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"It's me."

Alessandro twisted the coin between his fingers, questions swirling in the back of his mind like an nearing storm. How? Coins only bore the heads of rulers -- and a regent had governed Crete for over ten years. Giacinto was heir to the throne and he was of age. He should be ruling. Yet here he was, playing banker.

The lost prince... the witch's voice echoed through his head.

"My mother had it made as a gift for a handful of favored nobles. When I came of age," Giacinto explained, as if he had read Alessandro's mind.

When he should have ascended to the throne.

What makes you think he isn't lying? The nagging little voice whispered. You can't read him. He could be lying all the time... He could be guilty. The voice stretched out it's long, gnarly fingers, sinking thins claws into Alessandro's head, tugging at his memories, pulling every second of doubt about Giacinto from the dark corners of his mind.

He escaped the prison. Would an innocent man know how? He had said he was bored and learnt to pick locks.

He killed that assassin with one strike. Would a prince know how to do that, hm? He could tell how long the artists had been dead at first glance. Look at him here, untouched by the stench of blood.

Alessandro's jaw clenched. He was a prince. He could have gone to war. He could have an interest in anatomy.

He sharpens his knives every night when others read. Look at his clothes, they're practical.
They said he killed a priest. He can scale a wall in seconds. He walks without sound.

So what. Maybe he climbed trees as a kid. Even Alessandro realized how ridiculous his excuses sounded.

He could be the monster you're looking for. He's capable. You know it! No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shut it out. They all lie, Alessandro. Not now. Stop it!

You will always be betrayed. You can see the truth. But with those that truly matter, you blind yourself.

You're weak. You want to be fooled! The voice laughed, shrill and hysteric.

"Wrinkles, Steno, wrinkles." Giacinto raised an eyebrow at him. He hesitated. "Are you alright?"

Alessandro's head snapped up, caught. "I -- yes. Of course."

"I know I'm handsome, but it's getting creepy."

"I'm studying the coin."

"A portrait of me."

"Whatever you say," Alessandro sighed. Focus on the matters at hand. "Would anyone use it?" Even if, what were the chances it had ended up here?

Giacinto snatched the coin, tossing it up. It winked in the candlelight. He caught it without looking. "It's a sign of favor from the prince." The word sounded like acid burning his lips. "None of these whores would give it up." Giacinto's voice was icy.

Alessandro opened his mouth, but Giacinto cut him off. "It doesn't matter who originally owned it. We both know this was the Reaper. He was so kind to leave us a message."

"It could be fake. Turning our attention elsewhere." Alessandro could feel it gnawing at him. This was too large and interwoven. What if there was more than one plan in motion? If one knew of the other, they could make their movements look like the other party's. They could be running in circles the whole time, looking for connections where there weren't any. There was nothing to even suggest that, but still... what if. Two dangerous words.

"Look." Giacinto tossed the coin back at Alessandro. "Other side."

There was a labyrinth carved into the gold. A myriad of tiny, twisted tunnels, misleading the eye into dead ends and double turns. The labyrinth of Knossos: Prison, temple and grave of the Minotaur. A creature with the head of a bull and the body of a man -- but the heart of a monster.

Born from the wrath of the gods. Sacred cruelty. The symbol of Crete.

A mythical island kingdom. Crete had always been home to the vicious and wicked. The Minotaur had been a curse, but the Cretans had turned it around. They had demanded tribute from conquered states -- paid in flesh. They fed the daughters and sons of innocents to the monster born from their sins. They had used the curse meant to destroy them for their gain.

Few had changed over the centuries. And Giacinto was their prince.

Alessandro brushed his thumb over the gold. In the center of the labyrinth, someone had etched a star, marring the smooth metal with sharp scratches.

"They don't mention it in the stories, but he had a name. Asterion -- the starry. Also the name of the first king of Crete. One a saint, one a monster," Giacinto said. "He told me I wasn't defined. I can be either. Or both."

Giacinto stared at the coin in Alessandro's hand as if it were a blurry mirror to the past. "I never felt like I had a choice, no matter how far I ran or how many vases I broke," he chuckled. "I always felt like a puppet. He said you always have a choice."

So he had left the star as a sort of signature for Giacinto. The Reaper was playing a twisted game and Alessandro sensed he barely knew the half of it.

"It's just him saying, look, it's me. He probably enjoys making fun of us." Giacinto shrugged. "He doesn't matter. We need to find out who's behind it. He never kills without orders."

Liar. Alessandro started. For the first time, he had heard it when looking at Giacinto. Loud and clear, with absolute certainty. Only the last two sentences had been true.

Giacinto was the enemy. His blood was poison. The Kings before him had lived to bring down Venice. Alessandro should drive a knife through his heart without asking questions. But so should Giacinto -- and he hadn't.

Alessandro just couldn't see Giacinto as that.

Hyakinthos. Prince of traitors. The Vlastos. Apostles of madness. The Kallergis. Kings of death.

