Chiaroscuro: Painting technique, the broad use of strong  contrasts between light and dark affecting a whole composition

The General's ghost lingered around Alessandro like the empty, dead air after a storm.

He had sat up against the bed's headboard, surrounded by scattered notes like a mad eagle in his nest. His head throbbed with midnight devils drumming a march against his skull, every move sent a stab through his bones.

He had protested he was fine, but Giacinto hadn't bought it. "Get in a bed or I will gut you and tie you down with your entrails.".

The Greek had offered him the General Zeno's chambers and had a servant watch the boy instead, claiming Laelia would roast and eat him if he let Alessandro ruin his head even more.

Alessandro had given in -- mostly because he had been seeing two Giacinto's, half overlaid and swaying like a sailor, and feared he might just faint and bury the smaller man under him.

He let his gaze wander. The bedroom's ceiling was painted with stars of foreign lands, a telescope pointed out of the high windows that lined the wall. The adjoining study was drowning in books, nautical maps piled high between brass instruments and maps.

Captain-General of the Seas. The undefeated commander of the Venetian fleet. He won battles not even a demigod could have turned in Venice's favour. His men said he had his ships fire in such fast, seamless succession it seemed the sea was on fire around him. They called him the son of blood and fire.

He was sure the General had something to do with this. He was a war hero now. But Alessandro had done some digging after the death of the mosaic artist in Zeno's villa.

Carlo Zeno had been supposed to pursue an ecclesial career, but instead had turned his interests to money and women, been a mercenary, killed a Holy Roman knight, been exiled, became a merchant, married an Ottoman noblewoman – an enemy, even back then – joined the navy and the blink of an eye later swooped in and saved Venice from being torched to the ground by the Genoese fleet after everyone had already given up hope.

Alessandro tapped his quill against his lips. Just what was Giacinto and the General's relationship? Giacinto lived in Zeno's palace in Venice. The General had even gifted him this entire villa. But Crete and Venice were enemies, how did the Prince end up with the General?

There were so many figures in this play.

Alessandro frowned at his notes. Everything left a trace. It was right there, but he couldn't see it. He rubbed his temples. Sleep came over him in waves, eyelids growing heavier and heavier, but he just couldn't let go. He was overseeing something. He was trying to fit the pieces together the wrong way.

This was pointless, the letters swam into twins before his eyes, blurry and dancing.

He needed to sleep. He couldn't sleep. They didn't have time.

After Giacinto's vow of hate, they had stayed in their embrace until the moon had wandered past them on his way through midnight, bathing them in silver and shadows, still like a statue out in the gardens below.

Alessandro had wanted to say something. Giacinto had cleaved his chest open and offered Alessandro his torn heart. Alessandro should be able to tell him something, too. He wasn't.

The moment had passed before he could grasp it. It slipped through unsure fingers when Giacinto had pulled back and cleared his throat, shattering their little bubble.

Even now, Alessandro felt selfish for the fear that ran cold down his back.

He was a coward. He couldn't even admit who he was. Even less what he was. It takes one to catch one, he could feel Daniele's whisper against his lips.

Monster, murderer, martyr.

Alessandro closed his eyes. He let the ice freeze the shadow play of memories until he felt hollow and strong again.

The door creaked.

Giacinto slid in, surprisingly swift for the amount of alcohol Alessandro had smelled on him just an hour ago. Alessandro was so used to Giacinto laced up tightly in his high collared leather vest and tall boots, the sight was almost revolting.

Still in all black, he now wore just loose linen pants and a wide shirt, an open dressing gown thrown over. A dressing gown that could belong to a morbid grandmother, heavy brocade falling down to his ankles, gleaming black threads painting a myriad of flowers on the silk.

Alessandro's eyebrows wandered higher and higher.

His hair was wet at the ends and sticking out in all directions, as if just rubbed viciously with a towel. There was a long dagger strapped to his thigh.

Giacinto narrowed his eyes at Alessandro. "I thought I told you to sleep."

"I told you the same."

"Did you? Oops." Giacinto lounged sideways in the armchair opposite the bed, dangling his legs off the armrest. God forbid he ever sat normally.

