And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. – Macbeth, after his wife's death.

The evening sky was blue as steel. Against the striking light, the old ruin on the cliff stood out like a foul tooth, stone darkened in the shadow of time, jagged towers and crumbling walls slowly caving in on themselves them like a closing grave.

Laelia could hear the distant roar of the river below the cliff – when they had arrived she had shot up the stairs to the outer wall, dragging a half-excited Lorenzo with her, to peer over the edge. It was a steep drop. The river looked dangerously calm, the black depth hiding how fast it ran through the canyon. Sharp rocks protruded at the foot of the cliff, the current slammed against them and hurled white foam high in the air. A black jaw with wicked fangs, waiting to swallow them whole.

Lorenzo's initial excitement – and she suspected he was only excited because she had been – had quickly vanished at her fascinating aspects of bone-shattering drops.

There was a small lake in the forest surrounding the cliff. Lorenzo had fled from her enthusiasm to bathe with Alessandro – Laelia started to suspect Alessandro was fatally allergic to the concept of sweat – leaving Laelia and Marius with a grouchy Giacinto. Traitor.

Laelia couldn't bathe with the men and though they had offered Marius to join them, the priest had waved it off with an uncomfortable smile. Giacinto had fled at the mere mention of swimming.

Which gave him more time to torture Laelia in their absence.

The morning after their fight, a knock had woken her up, her room grey and still in the hour before sunrise. Her cheeks had itched with dried tears. Opening the door, she found the gloves she had thrown at Giacinto folded neatly on the ground. Torn between kicking them to the end of the hallway and quickly putting them back on – she had worn them religiously, her hands felt naked without them – Giacinto had stepped out of the shadows, holding out a long dagger. Laelia had seen her surprised reflection sliced in two by the blade.

"Beat me and I take back everything I said."

That had caught Laelia's stubborn pride.

"If you lose, you train with me."

Laelia had not beaten him. No powders, no needles, no daggers found their mark, Giacinto was a black lightning bolt, winning without even drawing his own knives – he'd twisted hers out of her hands in the blink of an eye, the cold metal brushing her neck like a deadly promise.

Now she had to train with him – deep down, she was excited, Giacinto spared most people less than a glance, but he woke her up every morning in the cold grey of dawn to show her 'how not to die'.

But it was hard to be excited when the air was still cold and damp from the fading night, long shadows brushing their fingers over the back of her neck. It was hard to be excited when her legs shook getting up, sore and tired from riding all day. It was even harder when Giacinto's eyes were so cold and distant.

Giacinto, who looked like a living corpse.

Giacinto, who was still stronger than all of them.

"Again." The Greek's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, strained with impatience. He had a bad temper these days and Laelia would have written it off as the aftermath of their fight, if she hadn't been the one to smash the bottles of alcohol he had packed.

He'd gotten twitchy – well, more twitchy than he usually was – a few hours after they had left the Medici's hunting manor. There was a faint sheen of sweat at the back of his neck, his hands shook when he thought no one was watching, he took forever to force down barely half his dinner.

Laelia knew withdrawal symptoms when she saw them.

There were dark shadows brushed under Giacinto's eyes, too deep for even his dark skin to hide any longer. They kept watch every night and Giacinto had always arranged her and Marius' shift after his, never once waking them. He couldn't sleep anyways, he said.

Even Alessandro looked at him with more concern than suspicion now. Laelia had watched them with some amusement – it was an odd little dance between them.

The inspector stayed close to the Greek, wordless and stoic, but whenever they started a conversation, Alessandro gave Giacinto a small opening to make fun of him and a second later, they'd be bickering back and forth like two old hags. Giacinto took the bait every single time with pure delight.

But the dark shadows smudged under his eyes stayed, his cheeks sharpened by how little he ate, the restlessness seeming to settle into his bones. With every step they put between them and Florence and the Reaper, their tension slowly faded to hesitant hope – but Giacinto was more and more on edge.

Still, he beat her every time. She wasn't getting better. It felt like trying to stand on water. She had thought she would be good with knives, after all, she cut hundreds of herbs faster than even the cooks and so far, she hadn't lost any fingers!

Giacinto sighed, picking up her dagger, holding it back out to her. How was he not even a little sore from all the riding? Laelia could see how the myths of centaurs had started, Giacinto rode like the devil.

Then again, apart from him only Lorenzo seemed unbothered by the hard rides. Like any half-respectable, too rich young man, he went on wild hunting parties and was an excellent horseman.

Marius had spent the last twenty years in gilded coaches, but he never complained or asked for a break. She'd made him a salve to treat the skin rubbed raw from his bandages. When they'd get back to Venice, she'd start on a corset for him!

Even Alessandro winced when he dismounted. She'd caught Lorenzo gleefully whisper 'payback'  to him. How him being sore was any form of vengeance for Lorenzo she didn't quite understand, but Alessandro's expression had been funny.

Men. Weird creatures. Laelia should give up on trying to understand them.

"Stop day-dreaming," Giacinto gritted and knocked the dagger from her hands again. Laelia stomped her feet, but bent to pick it back up. He wasn't even trying.

"Teach me that," she demanded. He didn't reply, but pointed his dagger at her, grip not slipping for a single second when she knocked her blade against it. She tried again, throwing all her weight into the thrust.

The blades clashed with a high ringing sound. Laelia's momentum shoved her forward, stumbling toward the ground – great, now she'd be tired and muddy – but the next second, a strong arm locked around her waist. Laelia blinked up at Giacinto.

Hadn't he just been holding a razor-sharp dagger with that hand? She didn't want to have any holes poked into her stomach, if possible. Sewing guts back together was quite difficult.

Giacinto set her back upright. Laelia didn't dare meet his eye, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

He'd scold her. Maybe he'd finally give up on her. Then he'd certainly force her to stay home when they reached Venice! She tensed when he opened his mouth.

