His eyes widened over my hand again. Not quite so calmly this time, I thought. I dropped my voice to a whisper, leaning close to him. “Turn me in, Leonello, and I swear in the name of God and the Holy Virgin that I’ll drag you down with me. I swear.” I lifted my hand from his mouth. “So why don’t you keep my secrets?”

He spat out the mouthful of wine, making a splash on the floor like blood. Never taking his eyes from mine, he reached for a cup beside the branch of candles. Not the cup I’d brought; a mug of chilled lemon water Madonna Giulia must have placed for him. He drank a deliberate mouthful, rinsing it around his mouth, and spat it out in a neat stream, right onto the front of my apron.

“You know,” he said, “I loathe your mulled wine. You always add too much honey.”

“Writhe in hell,” I spat.

He tilted his head, eyes unreadable as he surveyed the cup I had brought. It sat steaming innocently. “Did you truly poison it?”

“I’ll leave you to wonder,” I said. “You go right on guessing, every time you take a dish from my hands. Because if I even get a hint you might be thinking about turning me in for arrest anyway, I won’t wait to find out. I’ll just drop a little hemlock in your broth, next midday meal.”

He looked at me. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I’m a failed nun, Leonello.” I stretched my lips over my teeth, but you couldn’t call it a smile. “I’m a desecrator and a runaway and an adulteress against God, and I’m already bound for hellfire. What’s murder, added on top of all that?”

He regarded me silently.

“Think about it.” I turned for the door and added over my shoulder, “Hemlock.”

PART ONE

PART ONE

August 1496–February 1497

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

You are as wise as you are perfect.

—RODRIGO BORGIA TO GIULIA FARNESE

Giulia

You’d think that the Holy Father would have an all-seeing gaze, wouldn’t you? Being God’s Vicar here on earth, surely he would be granted divine sight into the hearts and souls of men as soon as that silly papal hat everyone insisted on calling a tiara was lowered onto his brow. The truth is, most popes don’t have divine insight into much of anything. If they did, they’d get on with the business of making saints and saving souls rather than pronouncing velvet gowns impious or persecuting the poor Jews. Blasphemy it may be, but most popes have no more insight into the minds of humanity than does any carter or candle maker walking the streets of Rome in wooden clogs.