The Mosaic

Chapter 65 | The Devil You Don't

"Better the devil you know than the devil you don't." (Saying)

A quick note, the Pazzi family mentioned this chapter is old Florentine nobility. They were the strongest opposers of the Medici. Later, Francesco Pazzi, actually a friend of the Medici would conspire against them and murder their son during mass.

Another quick note -- this chapter deals with gender and sexuality. This story is set in Renaissance Italy, but LGBTQ+ people, people of color and women weren't invented in the 1960s and I will not tolerate any comments complaining about them being in this story. You aren't being historically accurate, you're being ignorant. And contrary to popular believe a story involving those doesn't need to be automatically tragic. We are more than our hardship. I will not use people as tropes. I have gotten several comments complaing about this and I'm sick of it.
But most of you are the loveliest people I could think of, please don't think I mean you guys!
Thank you, and enjoy reading!

There was nothing but darkness. It filled Amand's eyes, his ears, his mind, washed over him like endless water, until he floated in nothing. A heartbeat and eternity passed at the same time.

Suddenly silver sliced through the dark, moonlight sharpening into an arrow, faster than lighting, the bolt ripping through Amand's chest with so much force it ripped him off his feet. And then he was falling, tensing, awaiting impact that never came. There was only black. He fell forever, sternum cracked in half by the bolt, blood spray following his fall like a crimson comet's tail.

Amand shot up, gasping, hands flying to his chest, fighting for air, the too bright morning light piercing his eyes like a million needles. He blinked. He was in his chambers. His chest was bandaged. The blood had dried to rust against the linen. He fell back into the pillows, breath shuddering out of him.

He would rip the Reaper to shreds.

He'd read him a lovely bible verse while he was at it. Maybe something about 'Thou shalt not kill.'

Did Death love? Amand would find everything the Reaper loved, pile it onto a pyre and burn him on it. He would eat his beating heart raw. Water a holy grove with his still warm blood.

Amand was the greater monster.

A Reaper only knew how to kill. Amand knew how to destroy.

The Reaper could bring death. Amand could make death seem like a gift.

Just because he no longer haunted the Louvre didn't mean he wasn't the same man an entire country had feared and loved in equal parts. He was more dangerous than ever. He had always been poison and temptation, but now he had the deadly fury of the holy roman church behind him.

De Vito had been a good – albeit so good he had been foolish – man. He had been a father to Marius. If the Reaper's parents were alive, Amand would find and burn them. If they were dead, he would have them exhumed, dragged behind a horse cart until their rotting flesh was scraped off their bones.

Marius was not going to follow his foster father into death. Amand was a possessive man. The people in his life were his to love and his to destroy.

Something tightened in his chest. He didn't want to destroy Marius.

He should. He – she? – had betrayed him. People only feared a strong man. If he allowed betrayal once, it would return tenfold. A courtier at the Louvre had once sold a secret of Amand, drunk, at a card game. Amand had the King guillotine them for high treason.

Amand's heart was fierce, beating ambition's march, he took what he wanted. But Marius... For him it was weak. He wanted to give, not take. He kept people when they were useful, sacrificing a spark of affection for winning his game in an instant. But he wanted to keep Marius, even if he wasn't useful. He would sacrifice his game for Marius.