"You have to twist your blade in the last moment." He calmly held out his knife again.

Laelia felt like a clumsy, drunk dog in a doll house, waving her knife and stumbling around Giacinto. He was so graceful, even when just sidestepping Laelia's pitiful attempts at poking him with her knife, like a dancer. He sighed at her last attempt and Laelia thought he was finally giving up, but he stopped by her side, sheathed his own dagger and closed his fingers around hers.

Laelia froze. His hand was warm. She could feel the scars on his fingertips brush against her fingers when he gently rearranged them on her dagger's handle. He lifted her arm back up, moving her through the thrust and twist. It felt like a strange dance, him behind her, moving her feet into the right positions with the tips of his boots, guiding her arm in slashing arches and needle-sharp stabs.

"My muscles are too dumb for this," Laelia grumbled. It didn't look hard when Giacinto did it, nowhere close to the twirls and leaps and twists from his sparring with Alessandro. But she couldn't even do this.

Giacinto chuckled. It was the first time he'd laughed with her since that night.

Cool air replaced his warm hands when he stepped away. "You don't have to excel at this. You have Antonio's crossbow and your needles. But if someone gets past those, you have to stay alive long enough for me to get you."

Laelia instinctively reached for the small crossbow, hung from her belt like other noble women kept their fans. These days, it was her reminder that some day, however long ago, Antonio had cared about her. Their rings meant nothing, forged before Laelia had even been born. But the crossbow – he'd made it for her when she complained she wasn't allowed to carry weapons like the boys. Small enough to hide, but a clever construction of springs and cogs let it fire with more force than a normal bow.

She didn't know what to reply, still suspended in that uncomfortable place between feeling sorry for having thrown all these insults at him and being furious at his entitled decisions for her. He could move heaven and hell, but she would not hide at home like a good little girl.

"Again," Giacinto muttered in Laelia's indecisive silence.

Again and again and again, until the knife in her hand was as heavy as lead. But she had twisted Giacinto's knife from him a few times. Well, he just stood there and waited for her to move. But still!

Giacinto would probably have kept her until she dropped, but even he was weak to Marius' stern glances and released her to the priest's proud smile.

"You're an angel," Laelia sighed dramatically, "Saving me from certain death."

Marius laughed, offering her a flask with fresh water. "You learn much faster than me." Giacinto had offered Marius to join them – he was strangely fond of 'snowflake' – but to everyone's surprise, the priest had quietly asked for a sabre, Lorenzo almost tripping over himself to offer his, and fought Giacinto.

He'd lost, with a smile. But judging from Lorenzo's slack-jawed silence, he must be good. "The only way to keep Amand from duelling everyone who looks at him, I'm afraid," Marius had said, shaking his head.

How much he must love the cardinal, to learn fencing just to keep the short-tempered man out of trouble.

"Do you miss him?" Laelia dropped next to him at the small fire in the far corner of the ruin, tugging her knees up to her chin to rest her head on them – her mind was still doing strange twirls, following all the twisting knives.

The ruin's roof had long crumbled away, but the walls offered welcome shelter after three nights in bushes and open grassland. The first night, they hadn't dared starting a fire – it'd be visible for miles, leading the Reaper straight to them. The walls here would hide the flames.

It was the only reason they had stopped early, no matter how tired they were, Giacinto lead them long into the night before they stopped to sleep. Lorenzo had spotted the ruin, convincing Giacinto to stop.

Marius was quiet for a moment, twisting the heavy ruby ring on his finger. He opened his mouth a few times, but closed it again every time. Laelia waited. Finally, he spoke, pale eyes watching the embers dance towards the dark night. "With every breath."

Laelia giggled. Marius' snow white skin couldn't hide his blush.

"I've been by his side for almost a decade, of course I miss him. I don't know how to exist without him."

"I'm sure he misses you, too."

"He has a lot more friends than I do."

"But only one you!" Laelia glanced up at the sky, the first pale stars winking down at them. "And I'm deeply suspicious of anyone that wouldn't want to be your friend."

The past days, she'd spent the most time with him. She got awkward around Alessandro and unsure around Giacinto.

Lorenzo, ever the sunshine, got along with everyone – after he had profusely apologized for almost punching Giacinto when he'd heard he'd put a dagger to Laelia's neck.

But Marius was a breath of fresh air. He'd always listen to her ramble about this poison or that bone, genuinely interested. And he was normal. After months with Alessandro, who seemed to despise talking so much he had invented a whole sign language only involving his eyebrows and a dozen different frowns, and Giacinto, whose general response to anything was either inappropriate humour or concerningly morbid death threats, Marius was her saving grace.

---

The lake glittered like dancing mirror-shards, small waves playing in the warm evening breeze.

Cool waves lapped at Alessandro's skin as he stepped into the lake. Lorenzo was watching the sun set in the deep green of the forest, the water playing around his waist, allowing Alessandro to follow the soft curve of his lower back first with his eyes, then with his fingers.

Lorenzo was almost as tall as him, but all slim and lean muscles where Alessandro was heavy strength. Settling his hands on Lorenzo's waist, Alessandro pulled him back against his chest, skin against skin as warm as the rays of the setting sun.

Lorenzo laughed when Alessandro kissed the fading mark at the back of his neck. "Possessive, are we?"

Alessandro hummed in agreement.

The past three days had been rough on all of them and he soaked up the moment of quiet like he had been starving. They rode from dusk till dawn. Giacinto lead them off the roads, in the dangerous hope of escaping the Reaper's eye, forcing them through thickets and ancient forests and endless grassland at a brutal pace.

Alessandro had went hunting often. But that was before he had become an inspector. He still was a good enough rider, but after three years of break, his skin was slowly ground off his thighs and his muscles burned when he had to walk.

