His eyes shifted sideways. I reached for the jug of wine I’d corked and set aside earlier, pouring out two cups and watering them well. “Zara this time?” I asked, noncommittal. “Or the dogfights?”

“Both,” he muttered. “Lost a hand or two at cards, so I thought I’d change my game. Just a match or two, I couldn’t leave yet—my luck was just about to turn! I never meant—”

“You never do,” I said, but without heat. This wasn’t the time to be angering my cousin. I pushed the wine into his hand, watching as he took a doleful sip. Wine had never been Marco’s vice; only gaming. My father had finally sacked him for it, distant cousin or no.

“You still have your post with Madonna Adriana,” I said as he folded his big hands around the cup. “I covered for you.”

“You?” His head jerked up. “How?”

I shrugged, taking a sip from my own cup to hide my smile. Really, I’d have felt quite smug if I hadn’t been so tired and scared. Two years out of a kitchen, at least for any serious cooking, and I’d pulled off a wedding feast for near on a hundred guests. With a strange kitchen, strange cooks, and no warning to speak of, thank you. “My father trained me too, Marco,” I said instead. “Madonna Adriana never knew you were gone.”

“My thanks—” he began, and stopped. “Oh, Jesu, I see what you’re doing. You want—”

“Let’s not talk about what I want. Just what I’m owed.” I kept my voice mild. “You owe me, and you know it.”

His big shoulders slumped even further.

I traced a circle on the table’s scrubbed surface. “I can be an asset, you know. Help you in Madonna Adriana’s kitchens. Help manage your apprentices—that Piero is trouble; you should sack him and take on someone who doesn’t steal wine from the credenza and grope the maidservants. I’ll help with the big banquets too, fill in when you have to hire extra hands—”

“And what do I do?” His head jerked up, anger coloring his cheeks. “What do I do for you, cousin?”

“Just take me in.” A little meekness wouldn’t go amiss, I judged, and though my father had been fond of pointing out that I didn’t have a meek bone in my body, I knew well enough how to fake it. “A place to sleep, Marco. My meals. That’s all.”

“That’s all? I’m off to the cells if anyone finds out I helped you. Or worse.” He bolted another mouthful of his wine. “Why can’t you just go home, little cousin? Your father, he might shout and roar, but surely he wouldn’t—”