The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance. [...]Come you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts. – Lady Macbeth, calling the devils responsible for murderous thoughts.

The night was dark and silent around them, an open grave, the warm breeze that brushed their cheeks like a fading breath. Were they the mourners or were they the mourned?

Alessandro didn't know.

Alessandro didn't want to know.

He had wanted to sit on the river's shore until the moon sank in it, until it ran dry in the sand, until time itself would fade around him. But he couldn't. He had to function. He was the rational one. He couldn't fall now.

He did not want to feel the storm of emotions threatening to tear his breath away. It brewed on the horizon, banished from the emptiness Alessandro drowned himself in. Only the guilt stayed, seeping through his hollow heart, heavy and thick and sweet.

He did not want to look at them now, staring at him like he had answers. Like he knew what to do. Like they could follow him – but he was lost.

Marius seemed to fade into the night like a dying ghost, paler than usual, water still dripping from his white hair like translucent blood. Giacinto, silent, still – eerily still. The shadows were long rifts in the thin silver light of the moon, when Giacinto stood motionless he turned into one of them. He had not said a word to Alessandro. And Laelia ...

When Alessandro had pushed down everything he feared to feel and marched up to find the rest, Laelia had been trying to run back to the ruin, screaming and clawing at Giacinto's iron grip around her. Alessandro had once seen a deer fight hunting dogs for its life, kicking and bucking, running, being brought down again, fighting until it dropped dead – Laelia fought like that. She broke free from Giacinto's hold twice with desperate strenght.

She had drained her soul screaming Lorenzo's name. When Giacinto had finally let her go, she had crumbled at his feet into a lifeless heap, sobbing silently.

Now she sat where she had fallen, staring into nothing. She didn't seem to even notice Marius sitting next to her, his whispered comfort falling on deaf ears.

Alessandro didn't know what to do. He was letting them down. He was the one who was supposed to have a plan.

But they had nothing. The horses were back at the ruin and with them all their supplies. They had nothing but the wet clothes sticking to their skin and the weapons that had been useless in the end.

The cut on his cheek was still bleeding. The handkerchief he had pressed against it had been soaked with ice-cold river-water before, now it was soaked with warm blood. It would need stitches – but there was nothing to stitch it up with.

Alessandro gave up, hurling the damned cloth into the shadows. He felt like breaking down. He felt like breaking someone's bones. But the only thing slowly breaking was his mask, if the worried glances Marius kept shooting him were anything to go by.

Giacinto slipped from the black into the moonlight. He looked completely unbothered, a coin dancing across his knuckles.

Alessandro felt an angry itch in his fingers – Lorenzo was dead and Giacinto, Giacinto who Lorenzo had loved, maybe like a dear drinking companion or maybe as something else, looked like he was on an evening stroll.

He grit his teeth. He would do well to remember that. Giacinto did not form attachments.

Giacinto looked around their sorry group – glance slipping over Alessandro as if he was not there. "Let's go."

Laelia's head snapped up. There was a manic gleam in the moonlight-white of her eyes. "Not without Lorenzo." She attempted to struggle to her feet again, but Marius tugged her back down, muttering gently under his breath.

The priest looked up from where he crouched next to Laelia. "With all due respect, Signore Marinos, no one here is any condition to walk."

"We can't start a fire, it'll be visible for miles. The walking will get us warm. If you want to die from pneumonia, be my guest."

Alessandro opened his mouth, but Giacinto cut him off. "If I have to choose between you and myself, I'm choosing myself." The cold seemed to seep deeper into their bones at his words.

Giacinto looked at Laelia. "Lorenzo might not be dead. So get up and walk."

The night held its breath.

This time, Marius had no chance on holding Laelia back when she leapt to her feet, the desperate willpower of a last battle. "Then we –"

"We go to Venice."

"No! No, we can't leave him, he's our friend –"

"I said 'might'." Giacinto's voice was as sharp and hard as his daggers. "If he's dead, he's dead. No one comes back from that. There's no use of us going back."

Alessandro grit his teeth. "If there is a chance –"

"They're not the Reaper. If he's alive, they'll keep him alive. Pretty boy is worth a lot."

Disgust boiled in Alessandro's heart. "He's defied his father a last time. He won't pay anything."

"Tonio might!" The hope in Laelia's voice crushed Alessandro.

"No," Giacinto said, twirling his dagger, "He's worth something to us. By now they should have noticed I switched the letters. We still have everything we need to bring them down. They'll trade him for our evidence."

Alessandro shifted, turning the information over in his head. "How do you know?"

"Ugly minds think alike," Giacinto said with a sharp smile. "It's what I'd do."

Laelia's face twisted. Alessandro wanted to help her, somehow, but he didn't know how. She'd avoided him the past few days – her grief didn't mean he was allowed close again.

Laelia wiped her tears, clenching her jaw in determination. "Then we go find him now. They can have whatever they want, I'll give them everything."

"We are no match for them, we weren't an hour ago and we certainly aren't now." Giacinto sent the torn and dripping remains of her riding habit a hard glance.

She'd been so proud of it. Bianca had given her one of her hunting dresses – more of a long coat really, the skirt split in front and back, allowing her to ride astride rather than side-saddle. The Medici daughter had watched with amusement as Laelia kept lifting the skirt to stare at the riding pants and boots beneath it. "At least make the Reaper try. If you break your neck riding side-saddle, it'd be too easy," Bianca had chuckled as Laelia had raced off to show Lorenzo.

She'd never been allowed to wear pants, or boots, or ride astride. She'd declared the new dress her greatest treasure.

Alessandro tried to wipe the memory of Lorenzo smile from his mind. He'd laughed when telling Alessandro about how he had kept sneaking Laelia out – gallantly asking her father to let him take her for a ride, then promptly switching horses the second they were out of side and teaching her how to ride in men's saddles.

Meanwhile, Laelia had been waltzing through the hall in the broadest swagger she could manage. "You can see my boots! Look how big my steps can be!"

Now, the skirts were torn off to let her swim, sad, jagged edges lining her corset. Even in death, Lorenzo had protected Laelia.

Now Laelia didn't back down, meeting Giacinto's hard glare. "We don't have to fight. We'll sneak in –"

"Can you?"

Laelia faltered. "I'll –"

"No. If he's alive, he's guarded. Your life means nothing to them. If he's already dead, you die for nothing. If he's alive, you'll make him watch you die. You owe him your life. Treasure it."

"He's my life. I'll go alone –"

Giacinto tossed up his coin, it spun like a falling star in the night. When he caught it and looked back at her, his eyes were cold. "You'll die. And I'll let you."

Marius cleared his throat. "Allow me – you two won't agree. Whether we start for Venice, or turn back, we're wasting time."

And they did not have time. If the mercenaries had found them, the Reaper was coming.

Giacinto turned to the priest. "Enlighten me then, snowflake?"

"You've fought together all these months. You should decide together now, too. This is no time to break apart. Laelia wants to turn back. You want to head towards Venice. Signore Steno?"

Giacinto cut him off, again avoiding Alessandro. "What about you?"

"I should have no say in this. You are closer to Signore Morosini." Marius smiled his gentle smile. Alessandro was starting to doubt he was human – how could he stay so calm, so gentle, when the world was drowning around them?

He was quite a fit for the ever wild Amand.

Giacinto just nodded. He had a strange mix of respect and affection for Father Fromm.

All heads turned to Alessandro.

He couldn't do this.

