The Mosaic

Chapter 62 | Chiaroscuro

Monster, murderer, martyr.

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

The door creaked.

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

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

Alessandro's eyebrows wandered higher and higher.

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

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

"I told you the same."

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

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

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

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

"You look ridiculous. Like a debauched scholar."

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

Giacinto tilted his head.

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

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

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

"What were you doing until now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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