Two Years Prior

Isabella felt her breath escape her. No. How? She felt like Rinaldo's blue eyes were piercing her. Her breath hitched and struggled to procure words. "I... I don't understand."

He reached for his waist and pulled out a flask. "Here. Drink. It will help with the pain."

She cautiously took the worn leather flask and took a sip. The wine was extremely dry, and Isabella felt a slight fuzziness. She didn't drink wine much. The only time she did was when Marco Bello occasionally slipped her some when the pain of her injuries were too great. "My head," she mumbled.

"That was quite a dramatic fall," Rinaldo said. He took back the flask. He glanced inside it a moment and shook the container. His eyebrows raised. "I'm surprised you didn't break your neck."

"Huh?"

"You hit your head against a branch. Knocked you off your horse," he took a swig of wine. "I bet you're having trouble thinking right now. I see it on the battlefield," Rinaldo pointed to her with the flask. "Don't fall asleep. You may not wake up."

Isabella swallowed. "Why are you here?"

Rinaldo sighed and finished off the flask. He hooked it onto his belt, as if he was biding for time to gather his thoughts. "I know of what your grandfather does to you, ever since the marriage was broken. It's hard not to. You sit in your window all day reading or people watching. I see the bruises and the pain. I know how it feels, Isabella. I just happened to be leaving Florence at the same time as you and decided to follow."

Isabella stared for a moment. He had to be up to something. That was what she was breed to know- the Albizzis plot against the Medicis. "If you want anything from my family, I'm sorry. I've been scourged from their name."

Rinaldo furrowed his eyebrows. He was almost taken aback at the statement. "I'm quite aware of that. You really think I'm helping you because I want something from your family?"

Isabella's lower lip trembled and as the truth dawned on her. "You're... helping me simply because you can?"

Rinaldo slowly nodded. Isabella could feel tears forming in her eyes but she fought them back. Grandfather was only kind to her when he could get something from her. Her parents and Marco cared for her and helped her. (Marco mainly- her parents were banned from doing so.) Even then, Isabella felt they did so because they felt a sense of responsibility for her. But... Rinaldo degli Albizzi had no reason to help her and no responsibility.

"My father was like your grandfather. I can't bear to see a child suffer like I did. You did nothing to deserve the need to run away from your family."

Isabella shallowly took a breath. And another. She wasn't aware at first of the tears trickling down her cheeks or Rinaldo brushing back her hair and pulling her to his chest. Isabella began to heave in sobs. She felt so barren in front of her family's enemy but somehow it felt right. In Rinaldo's arms she felt the most comfort she had felt in years.

She burrowed into Rinaldo's cloak. Her sobs weren't loud, but instead were quiet gasps- another symptom of her isolation. "Thank you," she breathed. This couldn't be real. Any moment now she would wake up in her bedroom with the knowledge that the door to the outside was firmly locked. Please God, she prayed, please let this be real. Please let this finally be your answer to my prayers.

Rinaldo held her for some time on that forest floor. Isabella didn't want to let go of him. In the year before, Ormanno had told her about how loving and kind his father was, and not until now Isabella understood Ormanno's adoration.

"Please don't send me back," she held his cloak tight. The flow of tears had become lighter but it didn't stop the sinking emotions in her stomach.

Rinaldo stroked her hair. "I would never do such a thing. You are welcome to stay with my family."

Isabella thanked him again. She could never thank Rinaldo enough times for this kindness. Her enemy had become her savior.

***

Isabella was walking through her grandfather's vineyard. It was a sun warmed her face and her dark hair. Unlike most Florentine summer days, she didn't feel too hot in her dress and under a thick head of hair. The breeze kissed her skin and whispered gentle sweet nothings to her. Isabella's cat, Adam, followed her by weaving between the vines. His stripes created an illusion of the vines moving slowly, then faster- once a bug or mouse was spotted. If he fell behind, she would hear his quick pitter-patters to catch up and a small meow.

The animal wasn't technically her's. He came and went from the Medici estate, almost as if he was checking in on her. During her captivity, he'd squeeze through an air circulation tunnel and into her room. As she was curled up in a dark corner of the room with a blanket around her, he'd support himself on her knees and lick her tears away. His sweet, deep purr would be more comforting than anything else in the room and lull her into a peaceful sleep. However, every time she'd wake up he'd be gone-as if he was nothing more than a dream.

"Isabella."

The girl turned and a cold wind ran through her hair as she recognized the speaker. Her grandfather leaned on a post. He plucked a grape off of the vine and inspected it. "My vineyard is perfect, is it not?"

Isabella was frozen. Adam hid under her skirts from Grandfather. "Yes. Yes it is."

He stepped forward, weighing the grape in his hands. "I think of the Medici legacy like this vineyard. Each vine must be properly cared for and watered. By doing so, most vines come emerge healthy and proud. However," he was closer to Isabella now. "Sometimes there is a vine that fails the entire vineyard. Simply by seeing that vine, it creates the illusion that the entire vineyard is terrible despite otherwise."

Isabella felt his hot breath on her face. Her heart raced. She could run, but it would mean punishment. Even though she was familiar with this fear, it caused the blood to rush through her veins and breath hitch.

"To help the entire vineyard," he said. "That one vine must be eradicated."

Her grandfather grabbed her hand and pressed the grape into the palm. The fruit was wet, painted. Isabella looked down and saw that the grape was pristine, the best of the best. The smell of wine was heavy another scent. Isabella didn't dare guess the other.

"Now," her grandfather said. "Don't insult me by not tasting a grape from your family's vineyard."

