Monteriggioni, 1498

The walls of Monteriggioni were a surprisingly welcome sight. They rose out of the rock as if they had been carved from the very hill on which the city was situated. Leonardo supposed that they might appear forbidding to some, but in the yellow, oblique sunlight of early evening, they took on a glow that made him push the horses just a little harder. He had never been here before, and yet it felt like he was coming home somehow.

A man came out from the stables by the gate to meet him. Leonardo slowed the wagon at his approach. "Maestro Leonardo?" The man peered up at him, curious. At Leonardo's affirmative nod, he beamed. "Signora and Signorina Auditore are expecting you. I will take care of your horses and your carriage for you; you're to go up to the Villa straightaway."

"I have many delicate objects," Leonardo began as he clambered down from the high seat. "I really should-"

"No, no, Maestro, we will not touch them. Only you must first meet the signore, and then perhaps rest. They have been asking me for days if I've seen you yet."

Leonardo had to smile at that. Reassured that his precious things would remain undisturbed until he could figure out where he'd be going from here, he left the carriage in the man's capable hands and walked on foot through the tall, wide gate of Monteriggioni.

He'd been on the road for far too long. His legs ached from sitting, and the walk through the town was a welcome change. People here seemed to be content, shops did brisk business, and the guild halls showed signs of active involvement with open doors and notices posted on community boards.

As he climbed the sweeping steps that led up to the Auditore villa, he turned back to see the view. From here, he could see only the roofs of the town, then the walls, and beyond, the rolling, golden hills of the Tuscan countryside. He was glad he had gotten here when he did, for night was swiftly moving in. The eastern sky was already stained dark, but to the west, the sunset painted vivid orange and pink across narrow clouds. It seemed as if the colors met directly above where Leonardo stood, fading into each other and becoming one.

He knew he should continue up, finish those last few steps to meet his hosts, but he had to pause there for a moment. After everything that had happened in Milano, he was determined not to miss out on the pulse of life any longer. The war, the loss, the chaos that followed-it all reminded him of his own mortality. The sunset was too fleeting to take for granted, and he was not yet ready to break the spell. It was the first moment of peace he had felt in a very long time.

Even now, the senselessness of it all hurt like an arrow in his heart. His poor masterpiece, mistreated so. The first insult had been the bronze, though no one blamed Sforza for commandeering the metal for munitions. At least Leonardo had been able to make the clay model that they would use to cast the bronze when he was able to acquire more. All who saw the model assured him that it was awe-inspiring, a feat of artistic genius, no less. Leonardo had loved every inch of his creation, and had expected to be allowed to finish it when the war was over. But all his work went to waste at the hands of the invading army.

French bastards, to use his Gran Cavallo for target practice. And then he was the one blamed for never finishing, as if he had wanted his beautiful horse to be used as a practice dummy. The world could be terribly unfair sometimes.

Eventually it became clear that the war was not going to end anytime soon, and so he found himself here, on the steps of Monteriggioni, a guest of the Auditore. Just as Ezio had wanted in the first place.

Ezio. Leonardo knew little of his friend's actions in the nearly four years since they'd parted. There had been exactly two letters, in fact-one from Signora Maria that mentioned Ezio's successes in Spain, and an earlier one from the man himself-a quick note, more like-that made simple inquiries about his health and his work. Leonardo's reply to that one had gone unacknowledged, and sometimes he worried that his own letter had been perhaps too long, or too emotional, or too something. Because he learned later that Ezio was back in Italia, in Venezia, actually, and had sent no further word. It was only through the mother's letter that he even knew Ezio still lived.

Still, the loss of his beautiful statue and the unstable political climate in Milano had forced Leonardo to leave, and he finally chose to accept the invitation that only a few years ago he'd turned down. Monteriggioni was the safest place he could think of, and honestly, he missed Maria Auditore's intelligent company. The plan was to stay a few days, get his bearings, and leave before Ezio could return.

The light changed, the moment passed. The pink clouds thickened into purple and grey, darkening the sky further. The first breeze of nightfall ruffled his hair and was just cool enough to remind him that he was outside without a proper cloak. Autumn was already giving way to Winter, it seemed. With each year, the chill began earlier and earlier.

Or perhaps the chill was in himself, he mused, thoughts turning dark like the sky as he mounted the remaining steps. He crossed the flagstones to the villa's main door and knocked, ready to be inside and surrounded by people who cared about him in some way that had nothing to do with political gain.

Warmth, almost tangible, flowed over him when the door opened. Maria Auditore stood with her arms open, welcoming him home like he was her own. "Leonardo," she cried, "it is so good to see you! Come in, come in, Maestro, and let me look at you."

"Ah, Signora," he said, and her smile was as warm as the light in the room. Leonardo felt his heart swell; as many acquaintances and patrons as he had, so few would be as truly happy to see him as this woman was. None would have taken him in like this, he was certain, not without expecting something in return. "Thank you so much for your kind invitation."

"Nonsense. I feared you'd never accept. Claudia! Come see-our guest has arrived at last!" Maria took his hand and led him into an elegant, well-lit hall from which several doors opened. The figlia Auditore sauntered through one of these, a slender girl with a heart-shaped face. She was unmistakably Ezio's sister. Leonardo could tell at once, from the way her head cocked to the side and she measured him with a single glance.

"It is a pleasure," he offered, bowing, and she smiled.

"The pleasure is mine." Her gaze flickered to her mother, who was instructing a servant to bring refreshment for their guest. Leonardo could see concern in that look, though relief was there, too. She returned to her study of him as if nothing had happened. "Mother speaks very highly of you. So," and here she raised a brow, "does my brother."

