Free Lost in the City of Flowers (The Histories of Idan Book 1) by Maria C. Trujillo Page A

arcades and elaborate altars dedicated to different saints. Looking down, I could see the green trim of my dress graze the cobalt and cream diamond tiles. Zia chose to sit at a wooden bench towards the back of the church.
    “Why are we sitting here?” I asked, looking at the rows of empty wooden benches ahead.
    “Those seats are for people that are part of the grasso class. You and I are somewhere in between the grasso and minuto.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “The grasso are bankers like the Medici family, noble families, or wealthy merchants. The minuto, well, they are everybody else,” she paused to wipe her nose with a handkerchief. “But in the end, we all make our final journey some down there,” she said, tapping her foot on the colorful marble, “and fewer up there.” Zia gestured pointing up towards the ceiling. Following her finger, I looked up at the ceiling and was mesmerized by its simple beauty. It was covered with white square panels framed in golden lace. In the center of each square was a gold sunflower.
    Sorrowful and eerie voices chanted holy hymns that rang off the walls of the basilica. Zia tugged on my sleeve and nudged her head towards the front of the church. Everyone stood for the procession of priests and altar boys making their way to the altar. They paced through the middle aisle, their draped arms carrying a jewel-encrusted book, a crucifix, and a swinging metal container filled with perfumed smoke. Standing up, I squinted to see the thick swirly lines of the embroidered fabric protecting the altar and the flowers stacked on its steps. The music, incense, and candlelight caused my eyes to glaze over while my mind wandered through memory.
    Once I noticed the singing had stopped, I was the last person standing. Zia tugged at my dress as a sea of heads stared at me. Giuliano was one of those heads ogling me with his swoon-worthy smirk. The glare and serious expression of the man next to Giuliano brought me back to reality. His face looked very familiar but I could not place it. My face felt hot and turned a brilliant shade of red before I sat down.
    “Your head is in the clouds, Viola! Do try to pay attention to where you are and why you have come!” Zia whispered.

    Although there were many heads and bodies in my line of vision, I saw Giuliano and his austere companion had begun whispering. Of course I thought they were talking about how ridiculous I looked standing there after everyone else had sat down. Unable to look elsewhere, I noticed that even though the mysterious man was taller and older, he was not as handsome as Giuliano. On his head was a red turban hat that draped onto his shoulder and grazed his steel blue tunic. Similar to Giuliano, he had a prominent nose but it was slightly askew as if it had been broken once or twice. The stranger looked very important as he sat in the first row directly behind the priest. Lavishly dressed ladies and gentlemen surrounded him. The way he carried himself radiated power. My whole body shuddered when I saw the shaved head of the man sitting two seats from Giuliano. It was the man from the hanging. Every fiber of his being gave me a sick feeling. His voice had spoken the words of doom for that young girl who was now no more.
    “Who are those two men sitting next to Giuliano?” I breathed.
    “The one with the hat is Lorenzo de’ Medici. Some call him il Magnifico; he is Giuliano’s brother.” Once the words left her lips, the divine man seemed to have heard his name whispered and glared at me again.
    Immediately, I turned my gaze and decided on the spot that I didn’t want to have anything to do with the Medici family. Zia also seemed shaken by the attention, as she did not answer the second half of my question for long minutes.
    “The other man is named Pietro Sforza. He is Florence’s justice for the year,” she said, counting the wooden bead of her rosary.
    After the last celestial hymn, Zia and I waited for our turn to leave