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Unreasonable winter chill nipped at fingers at noses, despite the roaring fire on the hearth. The art studio’s high windows let plenty of light into the plaster-walled room – and plenty of cold drafts. Piles of sketch paper rippled, trying to escape their paperweights and go flying about the room. Biseol pulled his ponytail tighter, trying to tuck flyaway strands out of his face.
“You’re getting charcoal on your hair,” the student next to him smirked. His own dark hair was tucked down the back of his tunic.
“Baek-rang, you’ve got a stripe of green on your bangs, and you drop more paint on your shirt than your canvases,” Biseol said. “How you haven’t been dismissed yet is beyond me.”
“My patron has a lot of money,” Baek-rang said, shrugging. “And he’s still annoyed I got into that street brawl. I’ll be back on guard duty soon enough, and the masters will be happy to see the back of me.”
Biseol snorted at that and turned back to his paper. They were supposed to be studying female nudes, but somehow his sketch looked subtly disproportionate. The soft curves he’d drawn yesterday looked childishly exaggerated. He rubbed half-heartedly at a line and sighed.
“Good morning, students,” Michelangelo said, limping into the room. With him came an unpleasant smell, but none of the young men in the room dared to mention it to the most renowned artist in Florence.
Thanking the drafts, Biseol somehow managed to keep himself from sneezing.
“Today we have a different young woman to model for us,” Michelangelo said brusquely, “And I am disappointed to have to remind you that as craftsmen, we are here to polish our art, not bawdy verses.” He glared around the room, his baleful gaze landing squarely on Baek-rang. “While we appreciate beauty as artists, we are to do so as those respecting God’s creation. How will you expect to earn the privilege to paint holy chapels and noble ladies if you cannot keep your tongues from evil gossip? If I catch anyone discussing our model in lewd terms – even after she departs the studio – those students will be dismissed.”
Perfect, Baek-rang mouthed to Biseol the moment the master’s back was turned.
Rolling his eyes, Biseol joined the shuffle of students fetching fresh sketching paper. Maybe this model will be easier to draw. Returning to his easel, Biseol looked up as the cloaked figure took her place in the center of the half-circle of artists, perching on the upholstered couch before the fireplace. Tall for a woman, he noted idly. Her shoulders are quite broad – then familiarity made his stomach drop with a swoop. It can’t be!
The woman gracefully dropped her cloak and lounged against her seat, as easily as if she were in a high society ballroom and not naked in front of a dozen men. A few strands of her shining black hair drifted in the draft of the flames behind her. Eyes red as burning coals swept over the assembled art students. When her gaze met Biseol’s horrified stare, a glimmer of amusement crossed her face before she turned and asked in a deep, rich alto, “Master Michelangelo, is there some particular way I should pose?”
“Sit however you please,” the man said, without looking up from shuffling through his art supplies. “You’ll have to be still for quite a long time. Make yourself comfortable.”
Jeok-yeon smirked and stretched out, showing off muscles she’d gained through years of training in secret – a physique easily hidden under the many flowing layers of wool and silk worn by Florentine high society.
Accustomed to Michelangelo’s preference for well-muscled anatomy, Biseol found himself thinking, This will be far easier, before the sheer impropriety of having to closely observe his mistress’s bare body made his hands tremble.
“Begin your sketches as soon as possible,” Michelangelo said to the room. “Today’s model does not have much time to give us.”
No, Biseol thought, wanting to laugh. She doesn’t have much time. Tonight she has to attend a ball at her fiance’s palace. He picked up his quill pen and ink, forcing himself to focus. I don’t know why she’s doing this, but I won’t disappoint her by drawing badly.
Long after Jeok-yeon had left to attend the ball, Biseol found himself working on his sketch by lamplight. Few people remained – Michelangelo spoke quietly with his senior students, the group preparing the life-sized cartoon that would be traced onto wet plaster for his latest commission. Their words made an indistinct murmur in the background.
The thump (and smell) of Michelangelo’s boots preceded his arrival at Biseol’s shoulder. “You’ve been working hard,” he said. “Hmm. This is better than yesterday’s. It’s as if you’ve captured our model’s personality, as well as her form.”
Of course, Biseol thought. I know her personally! “Thank you, sir.”
Biseol knew the family would be out late, so instead of going to bed when he returned home, he lingered by the gate and warmed his inkstained fingers at the guards’ brazier of glimmering coals. Eventually they arrived, Jeok-yeon walking regally by her mother’s side, her little sister almost bouncing at their heels. Yards of fabric trailed behind them while thick fur collars raised against early morning frost obscured most of their faces. Biseol caught Jeok-yeon’s eyes in the briefest of glances, hoping she would make sense of the questions in his eyes. She narrowed her eyes before looking away. Spar with me later, that look meant.
In the dim pre-dawn light, with her hair tucked under a man’s cap and wearing the same simple clothes as any of the family squires, Jeok-yeon could easily have passed for just another trainee, crossing training blades with a taller, white-haired guard in a small courtyard far from the family wing of their sprawling home. After her wooden training blade clattered to the ground a third time, she huffed, shaking out her stinging hand. “You’re mad at me.”
Frowning, Biseol picked up the fallen practice blade. “Are you going back to the studio today?”
“Of course! Father and Mother will be asleep past noon, it’s the perfect time to slip away.”
“Why are you doing this? You know how the art students talk. Your marriage–”
Jeok-yeon laughed. “That’s why I’m doing this, of course. I’m not interested in being told who to marry for the family’s advantage. Besides, I don’t want an empty-headed pretty face, and the family’s honor will survive my disgracing myself to get out of this. Or at least, the full coffers will.” She winked. “I have bigger plans. Want to find out?”
“Of course.” Biseol wondered what bigger plans could mean – surely not a convent?
“Then start packing, and bring your bags with you to the studio today. We’re going to run away together,” Jeok-yeon said.
“Mistress, that’s not funny.”
“It’s not a joke. I’m leaving Florence, Biseol, and I want you to come with me.” She grinned, as a proper lady would never. “There’s a whole world out there, don’t you want to see it, too?”