Luna was sitting in the garden with her step-mamma. Papa had been gone for three days. He’d journey first to his shopfront in Prato, ten miles northwest of Florence, then on to Pistoia and the prospect of new customers, Mamma Lucrezia explained, and would be back in time for the Mass at which Pippo was to sing, which was only a month away.

‘Take heart, my girl. Anyone would think he’d gone to fight in the Milanese wars from your downcast eyes.’ Mamma Lucrezia’s voice was bright as the morning sun glaring down on them, though when she stood to go back into the house, she didn’t reach down and kiss Luna on the top of her head or remind her of her tasks—she turned and disappeared without any further word. When Papa was absent she lost her sense of purpose.

Luna plucked at the grass, pulling up weeds as she found them and smoothing over the soil where they left a hole. Any hope of observing an eclipse with her father would have to wait. Instead, she’d use this time to finish reading the Sacrobosco. Then she’d have more to contribute when Papa took her star gazing again. Her mind turned to the night of the attack on her father. What if he decided it was too dangerous to take her out at night at all? Despite the way it had ended, that evening had reminded Luna how sweet and warm it felt to be favoured by Papa. She watched mites scrabbling around, unhappy to be exposed, and sprinkled dirt on top of them. Watching an eclipse with her father would be very special indeed. Luna eased herself up off the grass and went inside. She could find out easily enough from his book of astronomical predictions when the next lunar eclipse would take place. She’d seen the book when they were sorting through his collection and she’d put it back onto the shelf herself.