I had not seen what look she had in her eyes when we came face to face in the Sala del Pappagallo. I’d slipped away too swiftly to see, bowed and threaded back into the thickest part of the crowd. Though I’d seen that little Laura had grown taller, in her months in the country sun. By the time the Pope made up his mind on a French husband for her or a Milanese one, she’d probably top me in height.

I found Carmelina not in the kitchens but in the garden, kneeling alone in the barren patch of earth and grubbing at the dirt. I’d have sauntered right past the anonymous figure in the dark nun’s habit, but I heard a mutter of Venetian invective behind me and turned for another look. “Signorina Cuoca,” I greeted her. “Don’t tell me you have renewed your vows?”

“I didn’t have a dress heavy enough for the cold, so—” She gestured at the heavy wool habit, glowering. “How was I supposed to know to pack clothes for winter? I didn’t intend to stay here five weeks, let alone five months!”

The coarse black weave turned her olive skin sallow, and even sitting back on her heels in the hard dirt I could see the hem was too short at her shins. “As a costume I prefer the giraffe ensemble,” I agreed, and sat down on a sawed section of log that was the only seat the garden had to offer. November’s first snow had fallen last night; it showed in dirty gray sprinkles over the packed earth. The sky overhead was like beaten pewter—more snow soon, to be sure.

“What are you doing here, Leonello?” Carmelina uprooted a basil plant with a brisk yank, tossing it roots and all into her basket. “I’d heard Madonna Giulia came back from Carbognano, but you’re not in her pay anymore. Not if I know you.”

She didn’t say why I would no longer be taking Giulia’s coin, and for that I could have kissed her even though her lips were red and chapped from cold. But she probably would have smacked me. “I work for His Eminence Cardinal Borgia now,” I said, indicating my new livery. Much like the old: unadorned black with plenty of hidden sheaths for knives. Though it missed the subtle tailoring that had made Giulia’s livery a work of art, and me in it almost a handsome man.

“You, working for Cesare Borgia?” Carmelina’s straight black brows flew up. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally learned how to juggle.”

“No.” I smiled thinly. “It’s my other skills he finds the occasional use for.”

“Ugh. Don’t tell me.” Carmelina yanked up another basil plant.

“It’s not as often as people think.” Only one task, in fact, since I had been hired. Of course, that one had been quite enough.