“Ficino’s dead,” I said, realizing for the first time that Maia didn’t know. “He said he’d had a wonderful life and he had died defending excellence and we shouldn’t grieve.” I began to weep as I remembered it. I pulled his hat out of my kiton and gave it to her.

She took it and turned it over in her hands. “He always said he’d die at ninety-nine,” Erinna said.

“Idiotic numerology,” Maia sniffed, wiping her eyes on her kiton.

“He said we were Amazons,” Erinna said. “And Trojan heroes.”

“It wasn’t the way I imagined fighting side by side,” I said, only then realizing that we had indeed fought side by side, in a battle.

“It’s one of those things that’s better in stories,” Erinna said.

“We can put up a monument to Ficino when we get home,” I said, trying to comfort Maia, who was trying to stifle her sobbing. “In Florentia, which he loved so much.”

“I’ve seen his tomb,” Maia said, wiping her eyes again. “Years ago, of course, before I came here. He’s buried in the Duomo, a temple in the heart of the original city of Florentia. It’s a Renaissance building based on a classical original, which couldn’t be more appropriate for him. He was buried with the greatest honor his people could give him.”

“Good,” I said. “And we will do the same. But I miss him. I miss him like I miss Mother. Of course we’ll honor their memory, and of course their souls have gone on to new lives, but I hadn’t finished talking to them in this life.” I knew what death meant now. It was conversations cut off.

“I know what you mean. He was my friend from the first day I met him,” Maia said, steadying her chin with her hand. “Without him both the Renaissance and the Republic would have been poorer. But that we can honor. It’s the twinkle in his eye that I’ll really miss.”