But the fear of the Reaper sat in their necks like an eternal shiver, urging them on.

Three more days.

At the thought of returning to Venice, Alessandro's stomach tightened. Returning to everything he had left behind... the good, the bad and the unsolved.

There were still pieces missing in their puzzle and it had slowly crept under Alessandro's skin, itching just enough to make it impossible to think of anything else.

Daniele... ever since Alessandro had realized the parallels between him and the Shadow, the one thief he could never catch, it wouldn't let him go. And he had been there, the night Giacinto and he had escaped prison. There were few people powerful enough to frame Alessandro for murder and get him arrested without evidence – Daniele was one of them.

The poisoner. Laelia had come to him, fiddling her fingers before she shared her suspicions – the Reaper couldn't be working alone. Almost no one could manipulate poisons so precisely as they had been with all the agents murdered in Venice. And the Lady Medici's list of such poisoners had been destroyed on purpose.

All'oro. From gold. Again, Alessandro thought back to what the dying witch had written on her prison cell's wall in her own blood. The Lady Medici was an excellent poisoner. And she had worn a dress shimmering like liquid gold the day they had taken the witch.

No. She had saved them, had stood between Laelia and the Reaper. ... but she had escaped unharmed. Was it truly only the Reaper and his obsession with rules that had let her go?

As always, Lorenzo had a sixth sense for his moods. Turning in his arms, Lorenzo pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of Alessandro's lips – he was almost fooled, but the mischievous twinkle in Lorenzo's eyes gave him at least a second to steel himself before he was swept from his feet, carried bridal-style into deeper water and dropped into the cold.

The lake swallowed him for a second, sunrays floating through his fingers, before Alessandro pushed back through the surface, gasping for air. Shaking his head like a wet dog, he glared at Lorenzo – it only made him laugh harder.

Not for long, because it took Alessandro only a heartbeat to tackle him, pulling them both beneath the surface. The water was an icy caress, but crystal clear, Lorenzo's smile brilliant even when he reached to wrestle with Alessandro.

When they broke through the surface, Lorenzo's laugh rang clear through the bright sky, and Alessandro felt like his heart was smiling. The tension of the past days finally washed away.

Lorenzo wrapped his arms around Alessandro's neck, letting him carry them to shallow waters. "I can see why Gio didn't come with us." He nipped at Alessandro's jaw. "Though I'm not complaining. You're rather dashing with a beard."

Giacinto had made a face like they were asking him to shave his cats and eat the fur when they had suggested he come bathe in the lake.

Alessandro hadn't complained. While he was glad Lorenzo kept his distance – as distant as someone like him could be – and their disguise as friends, he missed him and all his little touches.

Not that he had had any ulterior motives, he had truly just wanted to get rid off the sweat and dust of days spent on the road, but that was difficult to explain to someone like Lorenzo, who always had ulterior motives.

The morning of their departure, he had woken up with Lorenzo half draped over him, heavy and warm, clinging to Alessandro like an overgrown teddy bear. He'd been acutely aware of every inch of them touching. For a second panic had shot up in him, the urge to run almost overwhelming.

But Lorenzo had shifted, snuggling closer. The hint of a stubble had scratched Alessandro's chest. Alessandro had smiled, tracing slow patterns across his back, allowing himself to bathe in the warmth for a moment longer.

He may not look like it, but Alessandro loved beautiful things. He'd always wanted to be an artist. And Lorenzo was art.

"What are you thinking about?" Lorenzo asked.

"You," Alessandro said. "How beautiful you are."

Lorenzo laughed, incredulous. "How can you say that with a straight face?"

"Why would I grimace?"

"It's called expressions." Lorenzo chuckled. "People have them. Especially when flirting."

"I'm not flirting. I'm just saying it."

"... I never know when you joking."

Alessandro's lips quirked into a smile. Lorenzo traced the tattooed bands around his biceps – he had an odd fixation on Alessandro's arms. Alessandro sighed. "Something's bothering you."

Lorenzo looked up sharply. "When we sleep together, do you ... feel things twice? Because you read emotions, so shouldn't that –"

"That's not what's bothering you."

"Yes, fine, but let me avoid it a moment longer. Tell me."

"I don't."

"Why?"

Alessandro sighed. "It's like trying to read red ink through red glass."

"And now for less gifted people?"

"I can't do it when my own emotions are too strong." That's how Daniele had managed to betray him.

"Hm." Then Lorenzo grinned. "So... I'm making you feel something."

"If you're looking for work, you should try being a detective," Alessandro said dryly.

"God forbid I work," Lorenzo looked up at the sky in dramatic prayer.

"Now, what's bothering you? Giacinto?" Giacinto had knocked on the door to Alessandro's bedroom – a first, usually locked doors were more of a suggestion than a barrier to him – startling Lorenzo out of his quest to kiss Alessandro senseless.

How Giacinto had known ... Alessandro had long suspected the Greek was a lot more observant than he let on.

"I can still hear his shit-eating grin," Lorenzo groaned. "But no. When we go back to Venice, will you ..."

"Leave you? Start sleeping with every woman I can find again?" Alessandro shook his head. But it wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. "I ... I can't promise it will be the same. But I will try. I promise."

Alessandro hated how relieved Lorenzo looked.

"Right. That was silly. It's not like we don't have bigger problems." Lorenzo laughed stiffly. "You're sentenced to death. So is Gio. My father killed dozens of people and plans a coup. I may or may not have crossed him one too many times..."

And Alessandro couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. Lorenzo hadn't just chosen him, he'd chosen Laelia, he'd chosen justice – still, Alessandro felt like he should've found another way. A way to keep Lorenzo out of this, to keep him safe. "Can you stay with your mother's family?" The Pazzi loved him, after all.