All his life, Alessandro had marched on, no matter what had happened. They'd said he was too big, too slow to fence. He'd wanted to be an artist – he'd been thrown into the police force to fail. So he took the challenge. But this ... he couldn't do this.

He wanted to go back, if there was so much as a chance Lorenzo was still alive, Alessandro would tear the whole battalion apart to get him out.

But what if he was dead? He'd already been injured. The mercenaries had lost their leader and their orders, would they know Lorenzo's value in the heat of battle? Laelia had seen him fall under their swords.

Giacinto's theory had ignited that tiny spark of hope that was so dangerous... hope wasn't rational. Hope lied.

It was more likely that Lorenzo was long dead. Alessandro couldn't ask others to die for him.

And Giacinto was right. If he was alive, they'd keep him, as bait or for negotiations. Alessandro clung to this when he forced himself to look Laelia in the eye. The desperation in her eyes almost made him change his mind. "We'll head for Venice."

Laelia rushed at him. "No! He's your friend, you can't leave him! We –"

"Giacinto is right," Alessandro said, draining his voice of any emotion. "No one else will die tonight."

"But that's not your choice!" Laelia cried out.

Marius put a gentle hand on her arm. "The majority –"

Laelia yanked herself free. "The majority? They have no right, none at all – Giacinto never once called Lorenzo a friend, Alessandro knows him for a few months! I know him all my life! He's my – he's everything. He promised, he promised he would never leave me! I can't leave him –"

Alessandro clenched his fists behind his back. She glanced back and forth between them, voice thickening with desperation. "Please. Please, I – you don't have to. I'll go."

Giacinto stepped in. "I gave Antonio my word."

"I don't care about Antonio! I just want Zo –"

"If he's alive..." Giacinto exhaled slowly, "I will give them whatever they ask for. I give you my word, too."

Alessandro was torn. He shouldn't be. "You would damn the entire city, for him?"

Giacinto looked at him for the first time and Alessandro almost wished he hadn't. There was a dangerous edge in his eyes. "I'd watch the world burn."

Alessandro grit his teeth, but Giacinto didn't let him reply. "I'm not a good man. You'll always be second for a good man. First the duty, the honour, you would choose that over your own heart. I won't. I'm selfish. I'll throw the match if I have to."

The Greek turned around and for a second, the moonlight cast his profile in dark shadows. His coin seemed to burn through the pocket over Alessandro's heart, searing his skin. He was the prince now.

They walked in silence. Laelia stumbled and Marius' breath came flat and fast, Alessandro's legs burned with every step, growing heavier and heavier as the stars spun away over them. Only Giacinto seemed unaffected, slipping through the darkness ahead of them. 

Alessandro didn't know for how long they had walked. At least their clothes had dried. The moonlight danced with the branches in the wind, swaying shadows following them on their silent march. Alessandro was grateful for the exhaustion tearing at him. He had no energy to confront the hollow darkness in his chest.

A twig snapped behind them. Giacinto's dagger twirled free, slicing through the moonlight. Another snap. Too loud, too heavy to be just a deer.

But too quiet to be the mercenaries on their horses.

Alessandro's fingers curled around the hilt of his sabre. The moonlight and shadows danced in the wind, he just waited for one of them to sway aside and reveal the long, thin figure of the Reaper.

Laelia's hand slipped for her powders – then dropped in realization. They must all be soaked to clumps.

Giacinto sheathed his dagger.

Another snap, the shadows trembled, breaking apart as the horse stepped through the thicket, snorting into Giacinto's face. His smile slashed at something deep in Alessandro. "Gypsy," the Greek murmured, ruffling the black monster's mane. "Who's the smartest girl? You are!" The horse snorted again.

Alessandro was quite certain she gave him a nasty side eye, as if wanting to say 'See who he likes best?'. He glared back. He was smarter than a horse.

Giacinto waved for Marius and Laelia. Gypsy did not look happy at all to carry anyone other than her master, huffing when Giacinto helped them onto her back. They travelled faster after that, Giacinto leading the horse, Marius holding up Laelia who had slumped into a fitful sleep, and Alessandro, ignoring the guilt and panic swirling into bitter poison in his chest.

Finally, after what must have been hours travelled in rough silence between them, Giacinto stopped. With a glance at the moon, Alessandro guessed it was maybe three hours before dawn. At most. But even when Marius and Laelia were fast asleep the second they laid down, Alessandro couldn't sleep.

Laelia's sudden obedience was troubling. Something was going on ... But he couldn't read her, not with his own emotions threatening to break out of his icy hold. He turned around, squeezing his eyes shut.

Stones and twigs dug into his sides, no matter where he turned. He could feel Giacinto's eyes pierce his back – the Greek had taken the first shift, once again claiming he couldn't sleep anyways. But this time, with his violent retching after escaping the river echoing in Alessandro's ears, he was inclined to believe it.

The sharp slap still stung across his cheek. It had stopped bleeding sometime during their march, the crusted blood pulling his skin tight.

Alessandro didn't want Giacinto's eyes on him. He was on his feet before his thoughts could catch up with the urge to run, fleeing through the thicket, as far away from everyone as he could before the guilt found him, growing heavier and heavier until he crumbled at the foot of a tree, burying his face in his hands.

If he hadn't run for Giacinto, if he had just followed Laelia, Lorenzo would still be alive.

No. He couldn't have stopped the archers either. But maybe they would have fought the fist wave off faster with him there, jumping before the archers arrived. No. Then Giacinto would have died. He couldn't have known. He couldn't have known.

He should have known.

That was the one thing he was good for. And he'd failed.

His fists tightened, pulling at his hair until he could blame the sting in his eyes on that. He couldn't miss Lorenzo. He was barely gone for a few hours, that was less than the time between their visits in Florence. It was irrational. It didn't make sense. He wanted it to make sense.

But it was there, a hollow ache, beneath the guilt and rage and fear. It pulsed with his heartbeat.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, pressure building in his chest as he struggled for a deep breath.

Lorenzo couldn't be gone. Lorenzo was like the sun, always there, always bright, always warm. No matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, Lorenzo's smile burned through his vision. He had been right there. Alessandro could feel his fingertips run along his jaw, if he held his breath he could feel his warmth against his lips, like the heartbeat before a kiss...

He dropped his hands, punching the ground. A sharp sting cut across his knuckle when he hit a root, scraping his skin. It wasn't enough.

He hated the sudden realization that he was waiting for Lorenzo. This was when Lorenzo would always appear, as if he felt Alessandro's inner struggle, ready to coax the tension out of him, or just be there and listen. Lorenzo always magically understood Alessandro's helpless stumble of words.

But Lorenzo wouldn't come. Not this time.

Instead, Giacinto came.

Alessandro didn't notice him until a pair of black boots appeared in his vision. He didn't look up, just clenched his fists and hoped his face didn't betray the storm inside. The boot moved, nudging the tip of Alessandro's boot.

He still didn't move. Another nudge. "Next time I'll stomp on your toes so hard you can sell them as ivory powder."

Alessandro couldn't help but crack a smile. When he looked up at Giacinto, the Greek raised a fine eyebrow at him. "Get up."

"Aren't you supposed to keep watch?"

"Marius offered to cover for me as long as I need to talk to you."

"Go back," Alessandro coughed, trying to get the thick knot out of his throat. He'd be damned if he sounded like he'd cried. "This is hard for him. He needs the sleep."

"And you need me."

