Luna took a sip of wine and didn’t remark on what he’d said. His was a sensible choice; she’d choose the benefits of practical learning too.

‘You are drawn to the humanities, my student. It is no crime, except your uncle will be disappointed,’ Professor di Novara said.

‘My uncle need not find out. There is still much to learn from you, professor. I’m not ready to go back to Warmia.’

‘Well, I cannot deny that you make an excellent assistant! Do you not see, Luna, the possibilities when you seize your own future?’

‘For any young man with the use of his tongue, and money enough to buy a degree, yes, but for me there is no such possibility—seize my future?’ Luna found it hard to speak; her throat felt sticky and clogged. ‘I could no more take the role of advisor to the King of Naples than take control of my own destiny. Excuse me, I will retire early tonight.’ She could not speak further and rose hurriedly. The professor’s enthusiasm only served to remind her how powerless she was. She’d no right to want for any sort of future.

Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The following morning there was a storm accompanied by such violent wind that for the whole day it was impossible to open the doors and windows. Luna listened to the crash of logs dropping and the howl of the wind about the building like a wolf prowling the walls for gaps to sneak through. She wandered the house, stopping at the doors leading to the garden. Splashes of rain fell against the glass and sounded like someone begging to be let in. A small flood had seeped through the door and begun to spread. Servants hurried past her with cloths to mop it up.

The lady of the house was in the kitchen, gathering the things they would need to make Advent decorations. Baskets of oranges and lemons lined the benches.

‘How did you sleep?’ her hostess asked.

‘Well enough, thank you.’

Elisabetta nodded but she did not inquire further. ‘We have a busy morning ahead. How are you at stringing lemons?’

‘My step-mamma would always decorate our house in Florence like this, so I know what to do.’ She held a waxy lemon to her nose. The tangy smell cut through her tiredness. ‘Mamma Lucrezia would make us stay up late to pray each night of the Novena and she had oranges ready as a treat. After prayers we were allowed to share one, and the rest we threaded and strung about the rooms. She preferred oranges to lemons. Mamma Lucrezia was good with traditions.’

‘I like to use both fruits,’ Elisabetta said. ‘Come join me by the fire.’