CHAPTER 1

A/N – Hello everyone! As unbelievable as it might be, yeah, I started a third story (what else is new). Okay, so before we start, I want to mention a few things about this new fic we're about to plunge in.

One – I had started to post it a few years back under a different title and with slightly different characters, so it might look familiar to you for that reason, but it just wasn't the right time for it then, so I took it down and deleted everything. Now it's come back to haunt me, so this time I have to let it out of my system.

Two – Please do not expect to find any historical accuracy in this because there is very little. While I have done some research in order to place the action in the correct timeframe, that's all there is to it.

Three – This story contains one-sided, abusive Itacest and I have significantly villain-ised Romano and Spain for dramatic effects. And no, I'm not sorry.

Four – This story is not for the faint of heart – it contains very dark themes and heavy angst and also some of you might find certain aspects sensitive or disturbing, so consider yourselves warned and read at your own peril


"It takes one tainting for a man to become impure.

It takes two to lose their soul.

And it takes three for them to become a demon."

In 1542, Pope Paul III launched an Inquisition designed to combat the spread of Protestantism. It included crimes related to heresy, blasphemy, Judaizing, witchcraft and censorship of printed material.

Rome - late September 1544

The air inside the small carriage had become almost unbearably hot and the old, black-clad priest sat on the opposite bench was smelling. Bishop Lovino Vargas tugged helplessly at his tight collar with his free hand, while with the other he held a perfumed handkerchief to his nose. It was of little help though and he huffed, reaching for his cane and rapping against the roof of the carriage impatiently.

"What is taking so long?! We're hardly moving!" he inquired. Outside, the noises of the crowd were growing louder and he'd pulled down the curtains over the windows so that he'd be spared of the sight of the swarming bodies pressed together, pushing and wrestling their way forward to get a better view of what was going on in the center of the square.

"Forgive me, Eccellenza, but the people keep getting in the way," came the driver's voice through the miniscule opening near the top.

The young bishop sighed, slumping against the back of his seat. "We should have been there already. And it's so insufferably hot today, the summer is still not letting up," he observed with a grimace.

"Such is God's wish, that we do our duty in all kinds of weather, Eccellenza," the old priest stated, straightening his back. "We must all toil tirelessly, as does the Holy Father himself, if the plague of heresy is to be purged from the heart of our city once and for all."

Lovino nodded silently, assuming a pious air at the other's words. He stole a glance through the curtains, hoping his companion would not suggest that they leave the carriage and continue on foot for the rest of the way to the palazzo. The bloodthirsty crowd was mad with excitement at this point and it wasn't even safe anymore to get out of the carriage. Besides, it wouldn't have done to appear before the Chief Inquisitor with his clothes tattered and looking unkempt, even if he'd put on the simplest, most austere black robes and hat he owned. The severe Spanish monk appointed by Pope Paul to oversee all such proceedings did not tolerate any kind of vanity with the clergy, thus the sole ornaments he'd afforded upon this occasion were the simple silver cross around his neck and the red-stoned bishop ring that was the symbol of his position and could not be parted with.

"We sure must," he agreed. Damn, the pope was old, perhaps he would die soon and all this madness would come to an end. "My men have been organized to collect evidence in a manner even more effective than the denunciations received by the ecclesiastic tribunals."

The old priest smiled, hands clasping contentedly on the wooden rosary in his lap. "You are most wise, Eccellenza. No wonder your prospects are so promising, at twenty-six you might become the youngest cardinal Rome has seen appointed in quite a while."

"Thank you, Father," the younger replied humbly, bowing his head slightly. The old fool had no idea just how much these 'promising prospects' had been costing him… As for actually getting the cardinal hat, that was going to eat up an even larger sum than what he'd paid so far. Still, he would make it farther than Nonno, andsoonno one would remember that he'd not been born in an influential family…

Nonno Roma Vargas had been a bishop too in his time, but he hadn't been ambitious in the least, he'd never wanted more. Why then have both his grandsons follow the path of serving God? Lovino would have done much better as a soldier, the times were such that there was so much opportunity that way, and the right marriage could have even secured a title for him. But no, Nonno had pushed him into this and his battle for glory had turned out far more complicated and straining. Still, Lovino was cunning and resourceful and he'd climbed upwards, growing even bolder after Nonno's passing. That until two years before, when the Pope had suddenly decided to reignite the flame of the Inquisition and the hard game he'd been playing until then had also become dangerous.


