Luna felt the hard earth beneath her boots as she turned her eyes to the heavens. It was God’s hand that established the fifth essence in the finest order and painted the universe into life. His divine ruling directed the course of the stars. Luna felt her mind settle. It was calming to contemplate such certainty. She peered into the dark, listening to her own breath and the click of her neck as she strained. She sought out the young maiden Virgo and the star Spica—the ear of wheat in her hand—before turning to make a note of its intensity in her book, and that she’d seen it during the second sleep of the night. She went on to map other stars as she found them.

After some hours of observation, Luna’s eyes stung from so much staring and she decided to retire to bed. The house appeared dark and solid as she took up the candle and walked along the garden path in the circle of its light.

Perhaps, when she’d convinced Papa of her acuity for astronomy, he’d inquire if any of his circle of friends owned a triquetrum and take the instrument with them one night, to track the position of a planet against the background of the stars. He’d balance the long, hinged bar on his shoulder and slide it until its peephole framed the planet, then show her how to read the elevation from the calibrated lower scale. For now, though, Luna must be content to observe the night sky with her eyes. She fell asleep, dreaming of star gazing with her father.

The lack of any breeze in the confines of their chamber woke Luna earlier than usual the following morning. She left Maria sleeping, donned her cloak and went to find Friar Bartolomeo in the monastery at Santa Croce, just as he’d suggested. As she laced up her boots, she thought about the monastery library. It had always been a sanctuary where the friar had encouraged her to explore ideas through books. How excited she’d been the first time he’d shown her an illuminated manuscript. Together they’d turned the long, heavy pages in wonder at the detailed illustrations that glimmered in gold and vibrant blue. He’d explained to Luna how the lapis lazuli was brought over from Constantinople at great expense to be used in the story of St Thomas Aquinas, the first Dominican to be sainted not so long ago. The images of fantastical creatures, half-man, half-animal, had intrigued Luna. She remembered how she’d traced the line of ink carefully with her finger, pretending to be the accomplished artist. The book had been a great gift to the order; she prayed it had not been destroyed by Savonarola’s zealots. She couldn’t understand how such beauty presented a threat.