Alessandro looked back down, avoiding the openness in Giacinto's eyes. He wrung his hands. He'd just wait until Giacinto would follow with a half-insult-half-joke. It never came. He could feel Giacinto's eyes on him. When he couldn't stand the silence anymore, he said: "I thought you were angry at me."

"Oh, I am. But I'm not too foolish to think I would have survived if you hadn't forced me to jump. I owe you my life."

Alessandro gave an empty chuckle. "About time I start returning the favour."

"I miss him, too," Giacinto said suddenly.

Alessandro refused to answer.

"Listen... I suppose I can't quite offer you the same ... comfort as him. But I will try."

"Don't waste your time. I'm fine." Alessandro pushed back to his feet, brushed off his pants and turned back to their camp.

Giacinto appeared before him without a sound, stopping him with an index against his chest. This was getting unsettling. Giacinto clicked his tongue. "Not so fast."

"Just leave it –"

"Fight me." Giacinto drew his twin daggers, twirling them slowly. When he tilted his head, there was an expectant glint in his eyes.

Alessandro took a step back. "I want to sleep. Step aside."

Giacinto leapt at him so fast Alessandro had no chance to duck in time, the force of impact knocking them both back. Alessandro caught himself, whirled around, sabre slicing through the night to rest against Giacinto's throat. The Greek grinned. Alessandro blinked. He hadn't even realized he had reacted.

Giacinto took a slow step back, ducking slightly, knives glinting with hunger. Alessandro tightened his grip, feet sliding into fencing position.

They fought. The high clang of metal sounded between them like bells. Soon enough, Giacinto dropped into a crouch under the arch of his sabre, spun in place and swept Alessandro's legs from under him. He was on him a second later, fingers digging harshly into Alessandro's wrists when he slammed them to the ground.

"No, Steno, no." His breath was hot against Alessandro's face. "Fight me like you mean it."

Alessandro grit his teeth. They both knew he could break Giacinto's grip. He didn't.

He didn't want to fight. He wanted to be alone.

His chest heaved. Why couldn't Giacinto just leave him alone? There was a spark of anger.

Giacinto tightened his grip. His lips curled into a slow smile, teeth glinting in the moonlight. "What a pitiful sight you are –" Alessandro's punch sent him rolling several feet.

Heat pooled low in Alessandro's chest, boiling higher and higher. Giacinto gracefully leapt back to his feet, rubbing his jaw. He shook his head and the slow grin returned.

It was the spark that set Alessandro ablaze.

He was on his feet, slamming into Giacinto the next second. The Greek spun away, ducking his sword, a heavy fist ramming into Alessandro's stomach. It was a dull throb somewhere on the edge of his consciousness. He didn't think. He moved, he burned.

Their blades sang. High and shrill, faster and faster, a perfect aria, furious and beautiful.

Gone was the heavy ache in his muscle, burning with white heat. Giacinto had only been playing with him. Now he fought. He was faster than ever, but Alessandro caught every blade, twisted it right back to him.

Lightning steel flashed at him and Alessandro threw himself back, the blade slicing the night before his eyes. He arched back, carrying the momentum, his sabre heavy and sure in his hand as he thrust it behind himself. Giacinto's eyes widened. Too late.

Alessandro twisted, bringing his sabre down like a soldier might throw a spear. He never let go. Giacinto's blades crossed in the last second, but it was useless, Alessandro's blow knocked them both from his hands.

Alessandro followed the forward pull of his sword, spinning, slashing low – Giacinto leapt over his blade, hit the ground in a forward roll. When he spun back to face Alessandro, he was laughing.

The sound momentarily stunned Alessandro, the next second Giacinto was sprinting at him. Alessandro weighed his sword in his hand, bracing himself. Giacinto leapt into a cartwheel, Alessandro only had a second to recognize the move from when he sparred with Lorenzo before Giacinto's legs slammed down on either side of his head and he was ripped of his feet.

But he knew what was coming. Hitting the ground knocked the sword from his fist, but Alessandro twisted right away, Giacinto's thighs clamped around his neck working against the Greek as Alessandro flipped their positions, throwing his weight on Giacinto.

Giacinto groaned, but kept his legs on Alessandro's shoulders. His heels slammed into Alessandro's back when he crossed his ankles, tightened his hold and flipped them again.

Dust stung Alessandro's eyes when they rolled, wild hands tearing at each other. But Alessandro could do this blind. He had wrestled hundreds of criminals into their shackles.

Giacinto kept twisting out of his grip. Alessandro was bigger and far heavier. The second Alessandro would have him in a secure hold, it was over. But Giacinto was fast, drawing out the inevitable.

Alessandro needed to keep him on the ground. On his feet, the Greek was impossibly fast. Giacinto flipped them again, digging knee into Alessandro's stomach to keep him down. His fist slammed down, but Alessandro whipped his head aside and let Giacinto hit the ground next to him. The momentum carried the Greek forward, his weight falling onto that one fist. Alessandro grinned. Giacinto couldn't move that hand. His fingers clasped around Giacinto's wrist and yanked hard.

Giacinto fell on him, grunting. His instinct to catch himself delivered his free hand right into Alessandro's. He tightened his grip and flipped them one last time, glaring down at a panting Giacinto. "Yield."

There was a wildfire in Giacinto's grin. "In your dreams."

Alessandro grinned back. His eyes drifted. His hands were large enough to hold Giacinto's wrist down in one. He shifted, widening his grip and slipping Giacinto's wrists together.

Giacinto took the chance, attempting to yank his arms free – Alessandro was still stronger. Dangerous pride glinted in Alessandro.

He slipped his now free hand down, curling his fingers around the dagger strapped to Giacinto's thigh. He pulled it free slowly. Giacinto glared furiously. But he couldn't stop Alessandro from settling it's tip right over Giacinto's racing pulse.

"Yield?"

"Go to hell," Giacinto spat. His eyes widened. "Steno, behind you!"

Alessandro rolled off him instantly, jumping up, dagger raised at the attacker – the night was empty. Giacinto laughed, stretching his leg to kick Alessandro off balance and jumped back up.

Alessandro grit his teeth. "Cheater."

"Oops," Giacinto smiled brilliantly. A knife slipped into his hand from his sleeve. He gave it a slow twirl, catching his breath. "Silly giant."

He spun at Alessandro, twirling around his own axis, knives flashing at Alessandro like lightning caught in a tornado. Alessandro was forced back, only barely blocking the Greek's blows. Knowing Giacinto, he had a slim chances to wait until the Greek got dizzy.

He had to get the knives then.

Easier said then done. Giacinto was fast, he knew Alessandro was stronger than him and only deflected his blows rather than blocking them directly. He let Alessandro's weight work against him. Alessandro pushed forward, forcing Giacinto into a cross-bladed block with a strike from above, then threw all his mass against their crossed arms. Giacinto stumbled, forced to step back to regain his footing – moving him out of range for his own knives and into the reach of Alessandro's longer sabre. He had to defend now.

And Alessandro had always been better in the offensive.

It was rare someone fought with only daggers – but it gave them a dangerous advantage: if they got close enough, a sword was almost useless, it got in the way, too unwieldy for quick attacks. Alessandro had always had to defend, because Giacinto always twisted closer. But now he had him.

Giacinto sidestepped a blow, attempting to twirl around Alessandro, get on his free side. Alessandro blocked him with a sharp blow. Giacinto caught the blade, groaning under the strain. Alessandro pushed harder.

He had to give it to Giacinto, he had a perfect poker face. Nothing betrayed his next move, but Alessandro had bet on it.