The large balcony of the palazzo was quickly filling with the Duke's guests for the day, the servants rushing to and fro bringing in trays with fresh fruit and refreshments. A large seat had been placed near the railing for the Chief Inquisitor, surrounded by smaller seats for the other members of the clergy present. Feliciano stood with his back stuck against the cold stone wall, hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed, the only still shape in the middle of the commotion. He would not look at the three wooden platforms erected in the middle of the square, or at the yelling crowd below, or at the old, stern-looking priests who had walked in, accompanying the Chief Inquisitor, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

He didn't want to be here at all. But it was his duty, he had to obey his brother despite the growing horror in his gut, he had to be here because Lovino meant him well, as twisted as his intentions might have been. Lovino was trying to keep him safe and beyond question – in a time when everyone could be suspected – he was trying to keep them both safe, even if that safety lay under the keen, sharp eyes of the Chief Inquisitor. The young priest moved from his spot only when everyone was finally seated and he came to bow and briefly press his lips against the stone on his brother's ring. Cool fingertips brushed his forehead for a fleeting moment before Lovino motioned with his cane to the stool placed at his feet and he sat down, without a word.

Outside in the square, firewood was piled up on the platforms and the three heretics were being brought down from the barred cart, the executioners tugging at the heavy chains and dragging the ragged forms. They were then hauled up, one for each platform, and tied to the poles in the middle while the crowd shouted and pushed, barely held back by the row of soldiers.

"Such is the rottenness of the soul. None of them would confess and save themselves from eternal damnation," Carriedo said after the priests had done asking the questions and the torches had been thrown into the piles of wood.

Lovino nearly flinched at the sudden words, tearing his eyes from the grayish smoke beginning to rise and stealing a glance towards the Inquisitor. He heard the others agreeing, but he stayed silent, hands folded in his lap as he observed the man. The young bishop's damp shirt was sticking to his back under the black robes - it was so hot and there was no breeze - but Carriedo didn't seem affected by it in the least. The Spaniard sat with his back straight and his gaze pointed forward, his tanned profile complimented by the stiff black of his garments and the short, slightly curly dark hair. He was still young, somewhere in his late thirties, and his stern face, with a finely chiseled jaw and strong, straight nose was of surprising beauty, even if entirely wasted on this man.

Of course, Lovino didn't care about any of that. What puzzled him to no end was why Carriedo chose to stay strictly faithful to his assigned purpose, despite the enormous power conferred by his position and of which he would use none. He may have been a simple monk in the beginning, but everyone was in his hands now. The vaguest suspicion was enough to send any man, woman or child to the stake these days and the Chief Inquisitor could make or break them all.

Probably feeling looked at, the Spaniard turned his head and his bright green eyes met the young bishop's inquisitively, sending a cold shudder down his spine despite of the heat. Lovino held his gaze for a brief moment before lowering his own, fingers clenching involuntarily. Had he seen the faintest shadow of a smile on the other's face? No, it was impossible, the Chief Inquisitor never smiled. Lovino shifted in his seat and glanced down at his brother, instantly forced to suppress an irritated grimace at the sight of him. Looking pale and fragile in the simple black cassock and tightly clasping the silver cross around his neck, he was the living picture of disapproval and that was really the last thing they needed right now!

It was taking all of Feliciano's strength to keep his shoulders from shaking while the horrid shouts and cries filled his ears and his nose was being brutally assaulted by choking smoke and the distinctive smell of burning flesh. Eyes squeezed shut and head bowed, he was desperately praying for the grotesque spectacle to be over as soon as possible, when something poked his shoulder. Flinching, the young priest looked up startled, meeting his sibling's hard eyes on him. Glaring daggers, Lovino used the tip of his cane to lift his chin and direct his face towards the contorted figures consumed by flames.


The parish house was dark and quiet. Sister Anna had finally gone to bed after uselessly trying to convince the young priest to put some food in his mouth and now Feliciano was lying across the small bed, staring absently at the ceiling. He was waiting – his brother would come tonight and there would be punishment. He'd always been an obedient child and a diligent student, and he'd learned all lessons but one – how to hide what he felt. Was that so wrong, to be sensitive to suffering? Was it truly sinful for one to not have their heart carved out of stone?