He was Giacinto Marinos, the tiny bane of Alessandro's existence. Marinos -- of the sea. Pretentious way to say he was from across the ocean. But that was him, he delighted in his little games.

One half of Alessandro wanted to slam Giacinto into the next chair and interrogate him until he had answers. The other half kept bringing up every little moment, from Giacinto getting Alessandro his favorite pastry to thank him, to teasing him with endless delight.

Somehow, Giacinto had stolen the coin back from Alessandro without hin noticing, now letting it spin in his palm. He was unusually quiet, as if waiting for Alessandro's decision.

Alessandro hated himself for immediately coming up with excuses. He could feel himself being torn in two. His head ached, spinning, tilting, swaying. He needed to solve this murder. They needed to save Marius. They needed to prevent an uprising with the answers they could only find here. But he also needed to sit down and think about Giacinto. Put together the pieces. He could feel it, right out of his reach. But not now.

Somewhen between horrible murders, betrayal and haunting memories, Giacinto had joked his way right into Alessandro's treacherous heart. Laelia? Laelia was nice and sweet and innocent. It was surprising he came to like her so quickly, but not a problem. Giacinto? He was doomed.

Giacinto snapped his fist close, crushing the spinning coin in his palm. "Let's work."

Seemed like Alessandro had passed his test.

"They took Marius yesterday afternoon. He was the last person seen with Piero, at around noon." Giacinto scanned the room. Everyone knew Piero had been chronically ill. The past months, the old banker could barely have moved without pain. He would have been no match for someone as the Reaper. And sure enough, there was no trace of a fight.

"Search the room," Alessandro ordered.

"Don't treat me like a faint lady." Giacinto stepped next to the bed at the opposite side, casting a dark glance at Alessandro. "I'm fine."

Alessandro swallowed his argument. His eyes flitted over the wounds lining Piero's limbs, following invisible patterns. "He was dead before being staged like this."

Giacinto's shoulders slumped with relief.

"Look at the blood." Alessandro pointed at the dried red rivers, flowing into a dead sea staining the sheets beneath the old banker. "Nine large wounds. The swords in his legs pierced the arteries. There should be far more blood." He brushed his fingers across the sheet holding his hand up for Giacinto to see. "Nearly black."

"It's dried."

"Arterial blood is light red, venous blood is dark -- the less oxygen, the darker."

"You said he pierced arteries..." Giacinto's eyes narrowed. "He died long before it. The blood looses oxygen, so even after cutting an artery it was dark. After death it thickens. That's why it didn't spread as much."

Alessandro gave a curt nod, wiping his hands on his handkerchief, counting to three. The blood smeared rusty flakes over the pristine white. He thought Giacinto looked at him for a second too long, as if he had picked up on it -- but then he looked away, eyes flitting over Piero's body. Alessandro must have imagined it.

Giacinto stilled for a moment and sniffed, picking up the citrus scent from the cloth. It didn't belong here, clashing with the heavily sweet odor of cadavers. He snorted. "Could you be any more ladylike?"

"I like the scent." At moments like this, Alessandro threatened to give himself away -- washing his hands, three times precisely, after touching a dead body: Jewish law. He couldn't use an actual basin, so he had to make do with scented silk.

"Keep telling yourself that." Giacinto rummaged through the pillows. Alessandro immediately caught on, bending over Piero, tugging open an eye with his thumb: small red and purple spots streaked through the white: Petechial hemorrhage. Little blood vessels, burst from sudden pressure. Death by strangulation. Piero's neck was void of any marks... Giacinto gave a low whistle to catch Alessandro's attention.

The Greek held up a pillow. Barely visible in the thick velvet were a few splatters of dried blood. It must have been pressed over Piero's face until he had suffocated. "He bit his lip when he fought back." Giacinto pointed to the corner of Piero's mouth and settled the pillow back among the others, brushing a hand over the fabric absentmindedly.

Alessandro couldn't begin to fathom how hard this must be for him. To see a man he obviously had been close with tortured and ridiculed. To stand here and act like he were just a nameless body. "He was killed right away. The Reaper prepared everything afterwards. The swords came before the flowers -- there's no blood on the petals. It takes a substantial amount of force to drive them through his rib-cage, it would have splattered."

"How did he get the flowers? He can't have slipped in with a bouquet this large."

Alessandro felt an unprofessional surge of pride and pointed to one of the large vases. "Sent as a gift."

"Piero gets gifts all the time. Everyone wants to be in his favor. He couldn't have known they would end up in Piero's bedchambers where he needed them."

"There's a set of fresh handkerchiefs on his nightstand. His skin is blotchy and thin around the nose -- he had a bad cold. Someone sent them under the pretense of get-well-wishes."

Giacinto thought about that. "But--"

"Additionally," Alessandro continued, "They added herbs, to refresh the air and help with the cold. That explains why this took long enough for the blood to thicken. The Reaper had to pick the entire arrangement apart. Check that vase, you'll find them."

