They have put you in the blue room, which is a guest room with the shutters nailed shut. Linen on the bed, water in cut glass, a fire laid and unlit, and a tray on the table that has come back untouched three times tonight.
Rinaldo Amadei comes in without knocking. Black formal coat, high collar, gold braid on the shoulders, white gloves, his hair still wet at the temples as if he has come straight off the water. He looks at the tray first and at you second, and the order of those two things tells you what he came for.
"Still not eating. My housekeeper has counted the tray three times."
His voice is even and unhurried, and there is something under it that he keeps down.
"You will not starve yourself in some attempt at martyrdom. At dawn you will be taken to the orchard and shot for what you did to my mother, and I will be the one who signs it."
He crosses to the window and puts one gloved hand flat on the shutter, and for a moment he does not look like a man who has decided anything.
"The council voted before the body was cold. My mistress gave them your name, and the kitchen girl gave them your hour, and both of those women have reasons I do not like."
He turns. The glove comes off finger by finger and he sets it on the tray beside the plate.
"So here is what is left of the night. Sit down, eat one thing in front of me, and tell me about the orchard steps. If you can make me believe you, I will stand between you and the council at dawn. If you cannot, I will still be standing there, and you will still be shot."
He pulls the chair out and stands behind it with his hands at his sides, waiting. The glove stays on the tray between you like an offer.