Two Years Prior

Isabella bent over a map that Ormanno was studying. The parchment was skillfully crafted, most likely created by a monk holed up in a monastery somewhere, detailing trade routes and republics. Vibrant colors notified the viewer of boundaries and roads.

She traced her finger, ever so gently, over the path from Florence to Rome. Once she touched Rome, she cast her eyes into France, back across the Holy Roman Empire, and into Jerusalem.

A frustrated growl erupted from Ormanno and he impatiently ran his hand through his curls.

"What is it?" Isabella inquired.

"The damned Milanese. They're blocking a route to the north and into the rest of the Holy Roman Empire. Negotiations are being made, but it will probably erupt into a war."

"Can't we simply take a different route?"

Ormanno scowled. "We could," he said. "But this is more about us standing our ground and not standing for a blatant acquisition of a passage that is supposed to be public."

"Of course," Isabella glanced back down at the map. She was still learning that it is not common to simply turn one's other cheek in the face of imposition.

Ormanno stepped around the table. Isabella remained staring at the map, but she felt his athletic arms wrap around her waist. Somehow, over the last six months, Isabella and Ormanno had found themselves back into the rhythms of engagement- even with Isabella's vow. "You know," Ormanno's breath was on her ear. "I may have to lead men into battle."

Isabella ran her hands would his forearms to clasp his hands. She messed with one of the rings on his finger. It was the one with the Albizzi seal, made to leave an impression on man face in a brawl. "And you'd just leave me behind?"

She wasn't complaining. She was prompting him to remind him of her promise.

Ormanno kissed the edge of her jaw below her ear and whispered. "I'd take you with me. Nothing will strike more fear into the hearts of men than Isabella de Medici brandishing a blade."

Isabella turned to face Ormanno and she felt his hands slip lower. She stared up into his eyes and gently caressed his face. He had been growing a beard of late and he was maturing out of his boyish features. "I can't fathom losing you without being by your side."

"I know," he said, barely above a whisper. He bent down and kissed her. It was strange- they never kissed like their parents (or what they had seen their parents do). Each token of love was exchanged like it would be the last. Never forceful, always tender.

Isabella never got used to kissing Ormanno, it always felt like the first. Not that it was sloppy and awkward, but like a thousand drunken butterflies had become her insides and she found herself hungry for something she understood but remained a mystery.

They parted and Isabella pushed her head into his chest. Ormanno pulled her closer somehow and rested his chin on the crown of her head.

The pair remained still for a moment.

Heavy footsteps approached the room. Isabella and Ormanno quickly separated, casting apologetic glances at each other. Even though they were both sure Rinaldo was aware of their intimacy, the two kept the facade. If the truth was conformed to Rinaldo, he would be obligated to report to the church. Not to mention it would be difficult to prevent the God-fearing servants from doing so. The punishment for how far one can go before they broke the vow was not clear, but neither Ormanno or Isabella wished to experience burning at the stake.

The door was pushed open to reveal Ormanno's father and his associate Andrea Pazzi.

Pazzi intrigued Isabella, like a child gazing through glass at a venomous snake. He was the only other powerful figure that knew of Isabella's location, but he never reported the information to her family or the Signoria. His lack of doing so created suspicion in Isabella. She knew Rinaldo would not be above threatening Pazzi's life to keep her safe, but the fact he was not taking advantage of such a valuable opportunity to blackmail Albizzi was concerning. The Albizzi and Pazzi were not friends, simply allies- something that could be broken with such information.

"The Signoria has voted to go to war against the Milanese," Rinaldo remarked. He bent over the maps that Ormanno had previously been studying and pointed to a location. "They are already gathering soldiers throughout region."

"No attacks have been made yet?" Ormanno inquired. He was bent over the table once again.

Isabella glanced nervously at Pazzi. With him present, Isabella felt out of place in the family she had claimed for the last six months. His constant smirk and beady stare made her feel no bigger than a simple girl with no title- which was exactly what she was.

"No. But they are clearly preparing. Since we are only starting today, they will have a clear advantage over us."

"However,"Pazzi spoke, "We do have the advantage of the Medici bank to fund the war, something they do not have. When we are ready, we can crush them very quickly."

At the mention of her family name, Isabella flinched. An act that did not go unnoticed by any of the men.

"Well," Ormanno started, "when we are prepared we need to gather in the south and north. If we engage on both sides we can drive them back into Milan."

Isabella took a breath. "You can't do that?"

"Sorry?" Ormanno turned to her. Isabella glanced at Rinaldo, who was staring with furrowed brows. She avoided Pazzi's gaze.

"If-if you drive them back into Milan it will keep them near their resources. Not to mention that is also where they live, so they will be inspired to fight until the last man. But," Isabella stood next to Ormanno once again. "If you have groups in both the northeast and southeast, you can drive them into Alps and against the Ligurian Sea. By that point, it will be winter and if they go into the Alps they will die of frostbite. Push them into the Alps, you can pick off men as the retreat. Or, if they choose to go toward the Ligurian Sea, you will be on an elevated plane and then you can shoot down. And if my knowledge is correct, during that time of the year, it's rather misty."

"Just like Hannibal," Rinaldo said.

Isabella nodded.

"Not bad," Pazzi commented.

Rinaldo gathered the maps. "Ormanno, Andrea, take these to the Signoria. We can work out the finer details with the others."

Pazzi turned and left while Ormanno followed him with a handful of parchment. Isabella began to trail after them to retire to her room, but Rinaldo stopped her.

"Isabella, I need to speak to you."

"Yes?"

Rinaldo rounded the table to come to Isabella's side. He sat on the edge of the surface and gestured for Isabella to join him. It wasn't often that Isabella saw head of the Florentine army so relaxed.

