings, swept down over my body. It had the lightest lace I’d ever seen at both the sleeve and bottom hem. Under it, I wore pantaloons in a similar fabric.

  Then came the heavy, teal-blue colored silk gown, wide at the shoulder, beaded across the entire bodice. Had I chosen my own wedding dress, it might well have been this one, I thought sadly, running my hands over the beads that cascaded from the neckline to about my belly button. It clung to my hips, then fell heavily to the floor in deep, regal folds. It was the gown of a princess. Except I would want it in ivory rather than the medieval bridal blue—

  What are you thinking Gabriella? I chastised myself. Are you totally insane? I wasn’t ready to get married! But then, more than that, I wasn’t really game for this whole dying-in-a-cage-as-a-symbol thing either…It wasn’t the way I was going to go out, not if I could help it. Figure it out. There must be a way to escape. There must!

  They could not get the delicate slippers onto my feet, heavily bandaged as they were. They debated among themselves if they should unbind my feet in order to put proper shoes on me. One argued that no one would see them. “Until she’s up in her cage,” said another. I remained silent as they unbound my bloody feet and placed the slippers on them, ignoring the tears that slipped down my cheeks from the pain.

  They attacked my hair next, weaving one braid after another, forcing it into submission, along with more strands of beads, until at the end, they pinned all the braids into a knot at the nape of my neck.

  A delicate ring of beads, a crown of sorts, was settled atop my head and pinned in place. The women backed off, ooing and ahhing over their own work, nodding in satisfaction. Traitors, I thought, glaring at them. Selling me out, a woman, your sister, daughter, friend…

  “You will let me die in that cage,” I sputtered, feeling regal in the gown, strangely powerful. “This is no fairy tale! This is war! And I am but a pawn in their game!”

  “And, by far, the most beautiful pawn I’ve ever seen,” said a voice from the other side of the room.

  I twisted to see him. Lord Greco. Leaning against the far wall. How long had he been there?

  The servants scurried out as if to avoid the crossfire about to come.

  He shook his head. “Lady Gabriella Betarrini, it is no wonder you have captured Sir Forelli’s heart. You are stirring in so many ways. Truly, you have the countenance of a queen in such finery.”

  I clenched handfuls of my skirt as he neared. “M’lord, you must intervene. Please. I beseech you. You cannot let this horrible thing unfold.”

  He was walking around me, checking me out. Furious, I waited until he came around and lifted my chin. “Are you quite finished? I am no prized calf to be considered from all sides!”

  He gave me a gentle smile. “How I wish I had weeks to explore that mind of yours, Gabriella.”

  I paused. Again, with my first name. Should I play up to him? Flirt? So that I might find my escape route? I let my eyes fall to the floor, as if I was suddenly shy under his attentions, wondering if I really had the guts to play it out. He was plainly interested. But he was also frightfully clever, seeming to see through me.

  No, I’m not going there. I can’t. It felt too wrong. Unfaithful to Marcello, even if it was only a ploy.

  I raised my eyes to meet his, again defiant.

  He let out a little breathy laugh, as if this pleased him, and eyed the closed doors. We were alone in the vast room. He offered his arm. “M’lady.”

  Seeing no choice, I took it, wondering where he was taking me. He led me over to the towering windows opposite the doors and unlatched one, then another, opening the onyx panes, allowing the cool evening air to wash over me. I hadn’t realized until then that I was feeling a bit faint. But he’d seen it. Known it. I took in a deep breath, then another.

  What he did next surprised me. From beneath the edge of his tunic, he brought out a cloth sack. He untied it swiftly, handing me a small loaf of bread and then a wax-covered round of cheese. “Eat. Quickly. It shall be your last meal in some time.”

  I hesitated only a moment. Then I had half of it down in a couple minutes. “Why are you doing this?” I asked, mouth full, taking a goblet of water from his hand, studying him in the soft evening light that streamed through the windows.

  “All is not as it seems,” he said simply. He urged me to take another drink and then refilled the goblet while I chewed the res
t of the bread and cheese.

  “Oh?” I repeated. “You are not the specter of death, come to usher me to my hideous end?”

  “Do I appear as such?” he asked, quirking a smile at me from the side. “Drink,” he urged, lifting the goblet to my lips. “Truly, it might be your last for days.”

  I frowned as I gulped it down, already feeling the thirst to come. I drained it, and he refilled it again, but I stood still, stubbornly waiting.

  He stared into my eyes, then sighed and rolled up one sleeve.

  On his left arm, right beneath the crook of his elbow, was a triangular tattoo.

  Identical to one I’d seen on Marcello’s arm.

  Our eyes met. I drew back, trying to make sense of it when I heard the boots of what sounded like a squadron of knights approaching through the marble hallway outside the great hall.

  Hurriedly, he rolled the sleeve back down. “Drink, Gabriella. What is to come shall not be pleasant for you. But you are not alone. Remember that. You are not alone.”

  CHAPTER 22

  When I was led back into the vast piazza later that same day, the city was in full festival mode. Bonfires burned across the plaza. Musicians led the processional, as if I were truly a bride on her way to meet her groom. Again and again I searched for an escape route but saw none. There were simply too many people, people acting as if they were celebrating me but who were truly celebrating my public humiliation.

  “The She-Wolf of Siena, conquered!”

  “How could a bride so pretty be so fierce with the sword?”

  “Where is your intended now, Bride of Siena?”

  “Will your bride price be met?”

  They taunted and laughed. But at least now no one threw spoiled fruit or stones. I walked beside Lord Greco, my arm atop his, drawing strength from him, visualizing the tattoo beneath his shirt, wondering what it meant. It comforted me that he was somehow inexplicably tied to Marcello—even if he laughed along with those in the crowd.