Giacinto suddenly ducked and leapt sideways, the pressure holding back Alessandro's blade vanished and it would have slammed into the ground, pulling Alessandro forward with it, exposing his open back to Giacinto – if Alessandro hadn't seen it coming. He only let the tip tap the ground, then spun around, throwing his sword arm out –

The edge landed right against Giacinto's throat.

Giacinto had turned to the other side to catch Alessandro when he would have stumbled with the momentum. The Greek frowned when he realized he had been tricked. "I do not like this."

Alessandro straightened, slowly dragging his sabre along Giacinto's neck until the tip rested below his adam's apple. It bobbed when Giacinto swallowed. "I do," Alessandro said. "You lost."

For the first time.

Alessandro had come close, but he had never beat Giacinto. But now there had been liquid fire roaring through his veins, burning inhibitions and thoughts to ash until Alessandro only felt and moved.

"I knew you would," Giacinto sheathed his daggers, "Took you long enough."

Alessandro raised an eyebrow.

"You said you beat Amand in a duel. When we sparred, you were good, but not that good. I watched him fight, he could beat the devil."

"That is ridiculous."

"And yet, you beat him. You still had what you had back then, you just ... lost the spark."

So Giacinto had set him on fire.

"Your anger is dangerous. Until you get rid of it... don't let it destroy you. Use it."

Alessandro snorted humourlessly. "How wise."

The heavy ache returned to his limbs, his throat was parched. He was tired. When he turned back to the camp, Giacinto caught his arm. "And now," Giacinto stepped closer, the glint in his eyes slowly dying, "now you talk to me."

"I wouldn't know what to talk to you about." Alessandro pulled his arm free, clearing his throat. Why was it suddenly so tight?

"Lorenzo."

Alessandro froze. "I –"

"It's not your fault."

Alessandro clenched his fist. Stop talking.

"But that's not it, isn't it?" Giacinto stepped closer again, eyes flickering to the half dried cut across Alessandro's cheek.

"I – he ... he loved me." Alessandro hung his head. When the rush of the fight faded, it took all his walls with it, the walls he had fought so hard to build before.

Suddenly he realized that had been Giacinto's plan all along – he wouldn't leave the camp just to show him he could fight better. Giacinto knew Alessandro too well.

He wanted to laugh, he'd walked right into that trap. Instead, he choked on a sob. "He loved me." He took a shuddering breath. "And I – I didn't love him."

Giacinto's hand returned, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "He wouldn't expect you to. He's admired you all his life, but you knew him for a few months only."

"But I was –" Alessandro shook his head, trying to sort through the emotions swirling through him. None of them made sense. No matter how he turned them, how he brought them together, it was an ugly mess and it hurt.

It hurt so much. He gasped for air, hands coming up to fist into Giacinto's shirt for support. "I was getting there. Just a few more weeks, I could've – I could have loved him. I was, I just – I should have told him. I should have said –"

Guilt. Now that his resistance had fallen, it was everywhere, seeping through the cracks, slowly drowning him. He shouldn't feel bad for being honest, but he did, and it didn't make sense, he wanted it to make sense –

"He'd be glad you didn't lie," Giacinto murmured. "Hell, he probably knew what you were feeling better than you did. He's smarter than his pretty face makes you think."

"But I –"

Giacinto's hand slid from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling Alessandro's forehead against his. "Guilt is an ugly thing. But it'll pass. Regret, Steno, will kill you. Trust me."

Alessandro closed his eyes. He didn't want his pretty words. No. He wanted them. But he hated them.

"What you had with Zo, that was worth something. Don't taint it now."

Alessandro sagged.

"If you keep moving back in time, you'll fade from existence. Mourn, take revenge, whatever you want, I'll be with you. But don't linger long enough for it to slowly devour you."

Alessandro lingered for a moment, then stepped out of Giacinto's warmth. "We should go back. Marius needs the sleep."

Giacinto watched him for a moment longer and Alessandro knew he didn't buy his blank expression, but then the Greek his nodded, turning to lead the way. Alessandro was grateful.

Marius' worried glance when they reappeared doubled the guilt in Alessandro's stomach. He should be stronger. Still... the guilt wasn't gone, not magically lifted off his shoulders, but it was as if Giacinto was there, helping him carry it.

Alessandro turned to Giacinto when the priest had fallen back asleep, the hand carrying Amand's ring tugged close to his chest. "Take the last shift. I'll cover for Laelia and Marius tonight."

Giacinto waved it off. "Can't sleep anyways. Keeping watch gives me something to do."

"You have to sleep." Alessandro sat down in their loose circle. Giacinto settled next to him, nervous fingers finding a stray twig to play with. "Is it the alcohol?"

Giacinto paused. "In ... a way." He held up his hand before Alessandro could speak. "I know, I know. It's bad. I always drank a lot, but for the past few months..."

... it's gotten out of control, Alessandro finished it silently. He was surprised about how easily Giacinto opened up to him, he didn't want to ruin that.

New guilt gnawed at him. He had dragged Giacinto into this mess – if it weren't for him, Giacinto would be annoying random nobles and feeding cats, not being hunted by the Reaper, haunted by his past and drinking himself nearly to death every night.

They sat in silence for a while. The night was inching closer to dawn, but neither of them seemed to want to confront what would wait for them in their dreams.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Giacinto was shivering. Alessandro sighed, shrugging out of his half-ruined jacket.

Giacinto's glare when he draped it around his shoulder could have killed a man. "I don't need –"

"I just don't want to endure you when you're sick."

Giacinto narrowed his eyes at him. "Well, I can get quite mean when I have a cold." He tugged the jacket tighter around himself.

Alessandro hid his smile. He didn't want to die.

"I... didn't mean to slap you."

That was probably the closest Giacinto would get to an apology. Alessandro rubbed the scab on his cheek. "I know."

Giacinto had been out of his mind. Alessandro had been worried he'd throw up his guts right along with his vomit. Giacinto had shook so hard in his arms when he'd held back his curls, Alessandro had to carry all his weight, legs giving out under the Greek. Whatever it had been, it was worse than the sting across Alessandro's cheek.

"I'm an ass even on a good day, I know that, but I shouldn't have –"

"Forget it."

"No." Giacinto clenched his teeth. "I won't be like the Regent. I'm ... I don't want to be violent –"

"You were scared. You lashed out -- "

Giacinto dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard. "No, no. I hurt you."

"And I don't care." You punched your equals. His pride bristled against the humiliation of a slap. Alessandro ignored it, for once, for Giacinto. "You slipped. I know you. You feed stray kittens and let them scratch you all over when they want to climb around. You're not violent."

"But—"

"I almost beat a man to death. You saw that. You heard that. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have stopped. But you stayed. So let me forgive you now."

Giacinto fought with himself, then nodded.

Alessandro changed the topic. "Why didn't you tell me you can't swim?"

"I can swim. Probably better than you."

Alessandro turned his head, narrowing his eyes at Giacinto. The Greek sighed. "I just don't like water. Wet. Cold. Ew."

"You'd rather die?"

"What about 'wet, cold, ew' did you not understand?"

"Everything." Giacinto was the crown prince of an island kingdom. He had to be an excellent swimmer. Laelia and Marius, with far less strength and experience, had jumped.

"Be glad you saved my life. I have a mean itch to stab you right now."

"When don't you?"

When Giacinto didn't shoot right back, Alessandro narrowed his eyes. Giacinto played with the loose sleeve of Alessandro's jacket. "I almost drowned as a child."

