Page 102 of Ruling Destiny

The story of his life plays out on the eastern doors and the ceiling above.

In Leonardo’s painting, Saint John is radiant. His hair a mane of cascading curls, his expression serene as he points toward the sky with his right hand, while his left, mostly painted in shadow, bends toward his heart.

I snap my eyes open, and with a cautious glance over my shoulder, ensuring I’m still alone, I make for the baptismal font where the Medici family and Dante Alighieri himself were once fully immersed.

My pulse races, my footsteps echo hollow and light, but once I’m standing before it, I’m disappointed to find it just doesn’t feel right.

Yes, it’s water, which bears a connection to the Moon. And it’s also a Christian ritual, which corresponds to the fish.

But how does the Tower fit in, other than its connection to Mars and the fact that this baptistery was once a Roman temple for Mars?

I step away from the font and take another look around. Lifting my torch, I focus on the gleaming golden tiles above. Starting at the left, I move through the various tales until my gaze wanders to the section reserved for hell and the terrifying horned creature with snakes coming out of his ears and a pair of human legs dangling from his mouth.

Satan is making a meal of the doomed, while the others are all left to burn.

The depiction is brutal—terrifying, even. And I can only imagine the urgency those fifteenth-century parents must’ve felt, in a time when so many children didn’t make it through childhood. Among the devout, the rush to baptize must’ve been serious.

It also calls to mind Francisco Goya’sSaturn Devouring His Son,a painting I once came across during a Venetian construct with Elodie.

Back then, I never imagined I’d one day find myself here, tasked with finding a priceless piece that’s been hidden for centuries.

Back then, it was the clues left in that collection of paintings that led me to claiming the true prize—the one only I could see.

And now…well, it’s not so different, considering how it’s Arthur’s choice of the High Priestess that led me to this place of holy waters. But it’s the flames of doom depicted on the Tower card, along with Leonardo’s penchant for pointing fingers, that are about to lead me straight to the Moon.

With an image of those fingers fixed in my mind—both in theSalvator Mundiand the portrait of John the Baptist—I focus once more on the scene of damnation that plays out above, then drop my gaze downward.

All the way to the altar where a holy relic sits on display.

I remember reading about this very thing. At the time, it seemed so unbelievable I was quick to dismiss it and move on to what I thought were more relevant topics. But now, standing before this elaborate glass case with its fancy gold lid, I know in my heart that the Moon is hidden somewhere inside it.

I lean closer, peering through the glass and making a thorough study of the finger. Or rather, the skeletal remains of an index finger that’s said to belong to Saint John the Baptist himself.

A holy relic that’s spawned countless pilgrimages to Florence for hundreds of years.

Normally, the reliquary is put on display once a year, on June 24, also known as the Feast Day of Saint John. But I guess, with all that’s going on, Savonarola wanted to display it today, in honor of the Bonfire of the Vanities.

Time is running out.

The metaphorical crown will soon fall, marking the end of the Renaissance, and—

My breath halts, a rush of chills shudders through me, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Leonardo da Vinci left nothing to chance. Everything about theSalvator Mundiis a clue, including the robe—that anachronistic blue-and-gold robe he depicted Jesus as wearing—which is probably the most obvious clue that time is running out.

In just over a decade from when I now stand, Leonardo will paint theSalvator Mundiand purposely put Jesus in a Renaissance-style robe—as opposed to the sort of robe Christ might’ve worn during his own time—as a hint toward the urgency required for this task.

If I have any chance of finding the Moon, it needs to happen now, before Savonarola hides it away once again.

With no time to waste, I grab hold of the reliquary and examine it from all sides. But no matter how hard I look, I don’t see a single thing that resembles the Moon.

Outside these walls, I hear footsteps, shouting—the sounds of once-dormant streets coming to life.

It won’t be long before someone comes in to find me.

Should I take this thing and run?

Shove it under my arm and escape through one of the side doors?

Maybe. I mean, there is a small chance I’d get away with it.

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