“When my uncle hears about this, he’ll laugh.” It was my duke. We hadn’t spoken face-to-face since that day in my father’s studio—how long ago had it been? Two years? I started to bow, but he clasped his hand around my shoulder and held me straight. “His Holiness loves a good fooling.” The duke leaned in so close that I could smell the roasted liver on his breath. “My cousin tells me you’ve learned how to tell a lie.”

My eyes followed his to find Felice della Rovere, standing down the hall. “I don’t know that I can boast of lying, my Lord,” I said, “but I can keep a secret.”

“And I hear you still want the Sistine.”

Persephone, how many people were talking about that?

“Bene.” He brushed his other hand along his cape, flashing a dagger hanging off his belt. I hoped, rather than believed, it to be an accidental exposure. “I’ll help you, if you help me.”

I would’ve stepped away—I’ve proven once that I will defy that man—except his hand was gripping my shoulder. He seemed to take my stillness as acquiescence.

“I fear I’ve gotten off on the wrong toe with Cardinal Alidosi,” he said. “Any friend of my uncle should be a friend of mine. I need you to help me sink that proverbial cannon.”

Felice della Rovere called down the hall, “There you are, Cardinal Riario!” The duke pinched my shoulder. I didn’t dare speak. Would you? “Signor Chigi is looking for you. That way.” She pointed back down the hall. Footsteps clacked away. She turned and jerked her chin: all clear. Felice was standing guard. What was the duke planning on doing to me?

“I need you to paint Alidosi’s portrait.”

I met his eyes. All he wanted was a portrait? I could paint a portrait. A portrait was not poison.

“It’s a gift for His Holiness.” He pressed a heavy money pouch into my hand. “Don’t tell him who hired you. Those of us trying to protect the pope must stick together. Yes?”

The center of my chest told me to say no—this had to be dangerous, what with Felice standing guard, the duke’s general temperament, and everything feeling so off-balance—but my brain could find no logical reason to turn him down. It was a portrait. Nothing more. A gift for the pope. What could be the harm in that?

Chapter XXXI

Chapter XXXI

Lent 1510

Cardinal Alidosi accepted my offer to paint his portrait and never asked the patron’s identity. I have no explicit reason to say this, but I believe he thought it was a request from the pope himself. The cardinal said he was flattered to sit for a painter “in such high demand,” and apologized for speaking against me. “I’ve admired Michelangelo for a long time, and, unlike you, he always seems to need support.”