Alessandro turned sharply. "Did someone –"

"No." Giacinto gave a hollow laugh. "I don't need assassins. Leave me unsupervised with my own stupidity for an hour and it'll take care of itself."

Alessandro stayed quiet, unsure what to reply to that. Giacinto did have a slightly self-destructive streak of curiosity.

"There's a lot of dolphins in Crete. I liked swimming with them. They're quite sneaky. One would even play ball with me. I called him Phouskes."

Alessandro frowned, searching for the meaning. "Bubbles?"

"He liked blowing bubbles."

"You should not be allowed to name things."

"You're just jealous he got a better nickname than you." Giacinto elbowed him. "I was ten. Snuck out for a night-swim. I wanted to know how far out I had to swim until I couldn't dive down to the bottom anymore. Pretty far."

Giacinto sighed. "Got carried away, missed the shift in the tides, got dragged further out. I wasn't scared at first, I was a good swimmer, but then I noticed even when I swam towards the coast, I was moving further away." Giacinto dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "That's a scary feeling. No matter what you do, it's not enough. And you know you can't swim forever. You can feel your strength fading and..."

Alessandro settled a hand on his thigh, squeezing slightly. "But you got out."

"Lucky coincidence. My brother had a nightmare and came to sleep with me, found me missing, called the guards." Giacinto frowned. "The little shit was always smarter than me."

Still, Giacinto was oddly calm. Giacinto shrugged, as if reading his mind. "It's been ages. For the first few months, I refused to set foot into full bathtub. It's fine now, I just avoid bigger bodies of water."

"I'm sorry." Alessandro frowned. He'd thrown Giacinto into a raging river – where drowning wasn't an old fear, but a very real threat. "I should have—"

"You saved me. I wouldn't want to repeat it and it'll mess up my beauty sleep for a bit, but let's be fair, there's not much to mess up anyways."

They fell into silence. Alessandro wondered if that was the reason Giacinto's mother had let the Regent 'discipline' him – she must have feared her son was well on his way to get himself killed recklessly.

Finally, Giacinto curled up next to Alessandro, holding onto his jacket like a blanket. Alessandro had to smile.

"Wake me up if I have a nightmare," Giacinto said.

"Promise."

The night was darker without Giacinto's grins. Alessandro rubbed his arms, watching the stars. In the long shadows, Lorenzo's memories slowly crept up to him.

His smiles. The gentle press of his fingers when he'd make Alessandro look at him. The bounce of his tiny ponytail when he shook his head, laughing at him.

The surprised gasp when the blade had cut his arm. The blood suddenly seeping through his shirt, not red in the moonlight but black, as if he was slowly eaten by the night.

The warmth of that blood against Alessandro's side when he tried covering Lorenzo. Lorenzo's reassuring smile.

The more he tried to cling to them, the more the good memories seeped through the cracks in his heart, until there was only blood and regret and guilt. He squeezed his eyes shut against the stinging, but Lorenzo's last smile, up on that wall, nodding at Alessandro to go get Giacinto, it sliced through his mind and cut through the last of his resolve.

A heavy sob broke out of him. He clenched his jaw. He couldn't cry.

He pulled at his hair. Lorenzo should be worth more than his pride.

The tension in his chest grew, Alessandro thought it would rip him apart. Tears streaked down his cheeks, faster than he could wipe them away. He gasped for breathed, but there was no air.

He choked on everything he hadn't said.

---

There was something dark in Laelia's chest. First it had been empty, Lorenzo ripped away from her, a hole torn through everything she knew. But then the edges had hardened, sharp and ugly, stabbing through her chest with every breath she took.

It hurt. Her body had betrayed her, cheeks dry and itchy with old tears, but no mater how much she sobbed, no new ones would fall. She'd scratched at her face, until Marius had pulled her hands away, but still she couldn't cry.

She hadn't been able to save Lorenzo. And now she couldn't even give him her tears.

She wouldn't be weak again. Her potions had stopped the mercenaries, but only temporarily. Maybe, if she had just used lethal poisons... She clenched her fists.

She had to stay still now.

It was the cold silence just before dawn, the night caught between dark and light in shifting shadows and pale mist. Giacinto had taken the last shift – she had wanted to leave earlier, Giacinto was dangerous. He could catch her. But hearing Alessandro's sobs, slow and muffled against his hand, had made her stay.

She whispered a silent apology to Gypsy and tossed a pebble behind the warhorse. Her plan worked, the mare shied away, kicking at shadows, Giacinto leaping up, dagger drawn – and Laelia rolled into the thicket.

He'd see she was missing right away, so she had to make the most of the few moments she had won. If she moved silently enough, he wouldn't find her in the forest.

She'd get to Lorenzo.

A twig snapped behind her. She spun around, but the night was empty. Her heart beat against her throat and she gulped down her fear.

She'd get to Lorenzo.

He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. His smile would fill that ugly hole in her chest.

And if he was she would take everyone in that camp with her.

She could. She knew her poisons. She'd pour hell and purgatory together and shove it down their throats until they choked on her grief.

Laelia grew a second shadow.

Her eyes widened. He made no sound, only Laelia's footsteps rustling the leaves.

Giacinto spun in front of her. "A bit early for a stroll, no?"

Laelia froze. How had he found her? She had broken branches and left heavy footsteps on her way from the camp on purpose, then circled around it and headed into the other direction.

Giacinto offered his arm. "The air is quite lovely, no?"

Laelia turned and ran.

"You know I'm faster than you?" Giacinto appeared at her side again, matching her run with ease.

She dug her heels into the ground, twisted and ran the other way. Giacinto appeared on her other side this time, jogging backwards to watch her. She sidestepped, kept running.

Her lungs burned. But her heart burned hotter.

She had to get to Lorenzo.

For a second, she thought she'd lost him. The next, he stepped out of a shadow right in front of her. She only barely managed to stop in time. When she tried twisting away again, he caught her arm.

Laelia ripped herself free. "You can't stop me. If you're not going back for him, I'll go alone!"

To her surprise, Giacinto made no attempt to grab her again. Instead he crossed his arms. "Dying for a dead man... how poetic."

"He's not dead!"

"If he isn't, they'll take him to Venice. They'll trade him for our evidence."

"You can't know that!"

"But you won't throw your life away for nothing. I will give them whatever they want. I gave you my word."

"I'm just a woman," Laelia spat, "Your word doesn't mean anything."

Giacinto tilted his head. "It means something to me."

Laelia paused, trying to pick her words. If she made him mad enough, he might let her run off...

Giacinto stepped closer. "It means a lot to me."

She couldn't meet his eyes. There was something ... soft about that admission. Giacinto was never soft – unless you were a tiny kitty with patches of fur missing and in need of food finer than some nobles got. She shifted, torn. No. She had to find Lorenzo –

"Go back. The camp is right there." Giacinto pointed through the trees. Laelia could see Gypsy's giant shape move not far away.

Anger bubbled up again. He had tricked her. She thought she had been running from him – in reality, whenever he had come so close she had changed directions, he had steered her back to the camp. She crossed her arms, jutting her chin out. "No."

Giacinto sighed. "I'll go."

"What?"

"Zo... listen, I'm not – he was a friend to me, too." He sounded ... confused? "You couldn't even get away from me. You have no chance of sneaking into a camp of mercenaries. I do."

Laelia looked down. She wanted to go. She wanted to go and make someone pay for the way every breath stung.

