Page 90

Killian shrugs. “Not sure it matters. Like most people say, Leonardo’s on a whole other level—doesn’t perceive much of anything in the usual way. But now, dear Shiv”—he ushers me into the bedchamber, where a tub is being filled—“your bath awaits.”

As he starts to leave, closing the door behind him, I say, “Killian—”

He looks at me.

“Thanks for…for showing up when you did.”

“It’s like I told you—I’ll risk my life to protect you, but you need to take my life seriously, too.” He holds my gaze for just a little too long, then takes his bow and leaves me to bathe.

53

Once I’ve changed into one of the gowns Charlotte made, I reach for the emerald-and-pearl earrings Braxton gave me, and the sting of his absence hits me again.

I miss him.

Miss him so much my heart aches for the loss of all that we’d planned.

And I can’t help but wonder why Arthur chose to send Killian instead.

Was it to keep me on my toes, like Cosimo said?

Or was it because Arthur doesn’t want us alone in a place where he can’t watch us like he can back at Gray Wolf?

Since there’s no use dwelling on what’s already done, I take one last glance in the mirror, then head into the dining room, where a beautiful table is set for a feast. And though the room is crowded with artists and nobles, my gaze instinctively veers to the far side of the room and the unmistakable sight of Leonardo da Vinci himself.

My jaw drops. A hand clutches my chest, ready to catch hold of my heart should it actually pound its way right out of my flesh.

This is no dream. This is really happening.

I reach for my talisman, my fingers curling around that small golden cage. Just because I was told he’d be here doesn’t make the reality of it any easier to take.

I mean, it’sfreaking Leonardo da Vinci! One of the greatest talents and minds of all time—and he’s standing just a few feet away.

“Hey there, Shiv.” Killian sidles up beside me. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to openly gawk at the guests? Or at anyone, for that matter.”

Just as he says it, Leonardo glances across the room, his gaze briefly locking on mine. And it’s enough to cause a flame of embarrassment to redden my cheeks, and I quickly look away, staring down at my feet.

“Subtle.” Killian laughs, nudging his elbow into my side. “You know, I’m more than happy to introduce you. But first, you need to pull it together. Think you can manage that?”

“Stop it,” I whisper, my face so hot I can’t make myself look at him, either. “It’s not every day you get to meet one of your heroes.”Especially one who’s been dead for over five centuries.

“Here. Have some wine. Take the edge off.” Killian thrusts a goblet into my hand, then tips his glass to mine. “What should we toast to, Shiv?”

I lift my chin, look Killian square in the face, and say, “To all the art and beauty that will continue to exist long after Savonarola’s dark reign.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Killian raises his glass, then takes a deep swig.

A moment later, Cosimo calls us to the table. The meal is about to be served.

Though I have no idea how it happened, I’m as amazed as I am intimidated to find myself sitting with Leonardo da Vinci on one side and Cesare Borgia, the infamous son of the current pope, Alexander VI, on the other. Luckily, Killian is seated directly across from me, since my Italian is so poor that I’m in desperate need of a translator.

Not that I’m called on to talk all that much. The conversation mostly centers around the current state of Florence, the tense relations between Savonarola and the Borgia pope, and the event that’s set for tomorrow, along with everyone’s predictions for how it all might play out.

The discussion is lively, robust. And though I don’t understand most of it, as the night presses on, it becomes easier to catch more and more. But, when it comes to my own ability to join in, there’s only a marginal improvement between now and my very first Italian lesson.

Which isn’t such a bad thing, since it keeps me from saying something I shouldn’t. Like assuring them all that there’s no reason to worry—that in just over a year from now, Savonarola will be reduced to a memory.

As the conversation continues, I set my focus on the food, and the sheer quantity alone makes my head spin.