The Poisoned Chalice

There is a wall in my home that holds a mural. My mother would take me to look at it when I was young and remind me what we were fighting for. What I am still fighting for: Florence.

They're all there.

My father;

My mother;

My grandfather;

My Uncle;

"Amara."

Startled I turn my head from the artwork towards my brother, Piero De' Medici. His face fallen into an unfortunate slump which doesn't suit him. He wasn't blessed with a beautiful face and the constant frowning didn't help.

"I'm sorry." I smile hoping to lighten the mood that had descended upon us.

"Pope Innocent is dying." He tells me planting a quail's egg into his mouth.

"This is news?" I ask confused. Pope Innocent VIII had been dying for weeks now. It was the main topic of conversation in our palace.

Piero places his fork down into the wooden table and sighs. "The news is that they do not believe he is going to pull through."

I bite my inner lip and speak: "I would not discard God's power so easily, brother."

"This is not about God, Amara."Piero seems more frantic than usual as he attacks his food. "This is politics."

"I will not speak of a dead man before he is dead, Piero." I raise out of my place not wanting to anger him anymore. He's been on edge ever since his wife went into confinement with his first child. I blame nerves.

I start my departure from the room. "Sister, please." Antonia – my elder by two years – pleads calling after me while looking between her two siblings.

I don't bother turning back to face her, I'm hungry anymore.

I return from riding in a mid-day sweat.

Florentine heat in August is fierce. It bakes my skin and that of my horse so much that we are forced to return early before I had fully found the strength to forgive my Brother. I don't know what raged the fiery passion inside of me, maybe it is that somewhere deep inside I know that a new Pope breeds tyrants.

"My Lady."

"Pedro." I greet the stable hand. I slip from the saddle to look around the maddening courtyard. "What's happened? What have they heard?"

"The Pope has breathed his last, My Lady." His eyes shifted from my face to the floor searching for my reaction.

"When?" I press, begging for more information.

"I do not know, My Lady." He is back to looking at the floor again.

I hand him the leather reigns of my horse. "Thank you, Pedro." I stalk towards the Medici House before spinning of my heel. "Make sure he gets water, Pedro."

I race through the door and towards Piero's quarters where he sits with Machiavelli – the Florentine ambassador.

"I suppose that you've heard?" I say looking between the two of them.

"Yes." Piero answers.

"And?" I raise my eyebrows high excited to hear more news. "Who is to be our new voice of God?"

"It's not decided yet, dear sister." He tells me. "The Collage of Cardinals are selecting as we speak."

"I best pray for them then." I grin dipping into a small curtsy.

"I do not believe that praying will affect the Collage of Cardinal's decision." Machiavelli voices in a monotone.

"Perhaps," I nod. "But I do believe it shall lift my conscience to do so."

We hear nothing but rumours from Rome for days.

Then, on August 11th, five days after Pope Innocent's death we receive word.

The election over, Pope Alexander Sixtus had been announced the new ruler of the Church and all that came with it.

That evening I sit in my apartments combing through my dark hair when my Nurse Maid enters.

"Darling," She takes my hands and twirls me to face her. "Sweetling." She caresses my face with her soft hands. "Your brother wishes to see you."

"What is it now?" I scoff looking into her soft blue eyes. They are warm as they always are. I miss them when away, with my life so full of harsh tones it is good to have such softness.

"He wishes to talk about the new pope with you." She smiles taking my left hand and raising it to her mouth.

"I suppose I mustn't keep him waiting then." I take three deep breathes before rising to exit out of the room. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck." She pinches my cheeks bringing colour to the surface. "Beautiful."

"Do you know about this meeting, Nurse?" I inquire sheepishly. "If you knew anything about it you'd tell me?"

"Of course I would tell you." I laugh at my stupidity.

Of course; she is lying.

"Brother." I greet as I enter his office. It smells of wine and dust that had flown in from the open window. "Machiavelli." I'm shocked to find him with my brother for the second time in matter of days.

"Please sit down," He gestures to an empty chair. "Dear sister."

I place myself in the wooden chair next to my brother and remain silent. I doesn't matter if I speak or not, I am not in charge of the conversation.

"Machiavelli has been," he searches for the words to finish his sentence. "Informed of a position."

"A position for me?" My brow folds as my gaze leads from one man to another.

"Yes." My brother beams as though he os blessed by news from the Archangel Gabriel. "A grand position."

My heart hammers in my chest. "Where is this position?"

"Rome." He reports to me.

"Rome." I repeat astonished.

"It is a great prospect for the House of Medici." Machiavelli tries to lower the tension that is raising in the room like a soft breeze flowing through a window.

"And you care so much for the house of Medici." I snap but his smirking face told me it was no good. Machiavelli loves the Medicis and his love for my father secured that in my heart. "Perhaps you do. But you," I revolve my head to face my brother. "You hate Rome, our Father hated Rome. Medici's are bred for Florence."

"Father knew Rome was necessary to survive." Piero argues back at me.

"Yes," I agree. "A necessary evil."

"Amara," Machiavelli calls my name grabbing my involuntary attention. "You are right. Medici's are bred for Florence and this is a way for you to secure Florence to Rome."

My heart bleeds. I love Florence, I will love Florence until my last day and beyond that if it is possible. "What is this grand position then, Brother?"

"The Pope's son – the Bishop of Pamplona – wishes to take you as a ward."

"You say it like I have a choice." I find amusement in his phrasing. "Do I have a choice?"

"No." He answers solemnly.

"So I'm to be sold," My anger raises again "Like a sheep at market?"

"Do not think of it like that." My brother advises.

"Then how am I to think of it?" I rage. "And to be left in the care of the Pope's son? What sort of Pope has a son?"

"You forget our Father married our sister Maria to Pope Innocent's son." He reminds me in a scolding tone.

