“Now that Florence is defeated, His Holiness can’t promise the job to a Florentine,” said Bramante as I followed him out of the palace and into the papal gardens—manicured and green with pleasant pathways and cypress trees. “Now is our moment to solidify power for Urbino. How old are you, again?” He looked me up and down but didn’t leave me even a breath to answer: not yet thirty. “With this appointment, an Urbinite could remain in power of the papal program for decades. Decades. And as Urbino’s legacy solidifies in history, so shall mine.”

We came around a low stone wall to see Pope Julius, in his bright papal whites and reds, strolling through a maze of emerald green bushes beaded with ruby red petals. My duke, wearing a long green cape—matching the color of the grass—and Felice, as always in her black widow’s weeds, walked behind him. Bramante stopped us along the edge of the manicured garden, but we were close enough to hear the voices of the pope and his companions. “You can’t give it to him,” said Felice, her voice red with fury.

The duke shot back, “Did you honestly expect him to give a governorship to a woman?”

“I expect him to give it to one who is most worthy,” she retorted.

“Thank you for proving my point, signora, because there’s not a woman alive more worthy than any man,” said my duke, and I looked down at my shoes, smudged with charcoal. A thread along the toe was frayed. Why hadn’t I put on a fresh pair?

“My nephew shall have control of Pesaro,” declared the pope. “And Felice shall have . . .”

“My sewing,” she snapped, turned on her heel, and marched away.

As the duke dropped to his knees to give thanks, I whispered, “Perhaps we should come back later, maestro?”

“Why?” asked Bramante.

“Our alliance has been arguing, over . . . over . . . whatever that was,” I said, gesturing after Felice. “We should talk to the pope when things are more unified.”

“Raphael.” Bramante put his hand on my shoulder. “When everyone on your side is working together, that’s when you should be worried. It means that the people on your team think they need one another in order to solidify power. But when those on your side start fighting against one another, that’s when you know that your side has secured power—at least for now—and you must use that limited time to scramble for your stake.” The duke bowed to the pope and strolled away. His Holiness flicked his fingers toward us, and Bramante said, “Let’s go get our share.”