The Lion and the Rose by Kate Quinn Read Free Book Online Page A

“I could have been a saint too, you know!”
    “Or Salome,” Juan leered. “The Dance of the Seven Veils—we’d get to see what you look like under the last one, new sister—”
    “
Juan!
” Joffre burst out, flushing, but Sancha laughed and struck Juan a playful blow with her fan. One of those tiresome girls who is always doing something flirtatious with her fan. How I longed to smack her with it.
    “My likeness is to be in the Resurrection fresco,” my Pope was saying, oblivious. “When I have time to sit for it, that is—”
    “And you really should
make
the time,” I scolded. “Poor Maestro Pinturicchio has already finished everything else!”
    “I don’t like being painted,” Rodrigo complained. “An utter waste of time!”
    “But part of a pope’s duty is to be preserved for posterity. You’ll look magnificent, just wait and see.” My pope was sixty-five now, and he had put on weight now that he had no more time for the hunting and riding that had long kept him lean. But his massive shoulders were imposing as ever, his swarthy hawk-nosed profile just as confident, his vigorous dark hair only threaded with gray. The papal bull at the height of his powers.
    “This marks the beginning of everything.” My Pope beamed all about him: his children painted on the wall, his children clustered around him. “
La familia
reunited! Let’s drink to it again.”
    His eyes were once more full of emotion, but I saw Cesare still glaring at Juan, saw Lucrezia biting her lips to make them redder, saw Sancha aiming hot looks at both her brothers-in-law, and Joffre staring vengefully at Sancha. I saw it all, and all I could think was a horribly, woefully inadequate
Oh, dear
.
    But Rodrigo was looking at me expectantly, so I raised my goblet. “
La familia
reunited,” I echoed and drank in a prayer along with the wine.
    * * *
    S uch gloom, Giulia!” Rodrigo leaned back on his elbows against the pillows with their papal crest embroidered in gold. “When did you turn doom-cryer?”
    “I’m only saying that it’s vastly overrated, having all one’s family together.” I plucked the diamond roses out of my hair and began unlacing my moss-green velvet sleeves. “Holy Virgin knows, it’s a disaster whenever my family are all in the same room. In no time my older brother is telling Sandro he’s a prancing fool even if he is Cardinal Farnese now, and my sister is telling me I’m a harlot. And your children are even worse! Juan and Cesare looked ready to draw daggers over the
biscotti
.”
    “Brothers compete. It’s what they do.” My Pope waved a careless hand, and his massive papal ring glinted in the soft light from the tapers. “It brings out the best in both of them.”
    “I’ll remind you of those words when the blood hits the walls,” I said tartly, letting both my sleeves drop. “Why ever did you settle on Cesare for the Church? Anyone can see he’s born to lead armies and swing swords—”
    “But he’s cunning, and one needs that in the Church.” Rodrigo poured out a cup of wine for the two of us to share. “To survive in the College of Cardinals, you have to be able to outplot a spider.”
    “But he’s not suited for the priestly life. Not in the slightest!”
    Rodrigo laughed, gesturing around him. “Are any of us?” His private chamber was dim and rich, the walls hung in painted canvas that had been laid over in elaborate gilt designs, the bed elaborately curtained in crimson velvet embroidered with the papal crest again, silver brackets everywhere lighting the room with sweet-smelling beeswax tapers. My Pope used to visit me in my official domicile at the Palazzo Santa Maria, by way of a certain passage so very private that all Rome knew about it. But his wave of protectiveness after my return from the French army still hadn’t abated, and now I slept more than half my nights at the papal apartments here in the Vatican, where Rodrigo had the sheets scattered with petals from my