"Tonio'll figure something out. He'll make it look like he didn't, because he's an idiot, but he will. Always did." Lorenzo trailed off, lost in memories for a moment. "When I came home late after ... spending the night elsewhere, or when I wore too much jewellery or god knows what, he'd somehow always end up running into father just a second before me. Father can't deny his favourite, so I could always sneak back to my chambers unseen."

Lorenzo played with Alessandro's fingers, kissing the still bruised knuckles softly. "He's ... I rarely see him. One day he just shut himself away from everyone. Even from Lia, and only god knows how much he adored her. I threatened to burn his books, then punched him, but he just ... shrugged it off. If he's in trouble, I want to help but he's not saying anything!"

Alessandro wordlessly pulled him closer.

"He's an asshole. But he's my brother."

The last burning sunrays were fading, slipping into the dark waters of the lake. The stretching shadows were cool against their skin.

They stayed a moment longer, until Lorenzo's heartbeat against Alessandro's chest had slowed again, before getting back to the shore to dry off and return to the castle.

Alessandro had to chuckle when he spotted their clothes – his own folded on a neat pile, Lorenzo's excitedly strewn everywhere on his way down to the lake.

"Don't judge me, old man." Lorenzo huffed, trying to shake the earth from his blouse.

Alessandro raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't dare."

Lorenzo stepped closer, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge. He looped his shirt around Alessandro's neck, slowly pulling him down. Alessandro's fingers slipped from the laces of his own shirt, the fabric falling back open. Lorenzo grinned slowly.

Alessandro tensed when cold fingers brushed low over his stomach. Lorenzo's smile widened.

He'd forgotten about the shirt still looped around his neck until Lorenzo pulled firmly, crushing Alessandro's resistance in a slow, delicious kiss.

Lorenzo pulled away with an evil grin the second Alessandro's hands settled on his hips.

"What are you doing?" Alessandro asked, voice deeper than moments ago.

Lorenzo's cold fingertips continued their slow exploration of his chest. "Giacinto bribed me to tell him all about your tattoos. I'm afraid I have to take a very close look."

"What?"

Lorenzo laughed at his horror. "I'm joking. But I got you good, hm?"

Alessandro huffed. Lorenzo's eyes sparkled with mischief.

Alessandro got distracted by a drop of water running down the long curve of Lorenzo's neck.

Lorenzo was beautiful. Many people were attractive, perhaps even striking, but Lorenzo... Lorenzo was what an artist dreamed of when they brushed their fingers over an empty canvas, warm from the first golden sunrays.

He was also very aware of his physical qualities, which would have made him insufferable if he weren't so charming about it.

Alessandro traced the slow curve of his waist, aware of Lorenzo watching him with a smile. He was beautiful, but that wasn't it.

Lorenzo was always there, for Alessandro, even when they had barely known each other, for Laelia and Giacinto, for everyone. Like a wisp of expensive perfume, the hint of something delightfully scandalous about to happen clung to Lorenzo. But behind the flirting and joking was the most earnest and kindest man Alessandro had ever met.

Certainly kinder and warmer than Alessandro.

Lorenzo was watching him with that caring curiosity of his, guilt twisting in Alessandro's stomach. He knew Lorenzo liked him. Saying this felt almost like a betrayal.

"You're beautiful," Alessandro murmured, playing with a wet strand that had escaped the rest of Lorenzo's slicked back hair – he looked strange, a hint of unfamiliarity in the straight, dark hair sticking to his neck and shoulders. It let his features appear sharper. "You're kind. ...you're everything. I'm not."

Alessandro either stumbled over his words or barked orders like he was still with a squadron of policemen. He was easy to anger, no matter how much he hid it behind an unmoving, icy façade. He'd drown in his suspicions.

"Alessandro," Lorenzo sighed, "You don't have to be. I know what you're like and chose to be with you regardless. I'm quite fond of you, actually." Even his teasing smile was soft.

Alessandro frowned.

"Maybe you look a little scary. But you're a good man. Almost a little too good. Look at what this world did to you," Lorenzo brushed a careful finger over the scar curved along Alessandro's ribs. Rusty nail. One of his first arrests.

He still insisted on making arrests himself, the marks littered all over his body.

Sometimes, when he did not have enough evidence to arrest someone besides what he could read in them, he let them assault him – he could arrest them for it, buying enough time to find more evidence.

Lorenzo's hand slipped down, settling over the Hebrew calligraphy below his ribs. "Look at all it makes you hide, just to stay alive." He bent his head, pressing a slow kiss to Alessandro's chest, right above his heart.

"Yet you keep helping everyone, risking your own life every day. You're an old grouch," Lorenzo laughed quietly, "but you're a wonderful man."

Alessandro hesitated.

"It also doesn't hurt that you're very handsome," Lorenzo suggested.

He had to laugh at the other's eyebrow-wiggle. Lorenzo sobered up suddenly. "I know, you have that ... obsession with perfection. But you don't ever get to doubt that I want you. You don't get to decide whether you're good enough for me. I do."

Alessandro swallowed his surprise. Somehow, Lorenzo had glimpsed at the dangerous pride tearing at Alessandro. He wanted to be perfect. He needed to be perfect.

No. He needed to be seen as perfect.

So he shouldn't adore Lorenzo. He shouldn't get so angry all the time. He shouldn't want to be a painter. He shouldn't ...

But he wanted. He wanted it so badly. He wanted everything.

---

A pair of wet hands snuck beneath the back of her collar, Laelia squeaked in outrage, trying to battle Lorenzo off of her back. The monster just laughed, stepping out of her reach and plopping down on the opposite side of the fire. Laelia had to snort at his wet hair sticking to his neck like an unfortunately tight hood. "Where's Alessandro?" No more Sandro. For now.

