"My dear boy, my sweet lady," she murmurs, and it seems the humour's known to both: a man, housing the spirit of a goddess, and Vannozza Spina's eyes sparkling with knowledge more. "You ask a great deal of my secrets. Allow me to say only this: where there is a will, there are ways. And I am a wilful creature."

And her will turns to dismissing the mask once more, thrown absently on the sofa again. "You're not of Taravast. You'll leave with the season. What matter is this of yours?"