But Giacinto was right ... she couldn't risk Zo. Giacinto was a ghost, a very solid one, but close enough. He could get in...

But what if he couldn't get back out?

What if the Reaper was there? What if Lorenzo was too injured to move, Giacinto wouldn't be able to hide them both. What if ....

What if he wouldn't come back?

She hesitated. No. He was a good fighter. He could get out. If anyone could, it was him.

What if she waited for him, here at the camp, and the sun would set without him. Like she had stood waiting for Lorenzo at the shore, hoping against all she knew that she'd see his head poke out of the waves, that he'd rush to hug her, that he wouldn't be gone.

"Marius should know the way. Follow him. I'll find you." Giacinto turned and faded into the night.

Panic rushed up.

"No!" Laelia whispered, eyes widening. "No!" she called, louder.

Giacinto reappeared, the twigs swaying around him. He tilted his head, waiting for her.

Something warm and wet dripped down her chin. She was abandoning Lorenzo.

She would find him. She swore on her heart, her needles and all her poison. She'd find him.

But she could not let Giacinto go. "Don't go," she whispered, shaking her heads. Tears fell faster and faster.

She had lost Lorenzo a second time. 

---

Laelia's fingers tingled with poison.

They had started their march again at the break of dawn, just ghosts in the fog. Marius had taken the lead when Giacinto had left to get horses for all of them.

It was a risk to go near a town, where people might remember them and sell them to the Reaper – but they had only three days of travel left, on horseback. They might just outrun him.

She'd given Giacinto a list. Every plant on it was deadly. She wouldn't be helpless again.

On every small break, just long enough to catch their breath, she'd prepared them until her fingertips stung from the liquid death that now coated her needles. Alessandro had lent her his handkerchief to cover her nose when she ground her powders.

Death was hers now.

Marius seemed worried about the rashes covering the back of her hands, but he didn't say anything. It gave her something to do. Precious little moments when she didn't feel like the hole in her chest was swallowing her whole.

They rode in silence. Giacinto hadn't told the others about her failed escape and she was grateful. Marius would have been disappointed but gentle, it would have killed her. She didn't want pity. She wanted Lorenzo.

And if she couldn't have him, she'd want the mercenaries. Her mother had told her about tribes turning heads into tiny, shrivel-ly balls. Perhaps she could play boule with them.

The sky was ablaze with burning hope she didn't feel as the sun set between the hills. There had been no sign of anyone following them, but Laelia knew better now. The last time she had been carefree, she'd lost Lorenzo.

A forest sprawled before them, like a dark blanket draped over the hills, the treetops catching fire in the setting sun. It was beautiful from afar, but when they got closer, Laelia suppressed a shiver. Long shadows stretched out towards them, like greedy hands...

Her stomach clenched – on one hand, the open grassland made it easy to spot them, but they could also see if anyone followed them. It was easier to travel unnoticed in the forest, but when they entered and the giant trees twisted up around them, like gnarly old giants, Laelia couldn't help but feel like someone, somewhere was waiting for them behind those trees...

Giacinto was on edge. He was unusually silent, jaw a hard line, quick eyes darting around. The trees grew denser around them, blocking more and more light, plunging their surroundings into a strange, eternal twilight. The blazing sunset turned the specks of light falling through the leaves into blood-spatter.

The road sunk, ever so slightly, until a hollow-way opened before them. Laelia twisted in her saddle, tyring to peer past Giacinto. It was long, she couldn't see the end.

Laelia had loved bandit-stories as a child. Now she couldn't help but think this would be the perfect spot to plan an ambush.

They shifted their formation into a single file. Laelia turned back, spotting Alessandro cover the end, shoulders squared against an invisible threat. He smiled when he caught her eye. Laelia nodded back.

The air cooled around them when they entered the hollow-way, the earth reaching up and blocking almost all light. Laelia shuddered. There was a cool, mossy tang in the air.

Her horse whinnied nervously, dancing sideways before Laelia got it back under control. When she looked up, Giacinto's hand was on his dagger. He didn't turn to them, eyes focused on the narrow path twisting through the trees. "On my signal, gallop."

Tension curled low in her stomach. What had he noticed that she hadn't? She craned her neck. Nothing. The walls of the ravine were slightly hollowed by time, but she couldn't see anything beyond its edges.

But Giacinto never gave a signal. Laelia was getting uneasy. If anything, Giacinto relaxed. He held the reins with one hand only, tapping a jolly rhythm against his thigh with his free hand.

It happened so fast.

A familiar flash of silver spun up through the shadows. She hadn't even seen Giacinto move. "Now!" His shout echoed around them. Laelia froze for a second when a gurgling shadow tipped over the edge, hitting the ground with a low thud. But then her horse surged, following Giacinto, racing her away from the dying man.

The clatter of hooves was pounding all around her, ringing from the walls around them, until Laelia couldn't tell if it was just Marius and Alessandro behind her or a whole cavalry. She bent low on her horse, the long mane whipping her cheeks until they stung. The reigns ripped free, Laelia's fingers clawing into the mane in the last second.

She kept flinching at every snapping twig, ducking her head lower, waiting for the arrows to tear through her. Nothing ever came...

Lorenzo had taught her how to ride astride, but the ground was twisting up and down, the walls closing in around them, her horse leaping over fallen branches and stones, bouncing and throwing her around on its back. Her fingers curled so tightly into the mane they bled, but she couldn't feel any pain, only warmth as it trickles through her fingers. She mustn't let go.

Giacinto was far ahead. They all rode stallions, but his mare outran them all. She couldn't turn back, she would fall, but she could hear the others right behind her. Then Giacinto ducked lower, Laelia could see a speck of light flicker over his shoulder. The end of the hollow-way!

Giacinto shot out into the light. It was so close now. It widened and widened the closer she got, the golden sunset reaching out to her .... a shrill scream pierced the air behind her. Something heavy hit the ground a second later. Her horse ran as if it had been set on fire.

That sound, it screeched through Laelia's bones. It wasn't human. A horse? But Laelia couldn't turn.

She flew into the light.

Giacinto was still ahead. Laelia dug her heels into the horses sides, spurring it on. She still heard hooves behind her, relief bursting in her chest. They had made it.

Maybe it really had been just that one man and Giacinto's knife had killed him.

"Stop!" Marius was shouting behind her. Laelia wanted to stop, but her hands were still twisted into the blood smeared mane and her horse ran as if death itself was clawing at it.

"Stop!" The priest yelled again. He appeared next to Laelia, his angelic face twisted into a mask of cold fear.

Alessandro wasn't there with him.

Something icy closed its fist around her heart. That scream. The thud.

Giacinto's horse stopped so fast it almost sat down, front legs dug into the ground. Laelia almost flipped over her horse's neck when it stopped. Giacinto caught her reigns as she gasped for breath, fingers trembling as she tried to pull the horse hair out of her flesh. He handed them back to her.

How was he so calm? Laelia thought she was dying.

"They got Steno?" He turned to Marius, his horse dancing under him. Gypsy hadn't even broken a sweat.

The priest, nodded, breath flat and fast. He was pale as a shroud. "There – I don't know what happened. I don't know how – he was right behind me. And then there was this ... rattling. I just heard his horse, I turned, they had both went down, I –"

"Breathe, snowflake," Giacinto said, eyes narrowing at the path they had come from. "A chain. It was loose on the ground, someone pulled it upright after you, tripping his horse."