"Rolling around in the dirt with Gio, I suppose." Lorenzo snatched her flask, taking a long gulp.

Laelia snatched it back. "You just came from a lake."

"And you expect me to drink from it like a sheep?" He looked so offended it was ridiculous. "I'm wearing the same blouse for two days now. I'm only barely hanging onto my humanity as it is, Lia."

Marius craned his head, trying to find the other two men. "How can they still fight?"

"It's the power of masculine rivalry." Laelia nodded gravely. Lorenzo snorted.

"It's the power of Steno's face pissing me off without fail, every single time." Giacinto sat down next to Lorenzo.

Alessandro just shook his head, nodding at Laelia and Marius – saying hello was overrated if you were a stony statue come to life, Laelia assumed.

Lorenzo flopped down sideways, settling his head into Giacinto's lap, startling the Greek, which almost cost him an eye before Giacinto realized no one was trying to kill him and sheathed his dagger again. "What are you doing?"

"Drying my hair." Lorenzo rubbed his head against Giacinto's shirt.

Giacinto hissed. "You're getting me wet."

Alessandro closed his eyes, already resigning to his fate.

Lorenzo grinned in delight. "A general effect I have on people."

Giacinto punched his arm, but laughed.

Laelia frowned, glancing at Marius. He shrugged at her. If Marius didn't get it, it couldn't be too important.

"Now stop touching me." Giacinto scooted away, trying to battle Lorenzo out of his lap. Finally, Alessandro had mercy on the Greek, dragging Lorenzo back into a sitting position with a heavy sigh.

Laelia fidgeted. Marius gave her an encouraging smile. She didn't want to sound silly, there were bigger problems, but ... it had gnawed at her for a few days now. "How ... will I explain to my parents where I went all these months?"

When she had left, she had lied saying she would visit her cousin in the Cilento. She hadn't sent a single letter, scared the Reaper would follow the trail to them. Her cousin hadn't sent them a single letter. She hadn't answered any letters they might have sent. How was she supposed to? She was half a country away from where she had said she would be.

Giacinto waved it off. "That's taken care of."

He wasn't telling her anything again.

"Don't look at me like I killed a new-born. Zo can draw, no?"

"Excellently, might I add." Lorenzo interrupted.

He was! He always brought her anatomical sketches he had copied from his brother's Arabian books – stupid Christians outlawing dissecting corpses. Maybe they'd stop dying left and right from scratches and mosquito bites if they'd let her cut open a very dead, very unfeeling body.

But unless they had sent their parents paintings of Laelia and her cousin dancing around a flower field, titled 'she is definitely here and not trying not to die in Florence', Laelia failed to see how that played a role.

"He can't draw from life, but he's excellent at copying."

Lorenzo always said he could only follow the lines someone had already arranged for him. But he could do that eerily well. He always joked about becoming an art thief once his father snapped and truly banished him from the family.

"So he faked you and your cousin's handwriting. I had one of my men deliver them." Giacinto said it like it was little more than a nice evening stroll.

Laelia blinked. He'd done that and never once even mentioned it to her. "Thank you," she muttered.

"Of course."

They settled into meaningless conversation – all of them secretly starved for that hint of normalcy, after days of running from the Reaper. Running, sleeping, running again. In the stony arms of the old ruin, days away from Florence and much closer to home, the tension faded.

Even Alessandro, who had been icy and withdrawn these past days – Laelia had practically seen the wheels turn in his head, trying to fit the last few puzzle pieces together – joked with them. Well, joked might be a bit too generous.

When she fell asleep in the warmth of the fire,stars bright far above them, she smiled to herself. Everything would be well.

---

Nothing was well.

Laelia startled awake to the fire being stomped out, Lorenzo pulling her to her feet, eyes wide, hand at his sabre.

Silver moonlight flowed across the courtyard, casting deep shadows around the walls. Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

The night held its breath.

"They found us," Lorenzo whispered, pushing Laelia behind him.

Laelia's heart leaped into her throat. How? How could they have been followed? They had been so careful. They had avoided all main roads, often following Giacinto along invisible trails. They had slept outside, eating only the dried fruit and meat they had packed. Giacinto had circled back sometimes, scouting the miles behind them. There had been no one.

Her fingers tightened on Lorenzo's arm and he tugged her close. "It'll be alright," he whispered, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

Over the years, Laelia had learned to fear the moments when Lorenzo stopped smiling.

Everything in Laelia wanted to run. Run far, far away and hide.

The shadows grew physical, Giacinto appearing out of the night, tossing a hooded cloak at Marius – his white skin and hair glowed in the moonlight.

Alessandro lead them into the darkness – there was only one way out the ruin, through the crumbled arch of the main gate. Laelia could hear hooves stomping up that path.

They couldn't run. They couldn't even hide – their horses grazed outside, the assassins would know they were here. They could only wait.

Impatient fear scratched at the inside of her chest as they stood waiting in the shadow of the fallen tower. Like criminals lined up at the gallows. Laelia's hands shook, fingers twisting desperately into her skirts. She didn't want to be scared.

There was no way they could cross the moon-bright courtyard unseen. They had to fight. They had to be fast, hide in the shadows until the men entered the courtyard, use the moment of surprise to their advantage.

Alessandro and Giacinto stood in front of them, shoulders pressed together in brutal comfort. Giacinto twirled his knives slowly.

Lorenzo drew his sabre, handing it to Marius. The priest protested, but Lorenzo cut him off. "Alessandro promised Amand to bring you back in one piece."

Closing his hand around the grip of his long dagger, Lorenzo Laelia's hand with the other and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Long shadows fell through the gate, an army of black chess figures. Silent. Unstoppable.

Laelia's blood froze. That was too many. They marched through the gate in perfect rows, cutting off the only way out. Mercenaries.