Giacinto shot him an incredulous look, but stalked over to a high red vase. White and blue charioteers chased across the porcelain. He returned with a huff. "Tell me you're tall enough to see that from here."

"There is a spot of dried water on the drawer. The wet flower stems were dripping."

"And the herbs?"

"The only way to ensure the flowers would end up here for sure."

"You're annoyingly perfect, please throw yourself out of a window," Giacinto scoffed. "My turn."

"Since when is this a competition?" Still, Alessandro had to smile. At a crime scene. Had he lost his mind?

"It appears we are missing nine guards." Giacinto pointed at the swords. "Personal guard, that's Piero's crest. The Reaper staged a commotion to lure them in."

"Nine men." That was near impossible.

"That's nothing for him," Giacinto slowly shook his head. "But why use them like this..."

He wanted Piero dead, a knife would have done it.

Giacinto snapped his fingers. "Nine of Swords."

Alessandro raised an eyebrow.

Giacinto sighed. "Tarot. It's the card of remorse. He didn't want to kill Piero -- or rather, who ever ordered him. He killed him quickly and spared him the torture. This is his mercy."

Alessandro prayed they never saw his wrath.

"He had to make sure it's recognized as murder. Piero was sick, if he had been poisoned, it might have been written off. And lastly -- the lord of cruelty." At Alessandro's confused glance he added: "Another name for the Nine of Swords. It represents standing between the worlds. Reality and dream, sanity and madness -- or life and death."

"The coin..." It dawned on Alessandro. "An obolus." The ancient Greeks placed a coin on the face of their deceased, payment for the ferryman of the dead. Without it, they would be stranded on the banks of the river Acheron.

The river of pain. Between the living and the dead. They would slowly forget themselves and turn into vicious ghouls, haunting the living.

"He knows I can't leave the coin here. It would immediately turn me into the suspect if anyone recognized it."

"He is saying... this is your fault?" If Giacinto took the obolus, he would, metaphorically, deny Piero access to the afterlife. He would condemn him to a fate worse than death. Forgetting himself and coming after those he had loved in life.

Giacinto clenched his jaw. "If it weren't for me getting involved... The lady Medici is my ally. They know I could sway her in Venice's favor. Florence would be a powerful ally against the ottomans. Killing her husband--"

"The old elite will struggle to seize as much power as possible, now that Piero is dead."He had been the unofficial monarch of Florence. There would be a race for power, everyone scrambling to fill the void Piero had left.

"The Medici will have to focus all resources on staying in control. They can't help us. And if this has been staged so the Medici blame the archdeacon..."

"The church gets involved, too." Hell would break loose.

"I don't get the flowers, though." Giacinto muttered. "Perhaps to infuriate the Lady. She ... she loved him more than anything in the world."

"I can't believe I'm saying this." Alessandro rubbed the bridge of his nose, then sighed. "White tulips stand for sincerity and apology."

Giacinto laughed, though strained. His eyes didn't leave Piero's ripped open chest, ribs and blood serving as a gruesome vase. "I know where to go if I need a bouquet."

"I will seek you out if I need my fortune read."

"Signor Florist."

"Fortune teller." Alessandro crossed his arms. Why were they being so childish?

"The cards say you're a boring giant," Giacinto reached out to Alessandro, suddenly plucking a card from thin air. "See?" The card was tattered, a dogs ear in one corner, the paint chipped. A jester, dancing around on his hands: The fool.

Alessandro felt the need to hit his head against the wall. Repeatedly. This man.

"Learnt it from a gyspy at a circus." Giacinto grinned, pocketing the card again. At least this had distracted him.

"Laelia told me about the flowers." Antonio had sent them after missing yet another birthday. Via Lorenzo -- he couldn't be bothered to show up himself. He pitied and admired the girl at the same time -- despite everything, she still clung to hope, had tried defending Antonio until the very last moment. And now, she still stayed strong.

"Let's go." Giacinto made his way to the door, avoiding another glance at Piero. "I might convince the Lady with what we found."

Halfway down the corridor, Giacinto stopped suddenly. He fished through his pockets, ignoring Alessandro's questioning glance. He hesitated for a moment, then held out the coin to Alessandro. "Take it."

Alessandro furrowed his eyebrows. "I can't accept that."

"It's evidence, Inspector. Do your job," Giacinto teased. When Alessandro showed no sign of accepting, he turned serious. "Back in Greece, this worth more than gold. There are Cretan spies in Venice. If you ever find yourself in trouble -- this will buy your life."

This got way longer than normal, but I had to include so much -- hints, Gio's past, Alessandro's struggles. And this wrapped the investigation up, so next chapter we get to Marius...

Who doesn't love myths and metaphors. How do you interpret the Minotaur here? And what about Crete...

I'm sorry this is late! I started a new job at a hospital for university. No one bled to death because of me yet and I am counting that as an absolute win.

Thank you for your support! I love you guys to the stars and back. This wouldn't exist if not for you!

Avis