He wore silken slippers. His ankles were as slim as the rest of him and just as darkly toned – so that was his natural skin colour. Even that singled him out among the pale blue blood of Italian nobility.

Giacinto seemed to be watching him just as curiously. "Are you trying to tempt the ghosts at this late hour?" he teased. "You're as pale as one."

Alessandro glared over the rim of the thin glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He had inherited his mother's porcelain pale skin. And he could wear his shirt half unlaced – he was in bed, not at court.

"You look ridiculous. Like a debauched scholar."

"It is dark. I need glasses to read. And I'm not debating clothing choices with someone who stole their grandmother's dressing gown," Alessandro said indignantly. "Have you nothing better to?"

Giacinto tilted his head.

Alessandro sighed in exasperation. "Sit on furniture not made for sitting. Sharpen your knives to a jolly song of your enemies' names. Break into people's homes to pet their cats. Whatever it is you pass your time with."

"I can't sing," Giacinto's lips quirked into a smile. "Or, I can, but I think it's illegal in several countries."

Giacinto frowned when Alessandro didn't laugh at his joke. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd annoy you instead."

"What were you doing until now?"

"Not drinking," Giacinto said quickly. "I want to. It's hard," he admitted quietly. When he saw Alessandro's narrowed eyes, he quickly changed topic. "Bathing. You said I smelled."

That surprised Alessandro. "Were you going to just sit here had I been asleep?" He took the glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I need to uphold my creepy reputation." His grin didn't work as well with his still swollen eyes. Giacinto averted his glance, studying his bandaged fingers with sudden interest. "I didn't want to be alone."

"So you thought to sneak in and watch a man sleep?"

Giacinto ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't think at all," he admitted sheepishly.

He shouldn't let Giacinto get to him this much. But Alessandro failed to draw on all his old distaste and suspicion for the Greek – and what came wasn't enough. He loathed it. There wasn't enough and yet too much.

Alessandro frowned to himself, then arranged his papers back into an orderly stack and placed them on the nightstand.

"What are you doing?"

Alessandro nodded at the free half of the bed. "Before I change my mind."

Giacinto perked up, a hopeful grin spreading over his face. "I wouldn't want to –"

"You're never polite, Marinos. Don't start now."

Giacinto bit back a remark – if he resisted his usual quips, he must be desperate. Alessandro's headache doubled when he saw him drop his robe in a messy pile on the floor. Was everything about this man chaos?

Alessandro stopped him before he could slip under the covers. "No knives in bed."

Giacinto wrinkled his nose.

"No."

Giacinto grumbled, but unclasped the leather straps from his thigh.

Alessandro gave him a stern look. Giacinto pulled two throwing knives out of the slippers.

When had Alessandro's constant suspicious monitoring turned into careful observation, catching the slight flinch when Giacinto moved his injured hands too quickly?

Giacinto was halfway on the bed when Alessandro clicked his tongue. "All of them."

"That was all."

"Really?" He took the Greek's wrist, rubbing his thumb over the inside, catching against the knife sewn into the hem of the shirt.

"But that's just a small one. For emergencies."

"I'm not going to get stabbed in my sleep. You startle easily. Take the knife out or the shirt off, I don't care."

"Bossy," Giacinto grumbled under his breath as he tossed the knife away and snuck under the covers, curling up in the furthest corner, just a small lump beneath the blanket "Bad night to you."

---

Alessandro jerked away to darkness – heart still hammering with another nightmare he already couldn't remember. He exhaled slowly. He was fine.

Giacinto.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows. The Greek was still in bed, as far away from Alessandro as possible, but had sat up, staring into the dark. Alessandro realized he hadn't slept at all. "Are you alright?" His voice came out deep and scruffy, thick with sleep.

"Just can't sleep," Giacinto sounded tense. "You sound like a dying walrus."

Alessandro bristled. "I'm fine."

"Sure," Giacinto snorted. "Me too."

Alessandro was quiet for a moment. "Can I help?"

"No," Giacinto snapped, too fast. He shuffled back under the blanket, curling up again. "Quiet. I'm trying to sleep."

Alessandro frowned when he laid back down. He should sleep. Giacinto was fine on his own.

Alessandro stared at the ceiling.

Dammit.

