Slow update again, I'm so sorry! I've just had my last exam today, so the next few days will be relatively calm. I will probably get a lot of writing done there. The quote below is one of my new favorites. It was used in The Borgias as well, by Micheletto. That was a beautiful scene... Anywho, on with the chapter!

"I hate and I love. Why do I do this, you may ask? I do not know, but I feel it, and I am tortured."
- Catullus

Chapter 23
August 9th 1498

The sun had begun its slow rise from the horizon when Jane stepped out onto one of the balconies of Machiavelli's residence. Now clad in a cardinal's red, Cesare stood leaning against the railing, his black hair sometimes catching with the wind.

"I heard of the lord Sforzas death," she said, stepping forward to stand beside him. With one hand, she gripped the railing, turning her body to him. "Should I be sad or relieved?"

Cesare let out a mockery of laughter. "A question I often ask myself."

"They say he was killed by bandits." Shocked by the sudden appearance of a third voice, both Jane and Cesare turned around to find Machiavelli partially standing in the shadow. He stepped out cautiously, looking at both of them in turn.

Jane suddenly found it necessary to step a little further away from Cesare. "You believe that bandits killed the lord Sforza?"

"No, I believe that Milan believes that he was killed by bandits." Machiavelli smirked. "I believe that the one who committed the crime is far more intelligent than a bandit. A master of deception, you might almost say." He looked pointedly at Cesare. "A man who can commit a crime and make others suspect it to be the work of anyone else but him might one day make a formidable prince."

Cesare smiled. "You should write a book."

Machiavelli shrugged. "Perhaps I will, but for now other matters call for our attention."

"Your father sent me with the documents." Jane brought forward the paper scrolls and presented them to Cesare. "They are for the arrest of Savonarola."

He took them from her with a nod of appreciation before opening them and reading through the text. "I believe we are ready to go. What do you say, Signor Machiavelli?"

"Savonarola should start his sermon in thirty minutes or so."

Once Cesare had found Micheletto, they all began making their way to the church. Jane was surprised when they turned in the opposite direction of the basilica which she had visited the last time she was in Florence. Apparently, so was Cesare.

"Has Santa Maria del Fiore not yet returned to its practice?" he asked as they followed the crowd down the streets. Jane noted that there was another crowd moving in the opposite direction, towards the basilica, a crowd where the people wore richer clothes and were followed by at least a couple of guards.

"It has, but Savonarola does not preach in the basilica." Machiavelli nodded towards a church, smaller than what Jane was used to but still more than twice as large as some of the largest buildings not dedicated to the church. It was more anonymous and ordinary, but there was something beautiful about the way it was built nonetheless. "He forsakes all vanities, remember?"

"Ah, yes." Cesare smiled a little. They came to a stop in front of the door, drawing to the side so that they wouldn't be pushed ahead by the crowd.

"Your father does not send you any guards for the arrest?" Machiavelli asked.

"He already has a few stationed here, awaiting my signal." He turned his head to Jane. "You and Micheletto can go into the church. I will not need your assistance for this."

She nodded, suddenly feeling nervous. There were no guards around from what she could see, but she didn't get much time to look around before Micheletto grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along. Wincing, she pulled her arm from his grasp and followed him into the church without another word.

"Apologies, milady," he whispered once they were inside the church, standing with the commoners as they waited for the sermon to begin, "a lady should know when she is no longer welcome."

Jane gave him a hard glare to which he responded only with a smirk. "I thought you were far more interested in the ways of men than women."

Except for his jaw clenching momentarily, there was no signs of the anger that she knew he felt in that moment. "You should watch your tongue, milady. I have been called a master in the art of killing."

"And I have been called a master in the art of surviving."

"A master in the art of survival, you say?" Without even looking at her, his hand slid across her hand to her wrist, pressing two fingers against a point right above the place where her wrist became the inside of her hand. "Then where is your pulse?"

Jane flinched away from him with a hiss. Collecting herself, she whispered, "It has always been very weak."

"I agree."

For several minutes, they both stood in silence, each with their own thoughts. It wasn't until the rest of the room fell quiet as well that Jane realized that time had passed. A large man, both in height and width, was making his way up the staircase to the small alcove, which was elevated above the floor with all of the churchgoers. When he spoke, it was with a booming voice that filled every corner of the church and Jane couldn't help but think that it was no wonder that so many people listened to him.

