But La Bella didn’t say anything. She only looked at me, still on her knees beside my pile of clothing so she had to tilt her head back at me as though I were a man of normal height. Her big dark eyes brimmed silence, looking not only at but through me as she passed me the last of my blades, and I still wanted to choke her. I wanted to be cruel, call her a brainless whore and make her weep. How dare you understand me. How dare you wheedle my secrets out of me. But wasn’t that what the best whores did, the ones who understood men to the tips of their intuitive fingers? The best whores weren’t brainless at all, and neither was she.

I swallowed my cruelty, settling my last dagger into its tab on my new belt, and looked into the mirror the maids had left propped up before me. I saw a dark man, a dangerous man, even a handsome man. A man at whom larger men would laugh at their peril.

“Better take the mirror away,” I said. “I’m in danger of growing as vain as you, Madonna Giulia.”

“I pray I have not offended you, Messer Leonello,” she said quietly.

“On the contrary, my dear lady.” I turned and gave a faultless, empty bow over her hand. “Thank you.”

Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Thankless and perfidious Giulia!

—EXCERPT OF A LETTER FROM RODRIGO BORGIA TO GIULIA FARNESE

Giulia

It was always a bad sign when Rodrigo lost his temper without dropping the papal We.

“All Christendom bows before Us, and We can’t command obedience from one witless harlot?” he roared. “As if the French aren’t enough trouble!”

“I am sorry as always if I have offended Your Holiness,” I murmured, looking down at my folded hands.

“Offended Us?” he shouted, storming up and down as though the rage were too great to be contained by stillness. “You foolish, feckless, half-witted girl, you’ve destroyed everything!”