"I could get a servant to fetch you some pillows?" Alessandro remembered the Greek's horrible amassment of pillows. "Do you want something to drink, perhaps –"

"Stop talking," Giacinto bit over his shoulder. "Stop being nice to me!"

Alessandro's heart sank. "But I want to be nice to you."

Giacinto assumed he was doing this out of pity.

"I would be a monster if I didn't feel horrible for you. But I – I don't think less of you for this." Alessandro cleared his throat. "This doesn't change anything. You're still annoying."

"I just feel so fucking pathetic. I'm too scared to sleep. I want to drink so badly. I burst into tears like some lady." He scoffed. "I hate this."

"Can I hold you?" The words were out before Alessandro could bite them back.

He was already scrambling for an excuse, when Giacinto turned and scooted closer. "Don't crush me." And then he curled up again, this time against Alessandro's side.

Alessandro mechanically moved his arm around the Greek, his mind still trying to catch up. He really was small.

"My little brother is scared of thunder. He'd always sneak into my bed." Giacinto yawned softly. Alessandro could feel his warm breath through his shirt. "I miss him."

"Do you have many siblings?"

"Five." Giacinto groaned in terror. "My sister is four years older. She's the best. When I was smaller, I was worried she'd marry and be moved away. So I stole all her court dresses."

Alessandro laughed, then winced when it shot through his skull like an arrow. He could picture that vividly. A tiny, stubborn Giacinto dragging mountains of dresses away.

"My first brother is a year younger, but somehow everyone thinks he's more mature than me?"

Alessandro chuckled. "A mystery."

Giacinto freed one hand from under the blanket to slap Alessandro's chest. "We three are the only children of the King. The Regent has twins from his previous marriage, they're two years older and have the personality of a spitting cobra. He and ma have a son. The cutest little boy in the world."

After everything the Regent did to him, Giacinto still loved his son.

"He named the other two 'Ugly' and 'Mean' and somehow no one can stop him. Even at court."

"Which of them is 'Ugly'?"

"They're twins, Steno." Giacinto groaned. "All muscles, no brain."

They fell into another silence. Alessandro had no idea how late it was, time only kept in the soft breaths against his shoulder. Giacinto was still shifting, carefully, as if worried to disturb Alessandro.

Alessandro started singing.

The words came as naturally as the rise and fall of his chest, memories of his mother at his bedside, singing old Hebrew songs. They sounded so strange and old, deep and ringing like hymnic fairy tales from a land of sand and sun.

Alessandro hadn't known he even remembered her songs.

The song rumbled low and deep in his chest, voice barely more than a whisper into the dark above him, but he sang until he could feel Giacinto fall asleep against his side.

He never spoke Hebrew anymore. He'd stopped the moment he had become an inspector, no matter how hard his mother tried. Another part of himself he hid.

But here, it was alright.

---

There were no more nightmares. When Alessandro woke, the sun tickled his eyelashes until he groaned and swatted his hand against the light.

He jerked. Something, someone was there, warm and still against him, who would – he hadn't – panic rose like bile up his throat. Then he remembered. Giacinto.

Alessandro carefully turned his head, finding Giacinto in the exact same position as before, curled up against Alessandro. How did he never move?

Why was he still here? Giacinto usually got up at unholy hours.

... well, he supposed he could just go over his notes until Giacinto woke. He stretched, reached blindly for the nightstand.

Giacinto gave a muffled complaint.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" Alessandro murmured, shifting slightly.

Giacinto just grumbled, burying his head deeper into the crook of Alessandro's neck. His hand patted down Alessandro's chest, found the hem of the blanket and dragged it back up to his shoulders. "Warm," he whispered, drunk on sleep.

It was just their heartbeats and soft breaths for a while. Giacinto had his hand splayed over Alessandro's chest as if he had to make sure Alessandro wasn't going anywhere.

"I can feel your heart," Giacinto mumbled, voice low and heavy with sleep, "Here." His fingers traced over Alessandro's chest. Maybe it was just Alessandro's imagination, but the other's voice seemed to drop deeper. "And here." His breath fanned over Alessandro's pulse on his neck.

It tickled, but not in a way that made him want to laugh.

A small thing like this shouldn't have him wide awake in seconds. "What are you doing?"