His voice didn't get to form more than two words before the door slamming open brought him to silence and the people beneath him to whispering, all while they hurried to the side. They were making way for someone who, with fast steps, was making his way towards the space beneath the place where Savonarola stood. A smile spread across Jane's lips when she saw Cesare's dark hair and red hat, followed by several men wearing gleaming helmets.

"Father Savonarola," his hoarse voice sounded, not quite filling the church as Savonarola's had, "I am Cesare Borgia and I come here with the authority of His Holy Father, Pope Alexander Sixtus, to accuse you with the crimes of defying orders from the Holy Mother Church to seize your heretical preaching and to come to Rome to bend your knee to His Holiness."

It wasn't until now that she noticed the torch that Cesare held. Savonarola's laughter filled the room, just as loud as his voice. "His Holiness sends the only man who is truly loyal to him, I see." A smirk graced the man's face. "His bastard son, one of many, I have heard." The church was then filled with laughter and clapping. Micheletto gave Jane a dark look.

"Girolamo Savonarola, you stand accused of these crimes. If you do not follow, I will have to..."

The preacher cut him off. "You will have to burn this church down?" He nodded to the torchlight, the crowd once more laughing. Cesare answered by holding the flame higher.

"I am not here to burn, but to enlighten." He looked around him, addressing the commoners rather than Savonarola. "As has always been the purpose of the Church." He looked back at Savonarola. "Until you came along." There wasn't much laughter at Cesare's joke, but the little that there was made him straighten his posture. "You will follow me to Rome, freely or with your hands bound."

Savonarola held out both his hands rhetorically. "Then bind them, Your Eminence, and drag me to Rome. But trust my words when I say that I will not still my tongue for a single mile. I will continue my sermon, and I will not stop it until you cut out my tongue."

With a silent order, three of the soldiers stepped forward and dragged down the man. The instant they touched Savonarola, his preach began; he continued it as he would have had he not been interrupted, a continuous flow of words leaving his mouth as he was dragged from the church. The doors closed behind the guards and Cesare's back and the church was left in silence. A silence which lasted for a full minute before whispers began cutting through it.

"We should leave," Micheletto whispered in Jane's ear. Nodding, she followed him to the doors. Outside, Machiavelli stood. When he heard the doors open, he looked towards the church and nodded in recognition when he saw Jane and Micheletto. Behind them, the masses began to exit the church, creating turmoil on the wide street.

"How was the sermon?" he joked with a smile on his face.

"Short, but entertaining," Jane answered while Micheletto moved behind her, becoming nothing but a shadow once more.

"As I would prefer it." They began to walk down the street in the direction of Machiavelli's villa, mostly because the crowd began pushing them. At the villa, Cesare was waiting. He was in a hurry to leave so Jane quickly packed her things and had her horse saddled. When they had said their goodbyes to Machiavelli, he told her to ride ahead of him to warn the Pope of his arrival. When Jane heard that Savonarola had still not stopped speaking, she was relieved that she wouldn't have to ride with him.

She was given two soldiers to keep her safe during the travel. It only took her two days to reach Rome, entering the gates just as the markets began to open. Leaving her horse at her house, she had reached the Vatican in good time. She had entered through the main entrance and was in a rather wide hall, filled with guards and a few of the Vatican's staff.

She found the Pope in a corner, talking to a soldier. Apprehensively, she closed in on him.

"...found him in a whorehouse, by the river," she heard the soldier say. The Pope nodded, only showing a bit of disappointment.

"Bring him to his chambers. Let him sleep this one out."

The soldier nodded, walking past the Pope, followed by two guards holding a man up. With a closer look, Jane noticed that it was Juan. His eyes were red, open even though they could have just as well be closed from the looks of it. He was slurring something incomprehensible and drool was hanging from his lips.

Once they had left, Rodrigo sighed as he brought his hands to his forehead. Two of his fingers rubbed his temples.

"Holy Father," Jane said once she was close enough for him to hear.

Shocked, the old man removed his hand from his forehead. "Giovanna." He looked over her. "You startled me."

Jane smiled kindly, suspecting that he needed kindness in that moment. "Juan. Will he be alright?"

After a moment, he shrugged, making a sound as though it was the stupidest question he had ever heard. "He has survived worse."