Oh, he would have to watch himself around this one. "I was not aware your brother spoke of me at all," he said coolly, matching her gaze for gaze.

The room went quiet for a moment, and then Claudia laughed. "Maestro, I think we will get along very, very well." She extended her hand and he took it, chuckling over it as he bowed once more.

Maria's own wry smile spoke volumes as she led them into a comfortable sitting room to share some wine. Leonardo wondered just what he'd walked into with these two. Ezio always seemed to think they were delicate and in need of shelter, but already Leonardo could see that assessment went very wide of its mark. These women were both strong and all-too-observant. He followed them, amused, and wondered if perhaps he should have visited sooner.

The next day was much like that first evening, spent in the pleasant company of the Auditore women. Maria, despite her long years of grieving, was once more possessed of a quick mind and strong, well-informed opinions. Claudia, though equally opinionated, could be acerbic and sweet in the same breath. Leonardo had never been much for female friends but these two were easy exceptions to the rule. He wondered more than once what would happen if he got the two of them, Paola, and Teodora into the same room. Porco mondo, but that would be true conversation.

Mario, the imposing uncle, returned the night after Leonardo arrived. Normally, he would be out with his men for days at a time to patrol the surrounding land. But he, too, was glad to see Leonardo when he strode in from his most recent circuit, just in time for an excellent dinner with his family and guest.

"How do you like it, my family's home?" he asked, his voice like a hunting horn in the echoing dining room. "You should have seen all the work we did to restore it!"

"The villa is beautiful," agreed Leonardo as he sipped his wine. "Though the rooms of armor...?"

Mario refilled his own glass and took a hearty quaff. "They were Ezio's idea. He says it honors the craftsmen who protect his life with their work. Between you and me, amico, I think it's just that he doesn't want to fill up his private room with too many things."

Claudia agreed. "He treats the villa like a shrine to his own ego. Except..." she looked thoughtful. "...there are portraits he never displays. Those, he keeps hidden away in his room." As if the idea suddenly occurred to her, she looked at Leonardo. "Have you ever seen them? He paints them himself."

"What portraits?" Maria sounded surprised. "I thought all of the art was hanging in the Gallery."

Claudia shook her head. "These are different. Leonardo, come with me. I will show you." She rose smoothly from her chair and beckoned. Leonardo had no choice but to follow, mystified.

They climbed the stairs to the second level, walked past the door of Leonardo's room, and instead went to the door just beyond it. This led to a hall, a turn, and then a dead end. Leonardo was startled to see a ladder instead of more stairs; apparently, Ezio had taken the attic as his own. Sure enough, Claudia climbed it, managing her heavy skirts with ease. "Come up," she called to him. "The paintings are here."

"Why does he not have a normal room?" Leonardo inquired. "This seems strangely isolated."

She rolled her eyes. "My brother likes his privacy. The poor servants-they have to bring hot water up here whenever he takes a bath. They used to have to carry it all down again until they complained so much that he was forced to come up with a solution. Now there's a gutter, but Dio mio, I was ready to strangle everyone involved until they figured it out."

Leonardo only half-listened to her speak as he turned in a slow circle. Ezio's private quarters were spare, simple. Unlike the gleaming tile of the lower floors, this room boasted only wooden floorboards and heavy wooden beams. He noted the desk and the carpets underneath; the red upholstered chair in one corner and the simple, sturdy bed in another. There were no decorations save for the portraits that Claudia had brought him here to see, and these were hung at regular intervals around the room.

He found himself drawn to the faces. They were familiar, some of them; Uberto Alberti, certainly, would never be erased from his own memory. He also remembered Marco Barbarigo and Carlo Grimaldi quite clearly. He had directly aided Ezio with both assassinations in Venezia. Others, however, he barely recalled, such as the Pazzi boy and his father. But here they all were, everyone who had conspired against the Auditore and the Medici, everyone who had met death at Ezio's hands.

Claudia sniffed in derision. "These bastardi killed my father and brothers," she said, her voice tight. "I don't know why he keeps them out like this."

"I think I do," said Leonardo. "He has to remember them. Not to honor them, but to keep himself from becoming like them." He touched the canvas, felt the ridges of dry paint beneath his fingertips. "This is...this is my technique here." He looked at Claudia, who shrugged, not understanding.

"Didn't you teach him how to paint?" she asked. "When I first found him working on one, he told me he had learned from you."

Would the man never cease to surprise him? "I never taught him, not directly. He must have watched me, though I thought he always slept when I worked. How strange." Leonardo turned to her. "How did you find out about this in the first place? Not even your mother seems to have known."

Claudia shrugged again, though this time the gesture was full of the easy Auditore arrogance that Leonardo knew all too well. "Leonardo," she said, as if the answer was terribly obvious, "In this house, I always know everything." She smiled sweetly, then went to the ladder. "Now we should return to Mother, since Uncle Mario will likely wish to retire early and I don't want to leave her alone. It would be awkward."

Leonardo took one last look around the room as she descended. He couldn't shake the feeling of having been there before, as if something about the very air seemed secure, reassuring, known. He made himself go after her, leaving the room and its paintings behind. For the rest of the evening, he concentrated on the witty banter at which Maria and Claudia excelled, even though he could not let go of the feeling that room instilled in him. The answer came to him only much later, after he had gone to bed.

The red chair that stood in the corner had once been his, from his own room, years ago in Venezia.

Now what was he supposed to make of that?