They halted, murmurs whispering through the rows when they found the ruin empty. Laelia's hand tightened around Lorenzo's. They were waiting for orders.

But it wasn't the Reaper that appeared. Laelia recognized the mercenaries' leader from the pavilion, deciding in a split second. The weight of her crossbow was comforting in her hand as she aimed between his eyes. He had hurt Bianca.

Her grip shook. She couldn't take a life.

But she couldn't let them hurt her friends. She grit her teeth. If she took him down, the soldiers would have no commander – unstructured attacks were weaker, her mother had taught her. Calculated chaos.

Lorenzo twisted the crossbow from her fingers, aimed, fired.

His aim wasn't as good as hers, the arrow ripping through the man's throat instead. He fell with a shout fading to a gurgle.

Panic twisted the rows of mercenaries, heads whipping around to find where the arrow had come from. Giacinto descended upon them like a wrathful ghost, daggers tearing through moonlight and flesh. Alessandro was right behind him, proud and perfect, fencing three men at once. The lion and the panther.

They lost ground soon. The mercenaries didn't need orders to fight back.

Lorenzo tossed her the crossbow, sprinting to meet the soldiers coming for them. Marius lips moved in silent prayer. Laelia fired. She fired until her fingers closed around nothing when she reached for her arrows.

The mercenaries reached them. Marius leaped, bought her a second. She shook her wrist, needles slipping into her hands. They flew like shooting stars.

Shattered heartbeats hammered against her chest. They were hopelessly outnumbered. Lorenzo wielded a dead man's sword now, fighting back to back to back with Alessandro. They were brilliant. But the mercenaries were more, two taking the place of every fallen man, slowly closing their circle around them like hungry wolves.

Laelia blew her powder like a kiss, red dust settling over a man's face like a veil. He dropped like a puppet.

Giacinto was everywhere and nowhere at once, slipping through the shadows, pulling men into the darkness with him.

But Laelia had no time to admire his deadly grace, mercenaries threatening to overwhelm her like a tide. Her heart pounded when she tripped over a still body, barely catching herself in time. Needles and powders were useless in close range, and the men inched closer and closer, too many for her to fight.

Marius appeared back at her side, giving her his soft smile, but even with him, they were slowly forced back against the wall.

"Lorenzo!"

Laelia's blood froze. Everything else faded.

She couldn't hear the clash of blades, the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground. Lorenzo. She whipped her head around, trying to catch a glimpse of him. What if he had fallen, what if she would find him there, among the bodies on the ground –

Her head whipped to the side, pain exploding across her cheek as she stumbled, trying to catch her footing. Marius shot in front of her, quick blade blocking the pommel of the sword that had struck her. He was eerily beautiful, white as ancient death, pale eyes blazing with fury.

She always forgot not all angels were messengers, but god's deadliest warriors.

"Lorenzo," Laelia whispered, hands shaking as she drew Giacinto's dagger. The mercenaries were too close now. She had to win, so she could get to Lorenzo. No one could take her Lorenzo.

Then she saw him.

Blood was dyeing his white blouse black in the moonlight, but he still fought, Alessandro covering his side.

No one hurt her Lorenzo. No one. Laelia screamed, the fear and tension exploding in her chest as she threw herself at the men.

The first time Giacinto's dagger struck flesh, the slow, tearing impact made her freeze. The man almost got her with his sword, but a flick of her wrist sent needles into his chest.

"The wall!" Marius yelled over the chaos.

Alessandro caught his desperate glance, nodding grimly.

Laelia started running towards Lorenzo, but Marius caught her, pulling her towards the half-broken stairs. "We have to jump."

A wall of men blocked their path, Laelia barely realizing she was moving until she blew a cloud of black stars and the men swayed in a hypnotic dance for a second, before the seizures started. Marius stared at her with wide eyes. Laelia ran.

She heard steps behind her and prayed to a god she didn't believe in that it was her boys.

Cold wind hit her when she burst onto the wall-walk, whipping her hair out of her braid. She gasped for air. There was only one staircase. It wasn't broad – they could hold the line here.

Marius was right behind her, breathing heavily, free hand clutching at his chest – his bandages, Laelia realized with a pang. He swayed, but gave her an encouraging smile.

He'd smile even in death.

She could spot Giacinto, spinning through the mercenaries in the courtyard. He hadn't heard them.

Alessandro and Lorenzo were running for the stairs, Lorenzo clutching his bleeding sword arm. Alessandro was shouting for Giacinto. Laelia cursed herself for firing all her arrows – she couldn't help them from up here.

Steps thundered up the stairs. Laelia raised her dagger.

They crashed into her like a breaking wave of blades and fists. Bodies tore between them. She was separated from Marius.

She stumbled a step back, knocking into a chest, choking when an arm wrapped around her throat. The pressure crashed her windpipes and she sputtered, kicking wildly when he lifted her off her feet.

How had they gotten behind her? There was no other staircase – rolling her eyes in blind panic, she saw a hand slipping over the edge of the battlements, a body following – they were climbing the walls. Laelia thrashed, vision starting to blur.

A horrible crack right next to hear ear, like a dozen snapping twigs. Laelia dropped to the ground, scraping her knees. She choked for air, clawing at her throat.

The mercenary laid next to her like a lover, unmoving, blood seeping over his eyes. Laelia screamed, but no sound would come out of her raw throat.

Alessandro towered over the man like a lion over prey. A slow drop of blood ran down his knuckles.

He offered her a hand, hauling her back to her feet so fast Laelia's shoulder ached. In the pale moonlight, his face was carved from stone.

"Lorenzo, where's Lorenzo –"

Alessandro nodded behind them – Laelia tripping over her feet trying to catch a glimpse. Lorenzo had joined Marius in defending the stairs. His shirt was seeped through black with blood. Laelia could see the pain twisting his face. His movements were slower now.