Laelia turned her horse without a second thought. They weren't loosing anyone else. Giacinto shot next to her, bending down in full gallop, catching her reigns and pulling them to a hard stop. "Are you insane?"

"He's hurt!"

"Do you think it was coincidence they only tripped him? Why not let me fall, you wouldn't have been able to stop in time, they'd have gotten us all."

Laelia's eyes widened. It was a trick. The man Giacinto had seen had been bait. They'd thought more were there and raced off to escape – only in full speed would the chain be able to trip a horse. The hollow-way, they had to ride behind each other. Giacinto lead and Alessandro was the best fighter after him, of course he would stay at the end.

She shook her head wildly. "That's why we have to go back!" If it had been mercenaries, they would have waited on the edge of the walls, simply shooting them from above... it was the Reaper.

Giacinto grit his teeth. "We can't help him. Luca doesn't play, Steno is long dead by now."

"No! In the pavilion, he said he'd make you watch! Now – now he is surely doing the same! He knows you'll come back for Alessandro –"

Giacinto turned his horse, eyes cold. "Then he finally made a mistake."

Laelia didn't know the feeling sinking in her chest. Horror and anger clashed. She whipped her horse around without another word, racing back. She would never wait for anyone again. And she wouldn't loose anyone else.

The hollow-way opened again before her, dark and dangerous, she swerved in the last moment, racing up the hill around it. If she reached the edge above the ravine, she could fire down – the overhang would shield her against attacks from below.

Jumping from her horse before it had fully stopped sent a sharp spike of pain up her ankles, but she grit her teeth through it, reaching for her crossbow. The wood turned slick with her blood, but its familiar weight was a comfort.

Hooves hammered around her, Giacinto leapt down, yanking her back from the edge. Marius followed, out of breath and deathly pale. But he stood his ground, even against Giacinto. "Let her go."

The Greek barked a laugh, his grip tightening on Laelia's arm. "If you'd like to see her die, I have to disappoint you."

"She wants to help her friend. We should. Alessandro always –"

"He's dead."

Laelia shook her head, straining to listen to what she had caught between the men's argument. Clanging of steel. Alessandro was still fighting.

Giacinto's jaw worked. He looked torn. "It doesn't matter. No one beats the Reaper."

Laelia refused to believe it. To believe Alessandro would be gone, too. To believe Giacinto would just let him die.

But before she could say anything, metal clanged once, followed by a shout cut short. They all leapt to the edge.

Alessandro had fallen.

Over him towered a tall figure in black robes – for a second, Laelia truly believed Death had come. The Reaper twirled something, slicing through the shadows. A scythe. Not the thin wooden things peasants used, but heavy steel and a wicked blade.

Dramatic turd.

Giacinto's hand clasped over her mouth before she could shout. She bit him, he didn't let go. But his eyes were pinned on Alessandro.

He struggled, trying to reach his sword, knocked just out of reach. The Reaper stepped onto his hand. Laelia could see the pain twist his face in a silent grimace. Blood was smeared all over his right cheek, the cut from Giacinto's slap bleeding again.

She elbowed Giacinto, twisted out of his grasp, but he caught her again. He grabbed her face with both hands, eyes wide. "Laelia. Listen to me, you have to listen to me."

He glanced at Marius. "I'll distract him. You take Steno and run. Go back the way we came, back to the road, follow it, there's an inn. I'll find you."

Laelia glared. "He's outnumbered. We can take him!" He was the reason Zo was gone.

"Revenge is a dangerous business, Lia." Giacinto brushed a thumb over her cheekbone. His jaw worked. "We don't have much time. You have to take Steno. Even I'm no match for him. You will slow me down. If I have to worry about keeping you alive, too, I can't fight him. So you take Steno and run. Or you kill us all."

Giacinto pushed to his feet, stepping to the edge. His breath shuddered out of him, but he sent her a half-grin. "Steno'll fight back. Poison him."

Then he jumped.

---

Alessandro couldn't feel the right half of his body.

One second, he'd been racing behind Marius, the next his horse was sent flying, hurling him out of the saddle. He'd slammed into the ground, rolling until he hit a rock and the world went black.

He'd jerked right back up, trying to blink the dancing spots out of his eyes, sour copper filling his mouth. His left cheek and neck had been warm and wet with blood. Everything ached.

Everything faded when he saw the figure slowly walking towards him. Luca pulled his hood back, smiling pleasantly at Alessandro. Alessandro scrambled to his feet, hissing in pain when his leg buckled under him.

"That was almost a bit too easy, don't you think, Signore?" Luca stopped a few feet away from him, watching his struggle

Alessandro fought the fear off his face. He couldn't hear hooves anymore – the others had gotten out. Good. A grim smile took over as he shook the dizziness off and drew his sword.

"So eager, my, my. Now I'm a bit conflicted, should I kill you now and watch him break over your body or should I make him watch?"

"You've already decided." Alessandro was surprised at how calm he sounded. Luca was a man of eerily rigid rules – he'd have planned every single step from now. He wanted to twist Giacinto. Alessandro wouldn't let him. "He won't come."

Luca just smiled. He reached back, pulling a scythe off his back. A last sunray sliced down its curved edge. Alessandro's eyes widened. It was shorter than a farmer's grass scythe, but heavier. How was he supposed to fight that?

That was the Reaper's brutal advantage. No one knew how to fight a scythe. But Luca had grown up in a rural village, Giacinto had told him. He had grown up with a scythe, not swords and daggers and nobility. Alessandro gripped his sword tighter.

"You're right," Luca said. "I have decided. My apologies, Signore. I almost admired you."

His scythe twirled so fast Alessandro only barely leapt back in time. He caught the next blow, but it almost knocked him off his feet. The Reaper was tall and thin, but frighteningly strong. His blows were fast, forcing Alessandro to step back again and again.

He was losing ground, fast. The Reaper wielded the scythe like a staff, but the angled blade threw Alessandro off – he'd never fought like this, he couldn't trust his instincts.

Sharp pain burst across his arm, when the scythe sliced past his guard. Warm blood slicked his grip on his sword. Luca twisted the scythe, the blunt staff hitting the wound across his arm.

Searing heat cutting across his skin, but Alessandro tightened his grip against the pain. Another blow. This time, the hilt slipped through his slick fingers, the blade clattering to the ground between them.

Alessandro staggered back. His back hit the wall of the hollow way.

The scythe arched, slammed down, Alessandro leapt – the blade hit the stone behind him with a screech, the thin metal trembling from the force. Fighting Giacinto had made him faster. The Reaper looked slightly inconvenienced.

Alessandro used it. The Reaper wasn't distracted, but at least slightly surprised – it was Alessandro's last chance. He ducked low, ramming his shoulder into the man's stomach before he could pull his scythe close again, then dove for his sword.

Pain exploded across the back of his head. His face slammed into the ground, familiar warmth seeping down his neck. This time, he couldn't blink the spots from his eyes.

Still, he tried, stretching, trying to catch the hilt of his sword before Luca would reach him, he just had to – a heel crushed his fingers.

Luca looked down at him with his dead eyes. The weight on his hand doubled when Luca stepped forward and Alessandro could no longer keep the pain from tearing at his face.

"He didn't come," Alessandro spat, victorious. "You won't get him."

He would die. It was a terrifying thought, he couldn't move, he couldn't fight anymore. He would die. But he had held the Reaper back long enough. The others were long gone.

A shadow leapt over him, slamming into Luca. They crashed down, rolling, fighting for leverage, blades flashing. A black figure jumped up, back, between the Reaper and Alessandro, knife dripping blood.