Isabella took a breath, expecting it to be her last, and popped the fruit in her mouth. Just as she swallowed, the world began to spin. She grasped at anything to stop her descent to the ground, but the vines slipped out of her grip. Adam yowled and batted at her hand to try to get her stand. Isabella coughed and felt her throat begin to tighten. This was it.

Her grandfather was nowhere to be seen, but a familiar face of concern appeared above her's.

"I am so sorry," her father pulled her limp and dying body into his arms. With a shaking hand he brushed stray locks of hair out of her face. "Lord please forgive me."

Isabella grasped her father's hand. "Why... why... didn't you stop him?"

Her father's hot tears slipped down onto her cheeks. She didn't want to go. Not yet. Not without her Last Rites.

Isabella awoke curled up on the floor of her bedroom. Boards were nailed over the windows and only a candle to offer light. Her Bible and rosary laid next to her candle, offering the only hope in the room. Isabella crawled toward the objects and collapsed, bowing, with her rosary intertwined in her fingers. She began to recite the only verse her racing heart could muster. If she was going to be trapped in a nightmare, the least she could do was offer her soul protection.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his namesake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil."

Tears dropped onto her Bible as she struggled to calm herself. "I will fear no evil. I will fear no evil. I will fear no evil. I will fear no evil."

"Good luck with that one."

Isabella's shaking hands held the rosary tighter. She didn't dare look up.

"Isabella, always so pious," the familiar voice said. "You can get protection from Him in the mortal and spiritual world, but not in your own mind."

The temperature in the room dropped. Isabella could feel her breath. The candle was no longer warming her. The only sense of warmth was the wooden rosary in her hand.

"And may I ask the mighty virgin why she forgives and loves so easily? You wouldn't suffer the way you do if it wasn't for Him," A sweet, warm liquid spilled from between her palms. Isabella did her best to keep her grip on the rosary. The blood was a sign of His protection- not abandonment. "And how do you forgive your Grandfather and the rest of your family? While you were beaten they offered no support."

"Because you hold them in captivity," Isabella spat.

I should not have done that. She knew the rules. By interacting with them, they receive physical grounding.

A cold hand pulled Isabella up off the ground and the rosary slipped out of her hand. The wooden beads clattered on the floor. Isabella groaned and struggled against the icy grip and could feel her blood slowly turn cold. Isabella kept her eyes firmly shut. She was not going to stare Evil in the face.

"I hold them for their own good, Isabella. You should know the meaning of that. Hasn't it been beaten into you?"

There was a hiss in her ear. There was no longer a hand around her throat, but instead a snake. It began to coil itself tighter, tighter around her neck.

The candle went out.

***

Isabella's scream permeated the household and bounced off of the stone walls. Every single person who had ever spent more than a month in the estate knew exactly who had screamed and why. Most rolled over and fell back asleep, but Cosimo threw the covers off of the bed and struggled into some pants as fast as possible.

"Cosimo..." Contessina started. She pulled one of the blankets around herself.

"I know, I know," Cosimo said. "But even if it is a bad dream, it's still real enough for her to be scared." Cosimo leaned across the bed and kissed his wife. "She needs her father."

Contessina brows furrowed as she watched. Their daughter waking in fits of terror was common. Since her grandfather died, it was expected that the night terrors would stop. This, this was different. There was something to be feared from this scream. Something was different. Even though it was just a dream, Contessina somehow knew that her daughter was experiencing something entirely different than Giovanni de Medici.

Marco had beaten Cosimo to Isabella's side. It was his job, of course, to rush to the aid of any Medici in danger. Marco was down on one knee next to bed and quietly whispering to Isabella. Cosimo caught some of his words. "He's not here. He's dead. I promise you, he's dead."

Cosimo sat on the bed and pulled his daughter close to him. He nodded to Marco, giving permission for the man to leave. Marco stood, almost reluctantly, and left the room.

"Shhh... You're safe. I'm here. I'm here. Nothing is going to hurt you."

She sobbed into her father's shirt and held onto the fabric tightly. Isabella could still feel the icy scales of a fallen angel wrapping around her neck, the sickly sweet blood running through her fingers, and the fear that permeated every part of her body and soul. She knew that her father could not protect her from such things, but pressing her face into his chest and the sensation of his strong arms holding her tight granted her comfort.

Cosimo stroked Isabella's curls. His daughter was too young to have grey hairs mixed with her deep brown or to be this troubled. "What was it this time?" he spoke softly.

Between shaking gasps Isabella debated whether or not she should tell her father of her dream. Her grandfather poisoning her, her father himself holding Isabella as she died, praying, the blood, and the appearance of the Devil.

"I was dying, choking on a poisoned grape," Isabella felt her father tense up. "And-"

"Where were you?" Cosimo asked, his voice was fresh with a new wave of concern.

Isabella felt confused, or just light headed. "I-I was in Grandfather's vineyard."

A pregnant pause fell between the two. Cosimo reached over to Isabella's bedside table and poured a glass of wine. "Here," as Isabella took the cup from him she knew whatever she had said had stressed him greatly. She sipped.

"What anyone else there?"

"Yes."

Cosimo took the cup from her and held her hands in his. "Who? Was it Albizzi?"

Isabella slowly shook her head. "No," the smell of roses entered the air. "It was the Devil."

She swallowed and waited for her Father's reaction. Isabella watched a sundry of emotions cross his face. Confusion. Anxiety. Fear. Before he could settle on one, Cosimo pulled his hands from Isabella's in a swift, sudden movement.

"What is it?" Isabella asked.

Her father did not need to answer the question. Blood covered his hands. Blood that was not his. Isabella recognized the warm liquid that was drizzling through her fingers. She fearfully glanced down and saw exactly what she had expected. In the middle of her palms were two clear holes, oozing blood with the scent of roses.

The stigmata was no longer confined to her dreams.