Chapter Thirty-Three
Leonardo is here.
He’s wearing his favorite pink tunic, except someone has found him a jewel-crusted doublet to wear over it. I have a horrible, certain feeling I’ve seen the doublet hanging in Verrocchio’s workshop. My voice drops to a scandalized whisper. “Did you steal that?”
He loops his arm through mine. “All in good time, Virgil, all in good time.”
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
He leads me around a fountain and into a loggia, its ceiling clustered with fragrant jasmine. Flower petals rain on his hair and shoulders like little stars. “And yet, here I am.” The smile he gives me is sly, and it makes my chest squeeze so tight, I could burst.
“Why?” I was dreadful to protect him, and I don’t have it in me to do it again. Seeing the hurt on his face and knowing I caused it was gutting enough the first time.
“Dance with me and I’ll explain.”
“No one else is dancing.” And I don’t deserve this.
“No. But the guards stationed here are kissing behind the fountain, so I doubt they’ll notice.”
I startle, glancing at the fountain, and… sure enough, there are two shadows tangled on the ground. Good for them.
Feeling lightheaded, I slip my hand into his. “I’ll have to lead.”
His fingers lace through mine. “I’m happy to follow you.”
You shouldn’t be, I think helplessly. That’s our entire problem.
I keep him an arm’s length away, a stately pavane, but the loggia’s too small, and he’s so close, all my nerve endings feel like they’re on fire.
I didn’t want him here. I did everything I could to get away from him, but he is here, and now my heart is rioting.
“You should go home. Someone’s going to figure out you’re not supposed to be here,” I hiss.
“Do you think they’ll toss you or me out first?” A familiar gilded paper appears in his free hand. “Because last I knew, your name wasn’t Zanobi Ghirlandaio. Unless you have a secret third name you only use when you’re being especially difficult.”
I bite my bottom lip. The words are light and teasing, but the sentiment behind them is real.
“Why can’t you listen? I said I didn’t need your help anymore.”
“Actually, unless my memory is wrong—which it’s not, because I remember everything—you didn’t say much of anything when you were fired. You just ran away.”
No I didn’t! The protestation is right there, but Leonardo’s rising eyebrows dare me to say it.
He catches my waist, reversing the lead.
He dips me suddenly, my head and the flower-filled ceiling swirling.
“Why did you do it?” His face is inches above mine, rust-blond hair brushing my face, my neck.
A wave of his scent dizzies me. “Verrocchio did me a favor. There wasn’t enough time for me to work and find my brother.”
He sighs like he’s disappointed. “You’re always saying things like that.”
“Like what?”
He doesn’t let go, even though he should. If this goes on for any longer, we won’t be able to pretend we’re dancing anymore. “That time is running out. There’s plenty left to do what you want. You just don’t let yourself believe it.”
All the black marks on my skin burn, each one a tally toward the end. I tear myself away from him, terrified he’ll see the truth in my face. “You don’t know how much time I have.”
But I do.
That’s why I’m alone, a stolen key in one pocket, a childhood drawing on my hip. I’m not here to dance in ridiculously beautiful gardens with a boy I want but can’t have. He comes in here, all handsome and slick, and makes me forget myself. This is why I left the workshop. This is why I left him.
“Where are you going?” he calls after me.
Despite myself, I turn. “I have a plan.”
His mouth hooks. I feel the yank behind my navel. “So do I.”
God, he’s impossible! “Leo, you can’t—”
He crosses the space in three steps. His index finger lights on my lips, thumb under my chin. “Did your plan involve sneaking into the house and then trying all the doors?” He caresses my side. The skull-headed key presses against my ribs. “Did you think everyone would be too busy to notice you?”
My tongue bumps the back of my lip. I want to taste him. “Getting in was the hard part. I was going to figure the rest out.”
“I’m sure you would’ve.” He lets his hand fall from my face, but not my side. “What if I told you I could make it easier? I’ve been here all day, talking to people, making friends.”
I can feel every point where his fingers rest against me. I’m wearing three layers of clothing; it shouldn’t be possible for my body to be this aware of him. “What sort of friends?”
He grins, the expression toying with a smirk, like he knows exactly how I’m feeling. “Ones who can help you.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued. And yet… I swallow and force myself to hold his gaze. “All right. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m not going back to the workshop after this. We can’t… we can’t be anything.”
The brightness from his eyes vanishes, but his smirk remains. “Whatever you wish, Virgil.”
His guarded eyes remind me of a room with nothing in it. I dig my nails into my opposite wrist to resist the urge to fill it up again.
He doesn’t know why I’m pushing him away, but I know it’s for the best. If he wants to be here, if he wants to help me, I won’t say no. I’m too weak for that.
After making sure the guards are still very much preoccupied with each other, Leonardo crooks his finger, and I follow him inside the Palazzo Medici.
With easy smiles and long, loose strides, he charms his way past second cousins and servants and footmen with an ease I could never muster.
When a guard tries to stop us from going upstairs, he flaps a hand and laughs.
“The signora is expecting us, but you can go ask her yourself if you’d prefer. ”
The guard accompanies us, and I silently thank Giovannia for having the good sense to dress me in black so the guard doesn’t notice the ungodly amount of sweat I’m wiping off my palms. He knocks on a closed door and goes inside.
The scent of frankincense floods the corridor, and then the guard pops outside again and nods for us to go inside next.
I gasp when the door opens.
It’s the Medici private chapel, and every inch of it is exquisite.
Gilded carved ceilings, gold dripping from every surface.
A fresco of pilgrims spans all four walls, the scale and color of it so overwhelming, I feel like I’ve stepped inside a book of the Bible.
The figures are still, unmagicked, but their realness is so breathtaking, it moves me. “Is this a Gozzoli piece?”
I reach up to touch the wall. Only then do I notice the robed and hooded figure sitting before the altar.
They’re sliding the beads of a rosary between their fingers. The clicking rhythm matches the pounding in my temples.
Leonardo sweeps into a low bow. “Here he is, signora. The man I told you about.”
The figure turns, revealing eyes wide with fear. “You know the truth about the demons?”
I suck in a breath and nearly stagger against the fresco.
I’ve only seen her once, on the steps of the cathedral that morning, but I recognize her anyway.
It’s Lorenzo de’ Medici’s new wife.