The Mosaic

Chapter 64 | Phantasmagoria

Giacinto's eyes widened. "No – Steno, no. I ran away, I'm not going back, he knows that – he wouldn't – "

Would he? Alessandro bit his tongue, but by the way Giacinto slowly trailed off, eyes wide with realization, he knew Giacinto had seen it.

Giacinto had told him how he'd met the Reaper. He had known others were scared of the man for some reason, but had been too young to quite understand. He had bugged and pranked the assassin into showing him his knife tricks. Of course he had caught the Reaper's eye.

"When ..." Giacinto's fingers clenched the sheets until his knuckles where white. When he spoke again, his eyes were as empty as a corpse's. "When Alexandros died, he found me crying in a closet. I said I wanted them dead."

He drew a shaky breath. "He killed every guard of the Regent's personal guard in a single night. He burned his throne. And build a new one from their corpses in its place."

Alessandro felt dizzy. "But – he never acts without orders."

"But I said I wanted them dead!" Giacinto squared his shoulders, as if readying to defend himself. With a start, Alessandro realized he was. He assumed he'd be blamed for the men's deaths.

"None of that," Alessandro gritted, "is your fault. None of it."

Giacinto shrugged. "One way or –"

"No." Anger lit up his chest, hot and bright. "He is sick. He is obsessed with you. You didn't choose that."

It had grown like an ulcer. Giacinto had been in hiding for three years, the Reaper had left Crete after his missions for the Regent were over – over time, the Reaper's memories and view of the little prince had changed. Morphed into the sick belief they were mirror images. That he had show Giacinto his true self.

Then the illusion of revenge had poisoned every thought and a mad mind had muddled everything into one. Giacinto would be his avenging angel, delivering the delightfully sick ending to the Regent. Giacinto would be like him. He was mad with it now, the second Giacinto had shown in his peripheral vision again, he had latched onto it like a bloodhound.

Sending dozens of assassins at them, forcing Giacinto to kill. To get him used to killing. Recreating the scene at church, just to trigger Giacinto into more and more breakdowns. Even physically trying to make them the same with matching scars.

Alessandro would not let him. One day the Greek would be Alessandro's undoing. Whether it would be his dagger in Alessandro's back or the smoke of the fires Alessandro would lay for him filling his lungs.

But for the moment... he put his hand over Giacinto's fist. "You're not like him. You'd insult and annoy your employers too much. You're probably too small to carry his scythe –"

"Are you insulting me into feeling better?"

"... does it work?"

Giacinto gave a small laugh. "Always."

They were silent for a moment, warmth buzzing between them. Alessandro studied the uneven dimples on Giacinto's cheeks when he tried to hide his smile. Giacinto stared at their hands, then quickly pulled his back – Alessandro was about to spiral into another stammered apology, when he held it up again.

Alessandro furrowed his eyebrows. What did he want? Giacinto rolled his eyes. "Your hand, Steno, any time now."

Oh. Alessandro slowly raised his hand, carefully settling his palm flat against Giacinto's. The bandages on Giacinto's fingers chafed against his skin. It was odd. It felt odd. Comparing hands like children, yet ... there was something special in the simple gesture. Alessandro had to smile.