Laelia stomped onto the next finger coming over the edge, her grim satisfaction at the man's scream when he fell scaring her. "We have to jump," she shouted at Alessandro.

Marius was right. The cliff was high, the drop steep, but the river was deep, they could survive. They couldn't follow them into the water – even if they did, the river was too fast, they'd be too busy fighting for their lives against the current to fight each other.

Needles sparked from her fingers when more men came. It was hopeless. Ever step back brought her closer to the edge.

Alessandro picked up a man twice as broad as Laelia and threw him into the yard below like a ragdoll. "Take Lorenzo." He turned, sword flashing hungrily at the mercenaries.

Laelia followed his glance. Giacinto was at the far end of the wall, teeth bared in a desperate grin, daggers faster than lightning.

Alessandro's shout to jump roared over their heads like thunder, but it didn't reach Giacinto. No, Laelia realized. The Greek was pretending not to hear, slowly fighting his way back through the men – he was trying to force his way back to the courtyard.

Laelia's breath caught – even if he got back down there, there was no way he would get out of the ruin alive. The shadows were crawling with mercenaries.

Alessandro's jaw worked. "Help them." He nodded at the stairs, Marius and Lorenzo trapped on all sides by mercenaries, just barely holding them off. "I'll get him."

Laelia didn't wait to nod, sprinting towards the stairs. There was only one man unfortunate enough to stand between her and Lorenzo and she leaped over his falling body before he had hit the ground, the needle in his neck winking up at her like a fallen star.

They fought back to back, Lorenzo and Marius' sabres clashing and slashing, the men groaning with the strain of holding the mercenaries back. Laelia couldn't use her powders, not with her friends so close, she couldn't risk them. But her needles sparked with fury.

The flood ebbed.

Lorenzo kicked a last body down the stairs, panting heavily. He swayed, eyes fluttering close for a second. "Jesus, Mary and the fucking holy lamb."

Marius winced. Laelia laughed breathlessly. Something moved in the courtyard. Her laugh stuck in her throat.

Archers.

"We have to jump," Marius started. He hadn't seen them yet.

Laelia wanted to drop and cry. Even if they jumped, when the archers reached the wall... Laelia counted at least a dozen of them. The moon was bright, there was no cover in the river –

Lorenzo turned, suddenly calm. "Jump." He nodded at Marius.

But he had to have seen them –

Marius hesitated, but Lorenzo stepped towards the edge with him, as if he wanted to jump. Marius jumped.

Lorenzo didn't.

Instead, he turned to Laelia. "Jump."

Laelia nodded. She trusted him with her life. She sheathed her knife, reaching for his hand instead.

Lorenzo's smile wavered. He knelt, fabric tearing when he slashed the two halves of her riding habit at her waist. They would have tangled in the water, restricting her leg-movement. "Now you're a little knight." He brushed a hand against her cheek.

There was something in his warm smile that scared Laelia. She tugged at his hand. "We have to jump now, they're coming –"

Lorenzo grabbed her shoulder, eyes piercing into hers. "No matter what happens, remember I love you," he whispered. "No matter what."

Laelia shook her head. "No, you have to come with me, we can –"

"I can't swim." Lorenzo nodded at his bleeding arm. "But I can hold them off."

"Then I'll swim for both of us!"

It was a lie. Lorenzo was a good swimmer. He could swim with one arm.

Lorenzo pulled her into a desperate hug. "I love you, Lia, you know that," he whispered into her hair. "Always. Promise me."

"No," Laelia kept shaking her head, "no, no, you have to – we have to –" She was crying now, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

She could hear the dull echo of steps thundering up the stairs.

Lorenzo pulled her closer. They were at the brink of death, but she always felt safe in his arms.

"Promise me." His voice was strong, deep, the warmth that had always been at her side.

Laelia shook her head violently. If she didn't promise, he'd have to come with her.

"Take care of the boys."

Laelia wrapped her arms around him, Lorenzo relaxing for a second, before he realized she was dragging them both to the edge.

He was stronger than her.

No matter how hard she pulled and yanked and tore at him, no matter how hard she cried, praying to their childhood memories, golden like his smile, he didn't budge.

"Promise me."

The steps were so close now.

The moonlight shifted across his face when Laelia yanked again. A silver tear ran down his cheek.

Laelia broke. "I promise."

Shadows flickered up the stairs.

Lorenzo smiled and shoved her off the edge.

She clawed at air, trying to regain her balance. The ground vanished beneath her.

The last thing she saw was Lorenzo standing over the stairs, sword gleaming, his own blood dripping down the blade.

He drowned in a sea of swords.

---

Alessandro was going to kill Giacinto himself.

He shouldered a man out the way, knocking another to the ground with pommel of his sabre, sprinting towards the fighting Greek.

When Giacinto saw him, he grew desperate, pressing forward into the row of men, trying to make it to the wall's edge facing the courtyard before Alessandro could reach him.

Alessandro was going to force-bathe him. He could not hate water so much that he was willing to risk his life.

Giacinto threw a knife, the man falling down into the yard creating an opening. Giacinto ran for it –

Alessandro barrelled through the men and leapt, tackling him –

They stumbled, legs knocking into the balustrade, tipping over the edge.

Alessandro's stomach swooped, air rushing around them, the water racing up towards them. He squeezed his eyes shut. Giacinto's heart hammered against his. He tightened his arms around Giacinto.

The force of the impact knocked the air from his lungs and for a split second, Alessandro thought he was shattering.

The water was ice cold, waves crashing over their heads. The current ripped Giacinto from his arms.

Alessandro fought. His lungs were screaming for air, he didn't know where up or down was, the river tossing him around like a piece of wood, his boots filling with water, growing heavier and heavier, slowing his kicks, pulling him down.