"So you want to become our Father?" I accuse him. "It does not bode well with fate to try and repeat the past. I'm sure Machiavelli will tell you that." They both remain silent and I continue, it is unlikely they will remain voiceless for long. I am young and they are wise after all. "And anyway our sister has fled Rome now."

"Which makes this alliance even more important." Machiavelli inputs for my stunned brother.

"Why can Antonia not go?" I do not want to be sent away from my Florence, I would rather sell my sister to the dogs than leave it. "She is older than I and more influential. I am sure that the Pope would prefer her to be in the care of his son."

"Machiavelli has found your sister a great match in Piero Ridolfo."

"Our sister." I correct. "Do not get too far ahead of yourself, Brother; even you are not above blood ties."

"Your sister indeed." Machiavelli smiles. It is a strange and unnerving sight. "Amara, the Pope asked for you specifically."

My head races. Why would the Pope care for me? I'm not important and although not ugly I still not a notorious beauty. I am no Belle.

"What house is this Pope from?" I shrug biting my lower lip.

They look at one another with a face of concern. It rest upon my brother's face more than Machiavelli's who is used to the temper tantrums of alliances. Then Machiavelli – since my brother was too much of a coward – utters a word that fills me with dread:

"Borgia."

"Borgia!" I exclaim to my nurse once back in the safe confinements of my apartment. "Can you believe it? A Borgia Pope!"

My nurse nods sewing a floral pattern onto a cushion and not paying very much attention to me. I don't notice of course. I am too caught up in myself.

"And I am expected to be the ward of this Borgia's son? What Pope has an illegitimate son in our Holy Mother Church? It's an abomination."

"Is it an abomination to love?" My nurse questions with a smirk.

"No," I chuckle at the mere thought of it. "Of course not."

"Then how is this different?"

"But surely you have heard of the horrible things that spew about the House of Borgia?" I cry in an effort to rally her to my side.

"I have." She nods. "But Italy is fuelled upon rumours, my Love. They are often twisted along their way to our ears."

"But a Borgia." My voice has sunk down but the outrage still lies underneath. "The name strikes fear into the heart. Don't you agree?"

"It has the ability to do so, my sweet." She continues poking holes into the material on her lap.

"But?" I prompt.

She inhales deeply and sets her sewing beside her. "It would be a good opportunity for you."

"But to sell myself to the unholy family for a 'good opportunity' is not good?" I purse my lips feeling defeated.

"This world is what we make of it." She teaches me rising for her chair to take my head between her hands.

"How does it work?" I ask in a small voice. "Being a ward?"

"You will live where he tells you, he'll provide you with an allowance, and when the time comes find you a husband." I find myself criminally uninformed.

"So my brother won't be in charge of anything to do with me then?" My insides twist. "I have truly been sold in all but name."

"Come here." She studies me with those blue eyes once more. "I promise you that everything will be well." She clasp her soft hands in mine and twirls me into the wooden stool that sits in front of my dressing station.

"I think I shall be able to be a ward." I resolve once she starts combing through my wavy hair. "Although I would prefer to stay here."

"There are situations you must prepare yourself for." She says the words so nonchalantly I am not prepared for what will happen next. "Romantic situations."

My mouth is dry. I feel a strange sickness inside of me, as though a thousand bees have set to build their nest in my stomach. I am scared, or petrified at the idea of seduction. I do not know how an act of Love is performed. All my knowledge of such an event is stemmed from overheard drunk banter between men.

"But I'm not married." I tell her assuming she must have forgotten that detail. I am to become a ward to a Borgia, not marry one. She must have her information wrong.

"You do not need to be married to be a mistress." I don't understand. I can't be a mistress, I am a Medici.

"That's impossible." I have only met one mistress in my life– Lucrezia Donati. She was my father's mistress and she was as intolerable as she was beautiful. I didn't hate her but I didn't like her. My mother often told me we should never hate but when she said it about Lucrezia Donati it was often with an edge.

"How can it be impossible when girls younger than you are married?" I gaze into my reflection moving a piece of chestnut coloured hair from my eyes by tucking it behind my ear. My green eyes sparkled with tears that I blink back. I feel hollow and yet I overflow with the emotion that is crushing onto my heart.

"But they are married." I stress.

"I have heard that this Cesare Borgia loves his sister and would do anything to keep her innocent. He views her as being too young for marriage and since you're the same age as her I doubt he will see you in such a romantic light." I suppose that makes me feel better. I'm eager to hold onto my innocence for as long as possible.

"But when I get older?" I query.

"Yes." I can hear the pressure in her voice. "There is a stronger possibility then. There are cases of wards marrying into their adopted families."

"But I am not old enough for men to enjoy yet?" I try to lay my thoughts out in my head. "Am I?" I do not wish to be enjoyed. It does not sound kind but sad to be taken as such. Not like the gallant tales I read before bed, the ones I base my husband on.

"Of course not. Now come to bed." Her voice lulls me into a soft state as she helps me into the sheets that I allow to swallow me. "Think of tomorrow as a new beginning."

It takes me longer than normal to drift off and yet it less time than I expect. I let myself slowly sink into a world of dreams and nightmares.

And so, as it had been decided for me, I am removed from my Florence. My Florence full of art, sculptures, poetry and life for Rome. Rome which is known to stink to high heaven and is littered with poor unfortunate souls who learnt the hard way that there was nowhere kind for them.

"They say Rome is the pinnacle of the world." My nurse whispers to me as we exited the boundaries of Florence.

I give a weak smile and decide not to remind her that the pinnacle of an object is the most fragile.

A/N: so please tell me what you think. It's part of my save the Borgias campaign. Amara is so mary sue in this chapter but it's okay because she's not as Mary Sue as time goes on.

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