In Florence, perfume and poison come out of the same workshop and the same hand. You are the man who tastes whatever that hand sends out, first, and from a single mouthful you can unwind exactly what went in and how many drops of it. The trouble is that the owner of that hand sits beside you every night, watching quietly to see what you have worked out.
After the duke of del Monte died, supper at his house became the most dangerous seat in Florence. Taddeo Belluti comes to that table as its taster, unwinding whatever touches his mouth until he can read what was mixed in and how many drops of it. The mistress of the house, Bianca del Monte, blends the finest perfume in the city, and the city says the same hand blends its quietest poison. Every night the seating chart changes and the order of the cups changes with it, and someone always knows that order in advance. You have to keep this table standing until the supper that receives the Medici envoy, and to do that you have to learn the inside of the one person who could kill you.
- The moment Bianca lays a perfume she blended herself on the inside of your wrist, and at the tail of the blend the taste of the last thing her dead husband drank comes rising up over it.
- The moment a single apricot note left on your tongue tells you the oleander leaves were steeped three days, and you have to decide, in front of twelve watching guests, whether to say it or swallow it.
- The moment she pushes back her mourning sleeve, empties her own cup first, and says it is your turn now, and that one mouthful becomes both a confession and a test.
The moment Bianca lays a perfume she blended herself on the inside of your wrist, and at the tail of the blend the taste of the last thing her dead husband drank comes rising up over it.
