Chapter Twelve
His father’s office.
I’m in Piero de’ Medici’s office. The most powerful man in Florence.
And his son’s caught me.
A dozen excuses well up, none of them good enough. There’s no reason to be here. My fake portrait has outlived its usefulness. If Lorenzo discovers I’ve lied my way in here, there’s a high chance I’ll be acquainted with the sharp end of his sheathed knife. “I… got lost looking for the chamber pot?”
Lorenzo sighs. “Of course you did. Come along with me, then.”
He snaps his fingers, and two guards appear. They flank me as Lorenzo marches me through the palazzo—so close, they nearly step on my feet. Why do they each have a sword and a knife? Seems like an awful lot of steel to carry around inside.
“Are you with the painters?” Lorenzo demands.
I’m not dragging Leonardo into this. He’s an even worse liar than I am, and Verrocchio would make us both grind pigments for weeks if he learned we offended the Medici.
“What painters?”
Lorenzo’s eyes flash. “You know,” he says lightly, almost jovially. “Most people would agree it’s unwise to lie to the Medici. So I’m wondering: Are you very stupid, or do you have a desire to have your hands broken?”
My hands flex involuntarily. Lorenzo’s mouth curls like a cutlass. I shove them into my pockets with a shudder.
My fingers collide with cold metal. The sodding key. What am I supposed to do? I didn’t mean to take it.
One of the guards breathing down my neck shoves me. “Andiamo, ragazzo!”
Right. I’m sure explaining that I didn’t mean to steal anything will go over as well as suggesting we all leave the palazzo and share a cup of wine together.
Perhaps I can use it as an excuse to go back. Graciously return it like a good citizen whenever it seems most useful for my schemes.
We enter the Palazzo della Signoria’s courtyard, but there’s no sign of the painters anymore. I must’ve been wandering around for longer than I thought if everyone’s gone—no wonder Lorenzo found me.
Instead of dumping me into an unceremonious heap on the front steps like I expect and deserve, Lorenzo cuts right and heads toward a different, smaller door.
One that faces a narrow, dark alley.
My spine goes rigid.
There was an alley like this beside Casa delle Volpi.
It was off the kitchen, a door no one used but the servants.
When I displeased my father, whether it was fucking up my lessons or stammering something foolish in front of a client, he’d haul me out there.
He never touched me—it was still public, after all—but his fury cracked over my narrow shoulders like a switch.
Hopeless.
An embarrassment to our name.
What did I do to deserve a son like this?
When Niccolo noticed my red-rimmed eyes, he started finding excuses to use the door before our father could really lay into me.
He’d steal pears from the neighbor’s tree overhanging the wall, sneak out to meet a girl.
My father’s scorching tirades were interrupted so much, he stopped dragging me out there entirely.
Niccolo’s not coming to save you now.
If I go into the shadows with these men, a soul-crushing scolding will be the least of my problems.
I slow, looking for an escape, but there’s nothing. I’ll have to sprint for the piazza. They’re armed, but I’m fast. ’Tis the best I can do.
We approach. Another guard opens the door. The sunlight burns so bright, I can’t see. I brace myself, ready to run—
“There you are!” Leonardo whips around the corner, pink-cheeked and out of breath.
“Leo!” I cry out, relieved. Whatever useless thing he wants to prattle on about next, I’ll listen without complaint. I hurl myself away from the palazzo’s dark door, toward the light, toward him.
But an iron vise clamps around my elbow, holding me back.
Lorenzo frowns at Leonardo’s charcoal-black fingers. “So you are with the painters.”
I swallow back a wave of acid. “I—”
Leonardo interrupts with an ehh sound and a shrug. “Not quite. He followed me here. New apprentice. I’m afraid he’s a little obsessed, trying to live up to me and such. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”
Lorenzo’s glare goes dark as pitch. He glances at me, then Leonardo, then the palazzo itself. He heaves a sigh and releases my elbow. “Keep your little pet on a leash next time.”
Little pet! Never in a million years would I follow Leonardo around like a wide-eyed little puppy! I was an apprentice first!
I clamp a hand over my aching elbow, my mouth opening to protest—
A yelp comes out instead. Leonardo’s stomped on my foot.
“Yes, of course, signore. See you tomorrow! I can’t wait to draw your big, wide shoulders! Your bride shall swoon when she sees them!”
Lorenzo and his guards laugh good-naturedly. They slip back inside the palazzo, even giving Leonardo a jaunty wave before the door slams shut.
Without talking about it, I turn and start storming back to the workshop.
Leonardo easily keeps pace beside me, his too-long legs making it look effortless and graceful. “So, I take it things went badly for you and your mysterious errand?”
My face flushes, annoyance and shame and the oily feeling of failure all sluicing through me. “I didn’t need your help.”
“Oh no? Were you and Lorenzo going on a pleasant stroll? It certainly looked that way with all the scowling and guards.”
My teeth grit. “All right, fine. I needed you. But you didn’t have to do it like that.”
I hate being compared to him. It makes me feel like a single thimble of his charm and talent counts more than anything I could offer.
Leonardo gives a smile. Not the cloying one he flashed the Medici heir, but a wide grin that feels an awful lot like staring directly into the sun.
“My apologies! I’ll be sure to save your ego before your life next time.
” He pats my cheek and manages to dump all his sketching materials into my arms at the same time.
I stagger under the unexpected burden. “What are you doing?”
He tucks the charcoal bag into the pocket of my doublet. “Take these for me, will you? I think I’ve earned a day off.” He turns west—the opposite direction from Verrocchio’s workshop—and leaves me with all our things.
“Where are you going? We have work to do!”
Leonardo spins on his heel and points both index fingers at me. “Not telling you! When you’re honest with me, I’ll be honest with you!”
I scowl at his retreating back, almost too contrite to be annoyed. “Have fun with your centaur man, then!” I shout.
His laughter reaches me from all the way across the piazza.
But the sound grows hollow and distant when I take out the pilfered key and get a good look at it for the first time.
’Tis shaped like a skull with glaring ruby eyes.