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There are ceramic tureens of rich soups, heaping platters of pheasant and beef, and great mounds of fish, their glazed eyeballs staring at me. There are plates of pork jelly, a variety of pastas and breads. There are fritters, pastries, and more. Cosimo has gone all out, spared no expense. And when I’m sure I can’t take another bite, I lean back in my seat, and Leonardo turns to me and says something I translate to mean, “I recognize your earrings.”

I inhale a quick breath, remembering how Braxton brought them back from the Trip where he procured theSalvator Mundi.

A painting which Leonardo has yet to paint.

A painting that is still a few years away.

“So then,” Leonardo says, intently studying my face. “Is this to mean that you are well acquainted with the boy out of time?”

I stare at Leonardo, wondering if he means what I think, or if my nerves caused me to misinterpret his words.

Needing to make sure, I lean toward him and say, “Scusa?”

Leonardo laughs, his mouth opening wide, eyes crinkling at the sides. “The boy out of time showed them to me.” He tips a hand toward my earrings and, with the slightest touch, sets them swinging. “He appeared to be very lovestruck by you.”

I nod, make some sort of indecipherable sound in my throat, which instantly makes my cheeks flush. I’ve had loads of training in swordcraft and equestrianism, but nothing to prepare me for moments like this.

“So, tell me—” Leonardo runs a gaze over my face. “How does history view me and my work?”

He knows.

Somehow, Leonardo knows that I am not from this time.

I mean, it’s not like I’m fool enough to believe I’ve done a perfect job of blending in, but still, it’s not like that’s the next logical conclusion a person might jump to.

Someone must’ve told him. Cosimo, maybe? Even Braxton? Or maybe he just knows because, well, he’s Leonardo da Vinci, which means he doesn’t view the world through the same lens as the rest of us mortals.

Like Arthur, his vision is elevated, limitless, always with an eye to the future.

Realizing he’s still waiting for an answer, I clear my throat, about to tell him he’s bigger than any A-list actor, any rock star or world leader. But, not sure he’ll appreciate those references, I say, “You are viewed as an absolute wonder. A genius. Five centuries from now, they’re still writing about you, celebrating you, trying to figure you out.”

“What we do now echoes in eternity,” he says. Then, looking at me, he adds, “A quote from Marcus Aurelius.”

The moment he says it, my mind turns to Arthur.

“And my friend here?” Leonardo nods toward Cesare Borgia. “How does history view him?”

That must’ve caught Killian’s attention, because he turns away from the beautiful noblewoman sitting beside him and glances nervously between Cesare and me.

Cesare shoots me a curious look, his intense dark eyes poring over my face, causing me to pause, unsure what to say. The news isn’t nearly as good where he’s concerned.

“What is this?” Cesare looks to Leonardo. “Have you stumbled upon yet another one of your time travelers?” He laughs.

I laugh, too. A dreadful, high-pitched sound I regret the second it’s out.

Leonardo shrugs. To Cesare, he says, “All the best oracles are time travelers of sorts.”

Cesare gives me a long, considering once-over, thrusts his palm toward me, and says, “My friend here has the most inquisitive—often infuriatingly so—mind. And he will not stop until you spill all. So tell me, oracle: What do you see?”

Or at least that’s how Killian translates it to me.

But Killian also looks worried. Like, really, gravely worried.

He gives me a subtle shake of his head that’s meant to deter me. And when Cosimo catches on, he tries to distract both Cesare and Leonardo with offers of more food and wine.

But Cesare holds his focus on me, waiting for the verdict.

So I do the only thing I can. Tracing a light finger over the lines of his palm, I say, “You are a very complex man.”