"Given the time that has passed since you left Florence, your family has pronounced you dead." His voice was softer, calmer than usual. "They are holding a, um, service in two days."

"A funeral without the body."

Rinaldo nodded. "Naturally, the Albizzi household will be obligated to attend." He took a breath. "Do you wish to see it?"

"Sorry?"

"If I was in your position, I would be very curious to see what happened at my funeral and how certain people react."

Isabella considered the proposition. "Wouldn't I be recognized?"

"Not if we disguise you well enough. Nobody looks twice at a commoner."

It was a worthy idea. Seeing how her family would be reacting would bring her information for blackmail (an unfortunate consideration) or at least shame and guilt if she returned to the Medici. She doubted any member of her family would be focused enough to look through a crowd of Florentines to search for the missing girl.

"Do you have a plan?"

Isabella shuddered and fell into the straw of the cell.

The Cardinal stared down at her lifeless body in a mixture of horror and confusion. The blood that was once on his hands from the stigmata had disappeared, leaving only a faint scent of roses.

He gathered his courage and gingerly turned Isabella over.

All color had drained from her face, leaving her ashy and pale. Her breathing was faint, but between each breath he could hear a fervent prayer. He could not recognize the language, for it was not Latin nor Italian- the only two languages that Isabella knew.

The stories of the previous Virgins and saints rushed into the Cardinal's mind. Each person who partook in the vow was granted with gifts and Isabella was obviously not forgotten. Glossologia, prophecy, stigmata, and the mystical knowledge that she presented to the Pope.

Condulmerio crossed himself.

"Jailer," he called and a figure appeared in the doorway. "Fetch me some wine."

He cradled her torso in his arms and whispered prayers into the air. Even though Isabella was supposed to be wed by now, she seemed to be nothing more than a child in her vulnerable state. It wasn't surprising, for children have always been more attuned to the Holy Spirit.

Isabella stirred and groaned, slowly coming out of the ecstasy. She pushed the Cardinal's hands away and opened her eyes. "Let me go," she mumbled.

Condulmerio obliged and set her in the straw. The jailer returned, holding a jar of wine in one hand and a cup in the other. "What happened?"

"She passed out," he said, standing. "Take care of her, I must speak to the Pope."

"The Pope jailed her?" Cosimo rubbed his temples. "Why did she inherit her mother's tongue?"

Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably. "He hasn't said yet, but I believe he may be very close to hanging her, if another incident occurs."

"I thought he favored her," Cosimo sighed. "So I sent her to help sue for peace."

"I'm sorry," Lorenzo crossed his arms and glared at his brother. "I believe you were the one who sent the letter claiming she had the stigmata?"

"I did," Cosimo said. "I didn't anticipate him cornering her and claiming she was trying to usurp his power as a heretic."

"Does she even have it, Cosimo?"

There was a pause.

"Yes."

A silence fell between the two. It was interrupted by Contessina pushing open the doors to the study. "Where is my daughter, Lorenzo?"

The pair of men exchanged glances. Cosimo took a deep breath.

"There has been some complications regarding her visit with the Pope."

"Which are?" The fire in Contessina's eyes was unsettling.

"Your husband," Lorenzo said, "Has taken the liberty of writing to the Pope that Isabella has received the stigmata and has been receiving visions from the Lord."

"Yes I know."

"The Pope jailed her under suspicion of heresy and treason."

There was a tense beat. Contessina took in a deep breath and moved to the window. Below the crowds milled about, completely unaware of the crisis taking place above them. She shifted her gaze to the tower atop the Signoria.

"Isabella can take care of herself."

"I'm sorry?" Cosimo was taken aback by his wife's claim.

Contessina stood firm. "Florence is in the middle of a war. She is far safer in Rome than she is here. At least she won't go gallivanting out into a battlefield or get trapped in the crosshairs."

"Contessina, he may hang her!"

"No, he won't."

The brothers exchanged glances. "What do you mean?"

"She's a Medici," Contessina said. "If he lays a hand on her he risks losing our support, which would be a disaster. Isabella is more useful to him alive than dead."

"You do realise that you are accepting the risk of her being a bartering chip against us?"

"I am, but she will be safe."

Contessina's stare presented a warning to the brothers. She was right and she knew it. Isabella had been in captivity before and somehow took care of herself for over a year after running away. The girl was, without a doubt, the toughest out of all of the Medicis. She was gifted with the skill of constantly escaping death and using situations to her advantage. Of course, Isabella was a threat. But she could only be contained, not eliminated. Even then, containing her would be quite a feat. There was a substantial possibility that she was already making her way back to Florence.

"Okay, fine," Cosimo leaned against his desk. "She'll stay in Rome."

Isabella was curled in the corner of her cell. A kaleidoscope of colors flashed against her vision, even though she kept her hands firmly pressed against her eyes.

She didn't know if it was her presence in the Holy See, but the visions were becoming more common, more painful, and more confusing. Isabella used to be able to make a coherent conclusion from what the Lord gave her, but no description could give light to what she experienced. The Book of Revelation made more sense than what she was seeing.

For the first time, in a long, long while, Isabella was scared.

Not the same scared of being threatened with death or violence, but a wet, icy fear. The fear of unknowing and confusion. For once, she felt alone. Where was God? The visions that brought her comfort and purpose had become scrambled.

Was she going mad?

Was she doing penance?

What was her sin?

Was it the presumption of prophecy?

Isabella held herself tighter and gripped her rosary. Her vision blurred and she let out a silent, mournful sob. Tears fell faster than her ability to register her grief. Her heart longed for her father and mother. She may be strong and willful, but Isabella was still a child that craves a form of comfort.

With gasping breath she let out a barely audible, "Lord, please."