She nodded, not bothering to ask if this was the first time he had returned in such a state. "Your other son returns home with better stories to tell."

"Cesare?"

Jane laughed a little. "Yes. He brings with him a prisoner, Girolamo Savonarola."

Rodrigo smiled a large smile, humming satisfied. "Oh, those are better news."

"I thought you would say so."

Rodrigo put a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you, Giovanna. You have been most helpful. When does he arrive?"

"He is not far behind me. By nightfall, I should think."

He nodded, thinking as he muttered something to himself. "If all goes well, we will have a confession by next week."

"He is stubborn," Jane warned him but he only smiled.

"Not as stubborn as Cesare." He stood, silent in thought, for another moment. "You should go see Lucrezia. I believe she has stories to tell as well."

Jane looked into his eyes, trying to find the meaning of his words there but failed. "If you need me, send for me."

"I will," he promised her before letting her go. She found Lucrezia in their shared home, sitting in the gardens. There was a canvas placed on a tripod in front of her.

Jane stepped out slowly, looking over the woman. She wasn't young at all anymore, not like when Jane had first met her. She was eighteen years now, but at times her eyes would show an older age. At the moment, she seemed youthful enough, perched on her stool, a brush in her hand, biting her lips with a brow furrowed. "You have returned to the art of painting, I take it," Jane observed.

Lucrezia looked up in surprise, but that expression was quickly replaced with one of happiness. That expression changed just as quickly, to a mix of joy and annoyance. "I try, but I cannot."

At those words, Jane stepped around the canvas to see that it was still white and clear. "You cannot?"

"I cannot bring myself to paint," she explained, tilting her head.

"Why not?" Jane sat down on a chair beside her.

"Because..." Lucrezia sighed in frustration. "I am afraid," she finally admitted. "It is so beautiful, white as snow and unsullied. Why would I taint it?" A little bit of hollowness rested beneath the frustration, something that made Jane think that this wasn't entirely about the painting.

"Maybe you would make it even more beautiful," she suggested carefully.

Lucrezia just furrowed. "No. I would taint it." She turned her head to look at Jane. "Just like we Borgias taint everything we touch." Her head turned back to the canvas. "We taint it with blood, and with lies and schemes." Not knowing what to say, Jane stayed silent while Lucrezia calmed herself. "I have been betrothed again," she said after a minute or so.

Jane didn't know whether to congratulate her or offer her apologies. "Is he handsome?"

"More so than my last husband." She sunk together in her chair. "And he is kind."

"What is it then?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"What is his name?"

Lucrezia tilted her head as she moved her brush against the canvas, leaving behind a deep red colour. "Alfonso d'Aragon." Almost in a mockery, she continued, "Duke of Bisceglie."

Jane tried to figure out where she had heard the name before. "He is Neapolitan?"

Lucrezia nodded. "Not a prince of Naples, though, as my father would have it."

"He is kind, though?" Jane said, trying to make her see something good about this marriage. Last time, she had had a naïve belief of what marriage was; this time she knew, it was no fairytale. She needed something else, some sort of hope to cling on to.

"Yes." A smile appeared, one that she seemed to try to keep away. "I love him."

A sharp intake of breath revealed Jane's surprise. "You love him?" Lucrezia nodded simply. "That is good."

This time, she shook her head. When she once more faced Jane, tears were streaming down her face. "No, it is not good." She swallowed deeply, looking down. "There is a reason why marriages are for the sake of convenience, not love. Everything is a game, and in this game, marriage is security, nothing more. A shield to take the blows dealt to you." Lucrezia looked up again. "Many blows will be dealt to me. He would have to be the strongest shield ever made to survive."

Jane smiled reassuringly. "The future is always uncertain, but right now you are happy. You deserve that." When the tears continued to stream down Lucrezia's face, Jane drew the young woman into an embrace. "It will all work out. I will make sure of that."

For a moment, they stayed like that. When Lucrezia pulled away, the steady stream of tears had stilled. "When will Cesare return?"

"Soon. Tonight." Lucrezia nodded, somehow impatient. "Do you miss him?"

She nodded, a hand brushing against each of her cheeks to dry away her tears. "He is the only one who would never lie to me. I do not feel safe without him around."

"He will return soon," Jane assured, gripping Lucrezia's hand. She seemed to find comfort in it, but when her eyes turned to the north, towards Florence, they were filled with longing.