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coldly in the autumnal light. It was tradition he be ushered out upon arrival, the porters griping there was little enough room without an Orfano underfoot. He’d not seen the kitchens so empty before. The room so often filled with industry did not suit being abandoned.
    ‘Where is everybody?’
    Camelia flinched and dropped a potato, before stopping it rolling under the table with a deft foot.
    ‘ Porca misèria , Lucien. You scared me half to death!’ She was a large woman, tall with a hearty hourglass figure, blessed with a head of corn-blonde hair contrasting with deep brown eyes set in a broad honest face. Camelia was taller than some of the men in Demesne but didn’t stoop to soothe their vanity.
    ‘Sorry, I just… It’s strange seeing the kitchen so empty.’
    ‘Everyone has gone to help at House Erudito. It’s their turn to host La Festa this year. I’m looking after little Dino here and making some gnocchi.’
    Lucien crossed the kitchen, trailing fingers along the smooth wood of the long table. The room smelled of flour and a soothing chord of woodsmoke, oregano and other herbs he’d yet to learn the names of. Onions and garlic hung from hooks in the wall, someone had placed wild flowers in a cracked vase on the dresser, a tiny riot of blue and red petals. Camelia’s blouse sleeves were rolled up and she was grating potatoes into a large bowl with gusto.
    ‘Why do we have it?’ he asked.
    ‘ La Festa? ’ Camelia smiled. ‘Well, it’s a custom – we have it every year. And it gives Duchess Prospero a chance to wear one of those dresses.’ Lucien knew full well what she meant and coughed a barely concealed laugh into his fist. Camelia straightened a moment and stretched her back, then regarded Lucien with a curious look.
    ‘We celebrate the harvest and give thanks that we have enough to eat. Don’t your tutors teach you this?’
    ‘Why don’t we have a party to thank the farmers of House Contadino instead? Wouldn’t that be, I don’t know, more appropriate?’
    ‘Appropriate!’ Camelia broke into a wide smile. ‘You sound more like noble’s son every day.’
    ‘But it would, wouldn’t it? For the farmers,’ he pressed.
    ‘ La Festa isn’t just about crops and harvest, it’s about being grateful to the king for finding us, for waking us from the deep sleep, for building Demesne for us. If it weren’t for him you and I might never have been born.’
    Lucien paused to consider this for a moment.
    ‘So what do the mimes and performers have to do with it then?’
    ‘They just add a sense of occasion. You know, fun. Don’t you like them?’
    ‘I think they’re a nuisance,’ he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
    ‘Well, there’s many that might think you a nuisance too, young man, so mind your manners.’
    Lucien looked around the kitchens a while before letting his gaze come to rest on Dino. The boy looked at Lucien from under a heavy brow, continuing to worry the scrap of bread he was clutching in cherubic fingers. Lucien had never seen a child so small, so young.
    ‘How old is he?’
    ‘Dino? Why, he’s all of three, or thereabouts, we don’t know for sure because he’s…’
    ‘Orfano.’ Lucien took a step back, regarding the boy anew. He had dull grey eyes and soft brown hair. He looked completely unremarkable, could have been any child from any estate. Lucien pouted a moment, frowning at the small boy, the innocent usurper, before realising Camelia was watching him.
    ‘Don’t go gaining the wolf, or I’ll turn you out of here with a broom handle.’ She put one great hand on her hip. ‘And you’ll not get any dinner tonight.’ She gave a sigh and rubbed her forehead with the back of her palm, smudging flour onto her face.
    ‘Does he have any…? You know. Does he…?’
    ‘Yes, I know what you’re asking.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t grow those awful spines from his forearms like Golia. He also has trouble