“I’ve found work. A new position.” He indicated his neat new doublet and the bundle of a fresh apron under one arm. His sleeve was marked with a badge that seemed familiar. “Or rather, Madonna Giulia found me a new position. She heard I was departing, and she said she always loved my fried lake smelt, so she’d be happy to recommend me for a new post. I’ve been hired today, undercook in the household of that Neapolitan lord, Vittorio Capece of Bozzuto.” Bartolomeo’s eyes as they looked on me had none of the sullen anger he’d shown since the night we shared a bed. “I thought I’d come back to give my thanks to Madonna Giulia.”

“I see.” I should have been happy for him, should have congratulated him. All I could think was that it was my fault he’d left the Palazzo Santa Maria in the first place. I averted my eyes from his gaze, feeling a flush mount up from my neck.

“Also,” he said candidly, “I came back so I could lord it over you. ‘Call me a boy now, signorina’—that sort of thing. But Maria the laundry maid’s already told me that you’re to leave with Madonna Lucrezia tomorrow.”

“Yes.” I looked down at my still-bleeding hand, the bandage that trailed over one shoe like a dead snake, and found that at least I was able to lower my knife.

His voice was very neutral. “I know why you’re going.”

“Maria the laundry maid tell you that too?” I managed a bare modicum of tartness, if not quite enough to cover my pride, as I began washing out my bandage under the cistern.

Bartolomeo’s face had no expression at all as his eyes fastened on my bruised mouth, then flicked to my hand. “How badly did he hurt you?”

“Not near as badly as he wanted to. Leonello came along.” I wrung out the bandage and began wrapping it around my palm. The bleeding looked to have stopped. Sweet Santa Marta, Bartolomeo, just go away.

“I never liked Leonello. He was always eyeing you. And he’s got charm, you know, for all he’s a dwarf, so I was afraid you’d start eyeing him back.” Bartolomeo hunkered down on his heels beside me, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. “Then again, I didn’t like anyone who gave you the eye besides me.”

“Well, most of the time I just thought Leonello was horrible, so nothing to fear there.” I struggled with the wet bandage. “But there’s no denying those knives of his can be very useful.”

“I’ll have to thank him, then.” Another pause. “Maria said it was your cousin Marco who was to thank for it. Something about a letter he wrote—”