When Lovino walked in, sometime after midnight, it was as quietly as a shadow and all he could hear was a soft rustle of garments and the key turning swiftly in the lock. He'd have to be quiet too, since sister Anna could never find out about the bishop's nightly visits. The old nun who had been the boys' caretaker since they were little was half-blind and mostly useless when it came to housework nowadays, but she was as close as family. And so she couldn't find out. No one could find out.

"Kneel."

Without a word, the younger sibling obeyed, slipping from his place and kneeling down onto the discarded cassock lying on the floor and which still retained the foul scent of smoke from earlier, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Tell me, fratello, have you grown doubtful?" Lovino asked as the other let his shirt fall to the ground and gripped the iron bed frame with shaking fingers. "Is that why you chose to embarrass me in this fashion?!"

Feliciano flinched and squeezed his eyes shut as the riding crop descended onto his shoulders, sending a ripple of pain through his already bruised flesh.

"Do you doubt the divine justice of the Inquisition?!"

Lovino stroke again.

"Do you not see the need for the purge of heresy?!"

Again and again and again the riding crop bit into his skin, making his back hunch until his forehead was pressed against his knuckles. "Do you disagree with it?! Do you disagree with the Holy Father?!"

"N-No-…"

The riding crop eventually fell to the ground and the bishop knelt behind him, gripping his hair and pulling his head back brutally. "Be very careful, fratello…The fire you saw today, you could be burning in it tomorrow! The Chief Inquisitor is ever watchful, he sees everything! As little as a look that displeases him might send you to the stake and I can't protect you, do you understand?! Your duty is to obey!"

Slowly, the vicious fingers eased their grip on Feliciano's dark auburn strands, smoothing them into a soft caress before travelling down the nape of his neck.


After his brother was finally gone, Feliciano lay curled up on the floor for a long while, staring absently at the ghostly white of the bare wall in front of him and waiting for some life to return to his numb form. It wasn't so much the pain – he'd more or less grown used to it over the years – as it was the way his mouth would become sealed, as if sewn shut and allowing no sound to escape and that feeling of leaving his own body every time Lovino touched it.

His body was impure. Worse than that, it was no more than a lump of clay his brother would mold and shape as he pleased, with his fingers, with his lips, with his teeth, with his manhood, leaving bruises and cuts and scratches into the pale flesh. It was possessed and it did not belong to him.

And Feliciano was enduring it, he was obeying because he'd always obeyed and had known nothing else but to obey - God, Nonno and his older brother - and he would be quiet, but he was no fool. Every time those cruel lips would murmur words of love into his ear, after he'd been broken yet again, his stomach would cringe in rejection. He loved Lovino, but he wasn't blind to his brother's wickedness, or numb to the dread the other inspired.

Indeed, he was blind to nothing.

At length, in the early hours of morning, the young priest collected himself from the ground, slipped the discarded shirt back on and walked into the small study adjacent to his bedroom. The window had been left open and some papers lay scattered on the wooden floor, but Feliciano only stepped around them with his bare feet, cringing again at the sight of them. He'd read them earlier in the day – letters from two petty merchants who had been charged protection tax by the bishop's men. One of them had been beaten, the other's shop had been ransacked when he'd refused to pay.

Of course, Lovino didn't need to be informed about this and his superiors couldn't care any less because this was Rome, so the younger sibling had ended up getting all the complaints lately. Letters would be sent to him, some people would even approach him on Sundays after mass. But Feliciano couldn't do anything about it, he held no rank, no power and no influence over his brother whatsoever.

Still, he felt guilty.

Maybe there was something he could do? There was someone whose advice he could ask for, but he'd been hesitating for a while now. To do so would have been to betray his brother and he'd promised Nonno-… Maybe he could do something without exposing their family's shameful secrets to Nonno's best friend? No, if he wrote to the man, he'd have to be honest and even if not, the other would read between the lines and guess he was hiding something foul.

And what if his brother's men were to intercept the letter? The young priest shuddered at the thought. Still, even if all hell was to break loose, maybe it would be the end of it all, at least for him. Maybe, instead of Lovino's lips on his neck, there would be a blade.

As the dying candle was giving out its last flickers of light, Feliciano finally picked up the quill and the letters began pouring onto the blank page he'd been staring at forever.

To be continued