"And let not these beastly men hurt you, my children," said the Sun to her flowers; "Let not your petals shed in the summer when they must blossom, and let not your leaves wither and die. Let not the gardener prune you easily, and let not your thorns pierce the ladybird's hide – and now, I must name you."

And the Sun named each one in turn, showering them with praise and warmth, until she came to the small stalk with the blood red petals cowering in the corner of the field. The flower shivered under her mother's mighty gaze, and with a smile the Sun announced:

"You are Carnation, and you are my favourite flower."

And so Carnation trembled as Man came and saw her siblings' beauty. She watched as her sisters were married; the Dandelion was plucked for Greed; the Daffodil for Vanity; the Chrysanthemum for Death; the Amaryllis for Pride; and the Wormwood for Absence; the Buttercup for Riches; the Bellflower for Loss; the Poppy for Oblivion; the Rue for Regret; the Snowdrop for Hope; the Coriander for Lust; and even her beloved Rose was plucked for the handsome Love, who promised her wonders beyond her wildest dreams.

Fiorentino was silent as he worked on Benvolio's new storybook. Beside him laid sketches of the flowers he had chosen, and as he strived to perfect his calligraphy he hoped Isabella would be able to read it. She had told him once that when men demanded tidiness, he demanded art.

Leonardo came into the study some time during the night. The artist had struggled to sleep, and when he saw his son bent over one of his leather-bound books curiosity got the best of him and he crept to his side. Fiorentino did not notice him, so lost was he in his task.

"What are you doing?"

The writer started and turned with wide eyes to his father, who began to laugh when he saw the surprise on Fee's face. He blinked owlishly at him, then seemed to hear the question he had been asked.

"Benvolio's book," he said; "I'm writing another story for it."

"May I see?"

"I haven't finished it," he warned as he handed it to his father. The ink shone under the soft candlelight flickering at their side.

Leonardo was quick to scan the first few paragraphs, and then smiling he read aloud;

"The Lotus smiled as she floated serenely in the pond, watching as left and right the men came to pluck her sisters. Her tranquillity caught the eye of the peaceful, soft-hearted Purity, come to see the commotion on the fields, and falling to his knees he declared – 'My Lotus! My love! If I could take you from the pond and hold you in my hand, and call you mine without question, I would never let my eyes wander, never let another taint my love, for you are the most peaceful flower of all, and I cannot live without you.'

"But Lotus feared for her sister Carnation, who so far had not a single man had stepped forward to claim, and so she said to Purity; 'If your heart is pure enough for me, find my sister a husband! He must be strong and brave, beautiful and chaste, and he must have a soldier's loyalty!'

"And Purity bowed low and vanished from the fields, and Lotus waited as she watched Carnation shiver under their mother's loving glow."

Fiorentino smiled sheepishly at his father. He was not one for such wilful fantasy, but he fancied complex and realistic storylines would not please Isabella. She was the one who would read it to their son after all, and even with so many miles between them he feared the reprimanding letter she might send in return.

"Benvolio lo ameranno," said Leonardo as he turned the pages; "My! There's so many stories here. Are you planning to send him an entire library?"

"Close. An anthology. Every boy needs one," Fee replied.

"Ah! So Purity does find Carnation a husband!"

"He would never have failed Lotus."

"Let me see – "A lion-hearted man Purity had found, with dark morose eyes and a firm frown, and dirt streaked across his hardened face. His moody steps after his friend made all the flowers rise to attention, and to her sisters Balsamine said;

"'This man is Impatience, and he is mine!'

"'No!' said Lavender; 'This man is Distrust, and he is mine!'

"'No!' declared Rainflower; 'This man is Hatred, and he is mine!'

"'No! argued Narcissus; 'This man is Selfishness, and he is mine!'

"'No!' shouted Lobelia; 'This man in Malevolence, and he is mine!'

"And Purity raised his hands up and exclaimed – 'Flowers! This man is neither Impatience nor Hatred, Selfishness nor Distrust, and never was his name Malevolence!'

"The flowers fell silent. The morose man said no words, though in his eyes a fierce fire burned that sent all their stalks quivering. The Sun burned brightly as his eyes fell on Carnation, and with striding steps he came to stand beside her, then crouched low and said;

"'My name is not Riches, and my name is not Glory – I am not Patience nor Peace. I cannot be called Courage, and I cannot call myself Compassion. But, I can be all of those things and none of them, and I can love you with a chaotic fire none but you can quell.'

"And so he rose to full height and bowed low to the Sun, and with a loud voice he announced;

"'My name is Passion, and if it would please you I would have Carnation as my wife, to love and to cherish with a flame eternal.'

"The Sun smiled down at Passion and her Carnation, who in her lover's presence rose to full height. She shivered no more and stared bravely at her mother, while beside them Lotus and Purity watched in awe.

"'You may have my Carnation, Passion, and her love you may keep,' said the Sun; 'and for your everlasting devotion I shall grant you a gift – that even if the fire dulls and dies, your love for each other shall remain. Mistreat this honour, and it shall become your curse.'

"And with another bow Passion plucked Carnation and made her his wife, and the Sun turned to Purity and said – 'For your dedication to Lotus I bestow on you my gift – that now, Purity shall be much sought after, coveted in every culture, and every baby born shall bear your mark, and every happy memory shall be thought with you in mind.'

"The soft-hearted Purity nodded and bowed, and with a proud smile he plucked Lotus from the pond and made her his wife."

Leonardo smiled at his son. Fiorentino had started on the illustrations. Passion was a man that took after the Auditores, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a grave and stern expression that faced off their enemies in battle.

"I wouldn't imagine Passion looking like that," he commented when he saw the scars across his weathered lip.

"Passion is found in the strangest places," replied Fee; "Why not in a scarred man? Why not in a spinster? Why not in a captain without a ship?"

"I see your point."

There was silence between them for a long while. Leonardo helped with the illustrations as best he could – he followed the written instructions and made a few changes he felt were needed to make it more 'child-friendly,' and Fiorentino did not object.

"We start out tomorrow," he said after a while; "Will Salaì be ready?"

"He's already packed. It's just a matter of moving it all to the carriage."

"Maestro…this trip…" Fee sighed and shook his head; "I can't be sure of your safety. I may not be recognised by the cani, but that's not to say none will catch wind of us."

"I'll not let you wander off to terrors unknown alone. I lost you once, Fiorentino, and the pain was indescribable. Hell could not cause me as much torment. We will be fine – and when we see Isabella, we can make plans for how to get you inside the Firenze catacombs."

Fiorentino offered him a sad smile.

"I only hope the Pieces will help me end this madness."