Page 1 of A Dangerous Bargain

FLORENCE, ITALY

JANUARY 1469

CHAPTER ONE

The morning light’s gone from pink to lemon before Leonardo finally decides to grace us with his presence.

I always notice him first. It’s the barely there squeal of the door hinges, a pause as long as a heartbeat, then the shift of a familiar shadow in the corridor, followed by his too-long legs and shameless smile when he strolls into the workshop.

The other apprentices’ heads snap to Leonardo.

But their eyes slide toward me.

Cristo santo, why does he even bother showing up this late? We’ll be done in ten minutes. Leonardo’s looking at me too, a sideways glance from beneath his eyelashes that makes me bite the inside of my cheek. At this point, the only person not looking at me is the workshop angel, his ancient eyes open and staring at nothing. Occasionally an awful wheeze squeezes from his chest, the only sign he’s different from the half-finished statues surrounding him.

I drop my charcoal and rub my temples. “Third time this week, da Vinci.” The vivid purple mark on his pale neck tells me why he was late without me having to ask, but I do anyway, just to see what he says. “Is someone… distracting you?”

Leonardo winks. “I did find something better to do than drawing old, moldy fruit this morning, yes.”

That cursed wink feels like catching my toe in a dip on the floor. I glare to hide how something inside me stumbles. “If you won’t practice, then you can do chores today. You know Verrocchio’s rules.”

Unlike every other master artist in Florence, Verrocchio forces his apprentices to sketch together each morning. He claims it’s good for us, but I think all it’s good for is wasting work time and sowing resentment between co-workers. Enduring the exercises used to feel like going to mass: necessary to keep the peace and good for me in some cloudy way I’m too unlettered to entirely appreciate. But now that Verrocchio’s ordered me to lead the morning exercises, they’ve become downright torturous.

Leonardo bows, red-gold hair tumbling over his shoulders to hide the love mark. “Whatever you say, Virgil. I’m yours to command.” He winks again, doubtlessly because he’s noticed it irritates me. My eye gives a traitorous twitch.

Who was it this time? What boy was worth the drudgery of grinding pigments all day? It better not be an apprentice from another workshop. I want to goad him into revealing more—anything to wipe that pleased smirk from his face—but the other boys’ stares feel like a ring of torches, too hot for me to tease him about anything without getting burned myself.

Leonardo cups a hand around his ear. “Were you going to speak? I heard the gears grinding away in your empty chest.”

A machine joke, how original! I scoff and return to my work. If Leonardo wants to squander his time and shove his tongue down someone’s else mouth all night, fine. Someone has to make sure these exercises get done, and sadly, that someone is me. What an appalling workplace—I really deserve a raise for all that I endure.

The blessed quiet lasts five minutes before a giggle breaks it.

My charcoal stick snaps when I throw it down this time. “What now?”

The other apprentices blink, eyes far too wide and innocent for me to believe it. All of them except Leonardo, that is, who stares at the lofted ceiling like he’s being paid to do it. His shoulders shake with silent heaves of laughter.

“Are you capable of not being a nuisance for a single second?” I snap.

He thumbs a tear from his cheek, voice cracking. “It’s not me this time, I swear it!”

Only then do I notice the huge, diabolical grin taking over the face of the apprentice sitting beside him. Giorgio, my second most annoying co-worker. An absolute menace who’s done nothing but terrorize me from the moment he joined us last fall. Curious, the apprentice on Giorgio’s other side leans in for a look. He slaps a hand over his mouth at the sight of Giorgio’s sketch and dissolves into helpless giggles.

Glaring, I rise from my seat. “What’s so amusing?”

“Nothing you’d like!” Leonardo sniggers.

I storm across the room, snatching the sketch from Giorgio before he can crumple it up. “Penises! How original.”

The apples we’re drawing today are there. Except great, quivering phalluses jut from each pair. Giorgio wriggles his fingers, and they swell.

I suck in a scandalized breath. “You made a bargain for this?”

Giorgio smiles, admiring his obscene artwork like a beloved pet has done a marvelous trick. “Aye. Gave up the memory of my nonna’s house for it.”

This is one of the worst bargains I’ve ever heard of. “Don’t you spend feast days with your nonna? What happens next time you try to visit her?”

He lifts a finger to me, and then taps his chin with it instead, frowning. “Hadn’t thought of that.”