Alessandro did not believe his eyes. The Reaper slowly circled Giacinto, a long cut dripping from his chin. Luca didn't even flinch, as if he didn't even feel it.

The Greek stood proud and tall, his back to Alessandro. Alessandro struggled to push himself up, but his head was swimming, his arms giving out under him time and time again. The Reaper shot forward like a viper, scythe twirling, but Giacinto met him with his knifes, metal hammering against metal, steps spinning together in a deadly waltz.

Giacinto had drawn first blood. From his duels Alessandro knew not to underestimate the mental aspect of a fight. But the Reaper was stronger, his weapon giving him the advantage, the scythe's range far wider than Giacinto's knives.

Why wasn't Giacinto moving? He was twisting, stabbing and throwing knives with dizzying speed, but he wasn't spinning around Luca like he did in all other fights. That was his strength, he was fast, he could duck past his opponent's defence, but now he just moved sideways before Alessandro – it hit him.

Giacinto was staying between him and the Reaper.

And it cost him. Alessandro tried to stand again, groaning through the pain until he knelt, but his legs gave out every time, no matter how hard he grit his teeth. He had to help Giacinto.

The Reaper knocked one of his daggers out of his hands and before Giacinto could draw another, he spun his scythe, the blunt end slamming into Giacinto's unguarded side. He hadn't been able to move aside because that would have opened Luca's path to Alessandro.

Giacinto was in pain, Alessandro could see it in the tense line of his lips.

Alessandro ignored every screaming bone and the world spinning around him like a carousel when he pushed to his feet. He drew his knife, swaying on his feet. He had to help –

A wet cloth clamped over his mouth. It smelled like burning hair. His eyes stung. He struggled for breath – the world went black a second time.

---

When he jerked awake, everything was soft. He twisted, trying to see where he was. In a bed, covered in bandages. His cheek felt tight, when he reached up he felt smooth thread twist through his skin.

Laelia's face appeared at his side, soft flames playing over her skin as she leant down to inspect him. Her shoulders sagged with relief. "You're officially declared not-dead."

Alessandro smiled, hissing when it tugged at his stitches. "Thank you." He took the cup she offered him, greedily gulping down the cold water. His throat felt as if someone had scratched it up from the inside.

Laelia gave him an apologetic smile. "I poisoned you. ... only a little bit!" she hastily added when she saw his expression.

The memories returned in a dizzy blur. The cloth over his mouth, the hands pulling him back, away from Giacinto.

Giacinto.

Alessandro shot up in the bed, ignoring the headache pounding against the inside of his skull. "Giacinto." He jumped up, swaying only slightly, before marching to the door of the small room. "Did you treat him, the Reaper got his side –"

Laelia's torn expression froze the words on his tongue. He swallowed. "He's here?"

Laelia slowly shook her head.

Alessandro ran.

The bang of the door he'd thrown open reached him already halfway down the stairs, narrowly avoiding a rugged looking man – they must be in some inn, he thought, then pushed it aside. It didn't matter. He stormed through a dimly lit room full of tables of drinkers and idiots staring at him as if he had lost his goddamn mind.

He didn't give a shit, shoving another man out of his way to the door, ignoring the curses hurled after him before he burst into the night.

Nothing.

No clatter of hooves, no Gypsy galloping toward him, no Giacinto making fun of his worry, only the muffled laughter and arguing of the inn behind him.

It couldn't be.

Alessandro felt dizzy again.

Giacinto hadn't been supposed to come for him.

Giacinto was a coward, he always ran. Giacinto was scared of the Reaper. But he had faced him for Alessandro.

But he wasn't coming back for Alessandro now.

He was already tearing at the stable's gate when Laelia caught up with him, yanking at his arm. It took him everything to hold himself still and not knock her back, grab the first horse and race off.

Laelia shook her head. Alessandro was surprised at her calm resistance. She had never spoken up against them before. "Marius is gathering people. If you go out alone, you'll get lost!"

"I don't care," Alessandro grit.

Before she could shoot back, hooves hammered behind them, making them both whirl around.

Gypsy. The giant mare reared, whinnying and kicking air. Her reigns swung wildly in the air. Her saddle was empty.

Alessandro grabbed Laelia's shoulders. "Take Marius, stay in the tavern. He can't get you in a crowd."

Then he took of running, leaping into the saddle and Gypsy shot off before he could even grab the reigns. Fear was snapping its jaws, threatening to tear through his heart. He'd find Giacinto.

Gypsy was fast. Alessandro bent low over her neck, letting the warhorse lead the way, racing through the dark. He could feel heavy muscles shift under him as she flew over a fallen tree, the hammer of hooves drumming in Alessandro's ears.

The night-air was cold, his fingers turning numb soon, but Alessandro barely felt it. He didn't know how long the horse ran, how long it had taken her to find them, but judging by the moon, over an hour must have passed, maybe two. Sweat steamed off her black fur, but she kept running as if possessed.

Gypsy stopped so abruptly, Alessandro almost flew off her back. Then he saw him.

Alessandro must have dismounted and started running, but his head was empty. Giacinto must have sat against a lonely tree in the middle of the rolling hills, but now he was slumped over, laying still and silent.

Alessandro fell to his knees, shaking him. Nothing. He was limp and heavy in his arms when he pulled him into his lap, frantic fingers tearing at his collar to dig for a pulse.

Alessandro's heart gave out.

His skin was cold.

"No," he whispered, pressing deeper. There had to be a heartbeat. Just one. One was enough. "No," he whispered, again and again and again. Nothing. "No!" His scream split the night.

He cradled Giacinto against his chest, rocking them back and forth. Hiding his face in the Greek's neck. Bile rose at the cool skin against his.

It was the cold wind. It was the wind. Giacinto wasn't dead. Alessandro was too panicked to feel a pulse and his skin was cold because he was small and had been laying here. Alessandro blinked through the tears. He hadn't noticed them falling.

Giacinto's skin held a greyish tint. Bloodless. It was the moonlight. He wasn't dead. It was just the moonlight.

He searched the Greek's body, trying to find the wound, to stop the bleeding -- nothing. Only a shallow cut alon his shoulder. But when he pried the torn fabric away, the wounds edges were a rotten shade of black.

Poison.

He patted Giacinto's cheek. His head lolled sideways. Alessandro's fingers dug into the skin, despair clawing at him. In that moment, he felt like a madman. Calling Giacinto's name over and over again, cradling him closer as if he could share his warmth, rocking them back and forth.

He had to move. His body refused. He had to move.

Alessandro closed his eyes. "You're not done annoying me yet," he whispered into Giacinto's hair, lifting the Greek as he struggled to his feet.

The world was blurred around him, his tears turning icy against his skin in the cold wind. Giacinto was heavier than usual, limp like a wet sack. He lifted Giacinto onto his horse, swinging into the saddle behind him. Grabbing the reigns with one hand, he pulled Giacinto back against his chest, desperately ignoring the way his head dropped and rolled sideways.

Stars whipped past them as Gypsy outran the wind. Alessandro felt as empty as the night around him.

But his heart raced as if it had to hammerthrough his chest, through Giacinto's ribs to his still heart and beat for them both.

Oops number 2.

Giacinto ordered the Reaper to kill Alessandro ... now he came back to save him. Did you think he would?

Do you think Laelia is changing or will she stay her sweet self?

Thank you for reading, I'm sorry I'm so mean to the characters, stay safe and lovely!

Avis.