Giacinto just hummed, fingers ghosting up his shirt, tangling into the half undone laces. He played with them like a cat. "You're comfortable."

"Thank you?"

Giacinto chuckled.

"That's not an answer though."

Giacinto yawned, lips brushing over Alessandro's skin. "Sorry, Inspector."

Alessandro could feel his little smile against his neck. Bad. Bad, very bad. If Giacinto kept appearing so innocent, so vulnerable, he might murder someone right in front of Alessandro, bathe in their blood and eat their newborn and Alessandro would defend him.

Perhaps that was his plan.

Alessandro had to stop this. He had allowed this only because he couldn't let Giacinto drink himself out of his mind, get with random women and into barfights. Or spend the night alone, scared, in the dark. He had a conscience.

"I still have some notes to go through." Sit up. Grab notes. Leave. Simple. Giacinto could get some more sleep, Alessandro would keep his sanity.

"No," Giacinto decided. "Warm."

"There is a blanket." Alessandro tried to tug his arm out from underneath Giacinto. He didn't get far, teeth nipping sharply at his neck.

"Ow!" Alessandro brought up his free hand to clasp at his neck. Giacinto complained with a low grumble at being moved away from his spot. "Did you just bite me?"

"Did you just ask that?" Giacinto asked sourly.

"You bit me!"

"Very softly."

"That wasn't soft."

"Your sex life must be very boring." Giacinto yawned again, apparently unimpressed with causing physical harm.

Alessandro managed to choke on thin air. "I won't allow such language!"

He could feel Giacinto's laugh rumble against his chest before he heard it. The Greek uncurled, plastering himself against Alessandro's side, half draped over his chest, moving to tug his head better under Alessandro's chin. "Whatever you say."

Alessandro supposed he should be grateful that Giacinto was no longer nosing against his neck. He wasn't grateful Giacinto had moved one leg across his, tangling them together without a care in the world.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to work," Alessandro said firmly.

"No."

"Yes." Alessandro glared at the ceiling. "You only sleep curled up. You have no intention of –"

"You're a tad bit creepy, Steno."

"Observant."

"Creepy." When Giacinto laughed, his curls tickled Alessandro's nose.

"Get up."

"No."

Alessandro gave up, sighing heavily. "That was your first word, wasn't it?"

Giacinto was quiet for a moment. "Sun."

"What?"

"Sun," Giacinto repeated. "My first word."

Alessandro glanced down, curious.

"I got it wrong though. Kept saying it to my father's smile."

Alessandro didn't know what to say to that.

Giacinto saved him, an evil little smile curling his lips. "Laelia said you're ticklish."

"I'm not."

Giacinto's fingers moved to his waist, quick to prove him wrong. Alessandro tensed his stomach against the attack, straining to suppress the laughter forcing its way out. Giacinto grinned wickedly. "Liar."

Alessandro just squirmed, laughing. He was terribly ticklish. "Please –" He gasped for breath, writhing against Giacinto's clever fingers. "Stop."

Giacinto paused, pursing his lips. "Hm.... No."

This time, Alessandro was prepared, catching his hands when they shot for his sides, surging up and twisting them around. But Giacinto was fast and a moment later they were rolling through the too large bed, wrestling like young boys, half out of breath, half laughing.

Just when Alessandro had Giacinto pinned, the Greek freed a hand, snatched a pillow and smacked it against his head, cackling at Alessandro's glare.

The game was on.

Giacinto turned out to be very ticklish.

He also turned out to be – unsurprisingly – not above fighting dirty. For a second too long, Alessandro was too stunned he could touch Giacinto like this. He could feel the ridge of the scar under his fingers, but Giacinto didn't even seem to notice. He was too bewildered at Giacinto's easy laugh, when just a few hours ago, he had teetered on madness' edge.

Giacinto used his brief stupor to flip them again, straddling Alessandro with a victorious grin. "Surrender."

"Never."

"Then suffer." Giacinto tickled him until Alessandro was gasping for breath, thrashing weakly, trapped by Giacinto's weight on his hips. "Say the magic word."

"Please?"

Giacinto considered. "Wrong."

"Sesame?"

Giacinto laughed. "You want me to open up?"