He burst through the surface, gasping for air, ripped back under the next second.

Alessandro didn't know how long he fought the river. His arms were heavy, trying to keep him above the surface, his soaked clothes weighing him down like stones.

He was falling again, water hammering down on him, hit the surface, pushed back under by the waterfall crashing over him. Panic clawed up his chest when he realised he wasn't strong enough to fight his way up again.

He closed his eyes.

And sank like a stone.

The pressure of the waterfall eased. Rock scraped his hands. He pushed forward, kicking until he escaped the tons of water falling around him. His lungs ached, threatening to burst under the urge to gasp for air.

Something glittered, like a slice of moonlight hidden at the bottom of the lake.

Alessandro was just about to push towards the surface, when the glitter shifted into a shape. A small silver cross.

His head was spinning. He had to breathe.

Giacinto's cross.

Alessandro grit his teeth and dove back down.

His fingers were so stiff with cold, the cross slipped through his fingertips twice. Finally, he pulled the chain free from between the rocks.

His vision was starting to dim. He clenched his fist around the cross, the pain of the silver digging into his palm clearing his head. He kicked off the ground, shooting for the faint light above him.

He broke through the waves in the last second.

The air was almost painfully warm against the icy water, tiny needles slicing his frozen throat when he wheezed, greedily sucking in deep breaths. He kicked water, trying to spot the shore in the dark. The waters were calmer here, carrying him gently.

Movement made him freeze, a figure moving in night, fear rising again – in the water, he was defenceless. Moonlight hit Laelia. Alessandro swam for her.

His legs gave out the second he felt sand against his fingertips. He collapsed in the shallow water. The night spun away from him.

Two moons danced around him. Alessandro blinked. They merged into one. He was lying on his back, staring up into the endless sky. Laelia must have dragged him out.

A deep trailed was carved from his feet to the shore where Laelia must've dragged him up. He turned his head, expecting Giacinto.

The emptiness sliced through his struggle for breath with icy fear.

He coughed, struggling to sit, and Laelia reappeared at his side, helping him sit up. His head spun. Alessandro pushed himself to his feet, staggering along the shore, deaf to her calling his name.

Giacinto wasn't here.

What if he couldn't swim? Was that why he hated water so much? He was the prince of an island kingdom. Of course he could swim. Alessandro forced the fear down.

"Gio!" Laelia joined him. "Giacinto!"

Marius and Lorenzo were nowhere to be seen either. But Laelia wasn't calling for them. They must have gone to search for shelter. Alessandro allowed no doubt.

"Giacinto!" He shouted, guilt and panic bitter on his tongue. Laelia stumbled, catching herself, kept searching the shore.

Alessandro took a deep breath, wading back into the water. The river widened into a lake after the waterfall, the deadly currents slowing down. His arms ached at the mere thought of swimming again. He tore his jacket off, tossing it aside. He shivered in just his wet shirt, but the jacket would weight him down. He had to search the lake for Giacinto.

"Here!" Laelia shouted, waving for him, then running towards a small lump in the sand.

The world froze around him for a second.

Alessandro had slept around Giacinto enough to know how small he was when he curled up.

He tripped trying to run on the wet sand.

But before either of them could reach him, Giacinto pushed to his feet, staggered two steps, slumped against a rock and threw up violently.

It sounded like his throat was being torn out as he shook against the stone.

Alessandro reached him first, holding him steady as he continued vomiting over their boots. He retched even when nothing but spit came, shaking against Alessandro.

Then he stilled.

Giacinto slowly straightened up.

He moved so fast Alessandro didn't realize was happening until his head was whipped to the side. His cheek stung, heat dripping down his chin. Alessandro went numb. He just stared, distantly registering the blood running down his neck.

Giacinto's chest heaved as he lowered his hand. He staggered back, as if surprised by his own actions, but quickly hid it in a furious glare. He spun on his heel, marching up the shore towards the treeline.

"You're bleeding!" Laelia rushed around him, pressing the shreds of her torn riding habit against his cheek. It burned.

Alessandro closed his eyes. "It's fine."

Laelia removed the cloth, trying to get a glimpse at the wound. "That might need stitches," she muttered. Then she froze – she must have realized they had nothing.

Everything was back at the ruin. Her medical supplies. Horses. Food.

She had been so collected, movements almost mechanical, pulling Alessandro out of the water, searching for Giacinto, inspecting Alessandro's wound – shock, Alessandro knew, took many forms.

But now she was frozen, unmoving, as something caught up with her.

"Lorenzo."

What?

"Lorenzo." Laelia's face twisted into sudden realization, horror dawning. "Lorenzo –"

She pushed away from Alessandro, scrambling and staggering up the river. Alessandro chased her, ice creeping up to his heart. She fell, dragged herself back to her feet, kept running.

When he reached her, she tried to shove him out of her way with manic strength. "Zo, I have to –"

"What happened?" Alessandro's voice was so hollow, he didn't recognize it.

Lorenzo wasn't looking for shelter with Marius.

Laelia looked up at him, eyes round as the moon.

He could see the memories slowly flooding back to her, coming back from the corner they had been pushed into when the water had forced her to focus on survival. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

She shook her head, again and again.

The ground was yanked from beneath his feet, knees finally buckling. He couldn't move, head dropped into his hands, staring out onto the still waters.

It couldn't be. Lorenzo had been right there.

He could still hear his laugh, just hours ago. He could feel his caress in the soft breeze brushing his cheeks.

He had been right there.

It couldn't be.

Lorenzo was gone.

Ooops?

I hope you liked the action scene! It was so hard to keep it fast and emotional at the same time.

What was your favorite moment here?

Thank you for reading, you guys are the reason I got so far with this story (and didn't abandon it in some dusky drawer)! Stay lovely!

Avis.