"Abracadabra?"

Giacinto laughed harder. His eyes were brighter than the morning light, curls wild, cheeks straining in a wide smile. Warm pride unfurled in Alessandro's chest. He made him laugh like this.

"Friends," Giacinto said. "I'll let you go if you say it."

They both knew Alessandro could throw him off any time. "Friends," Alessandro said. There was some magic in that.

"Good." Giacinto abruptly rolled off of him and sat up against the headboard. "Up, Steno. Work."

Alessandro sat next to him, catching his breath. "Work?"

Giacinto pointed at the stack of notes on Alessandro's nightstand. "I'll help."

Alessandro supposed a fresh pair of eyes might help. He leant to grab the papers, offering half to Giacinto. The Greek seemed lost in thought, face suddenly sombre. He looked even more striking in the sharp light of the early sun, all sharp lines. "Giacinto?"

He perked up, waving Alessandro's frown off. "Just thinking." He bumped their shoulders together. Giacinto stayed there for a moment, leaning against him.

Alessandro turned his head in the wrong moment, finding their faces inches apart as Giacinto looked up at him with curiosity. "Can I try something?"

"Of course."

Giacinto's eyes searched Alessandro's face. Alessandro's pulse sped up strangely. Giacinto shifted. Suddenly they were so close they shared the same breath.

Something clattered far down the hallway. Giacinto drew back.

"Well?" Alessandro furrowed his eyebrows. What was this about?

"Nothing." Giacinto shrugged, then leant impossibly close again, nudging his nose against Alessandro's. "Thank you."

Alessandro momentarily lost every memory of words.

Then Giacinto cackled at his expression, breaking the spell, settled back against the headboard again and snatched the notes. Alessandro cleared his throat. "You're welcome."

They worked in silence, shifting through what once had been neat notes, before Alessandro had added mad scribbles and arrows the longer everything went on.

"You're obsessively orderly," Giacinto said without looking up.

"Last night –" Alessandro had been singing in Hebrew.

"I knew." Giacinto shrugged. Alessandro looked at him incredulously. "The handwashing. While we travelled I saw you wash your hands the moment you got up. That's ritualistic washing. On crime scenes you can't – but you have that silly handkerchief. And always three times."

Alessandro fished for the right words. "I – I'm not really –"

"You are." Giacinto frowned. "And that's not a bad thing."

Alessandro looked away.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Giacinto sighed. "You're annoying whether you pray in Hebrew or in Latin."

Alessandro laughed, disbelief shaking his voice. "You really don't mind."

"Your powers of deduction are divine." Giacinto rolled his eyes. "Jesus was Jewish. My holy Christian self really can hate you for that."

Alessandro hadn't expected hearing this would mean the world to him. "Thank you."

"Can't sit still for longer than 30 seconds," Giacinto read suddenly. "Did you count?"

Alessandro practically ripped the paper from Giacinto's hands, cheeks heating up. "I did not." The list. He had made it months ago, listing every little thing he knew about Giacinto. He had long given up.

"Stalker."

"You were a suspect – this is a reasonable measure –"

"Red really is your colour." Giacinto poked a finger against Alessandro's burning cheeks.

"One more word and I will throw you out of the window." Deep down Alessandro was just relieved Giacinto wasn't angry.

"Giant –" Giacinto looked at him, holding up another note. It was on Antonio. And on what Antonio's betrayal meant for Alessandro.

He couldn't go back to Venice.

He had been bound to the police by the secrets he had to keep – after they had been imprisoned, Giacinto had struck a deal with Antonio, using his empire of secrets to give Alessandro something over them, allowing him to leave the city without fearing his darkest hours would be dragged to light.

But if Antonio was their enemy – that information had been a lie. And every child would know by now what Alessandro had done.

Giacinto seemed to knowwhat he was thinking, weighing his words carefully. "I don't think it's Antonio." 

This chapter was more subtle, but still had some reveals. What was your favorite part?

Next chapter has some stories about the Reaper, Antonio, the Lost Prince, Daniele and the Shadow! Which of those are you most curious about? Do you have any ideas about how they fit together?

Thank you for being the best readers I could wish for. The past weeks were rough, but you always brighten my day! Stay lovely!

Avis.