Dedicated to @wolfiegirl96 for their kind words and lovely encouragement! Thank you so much!
Alessandro scoffed, stepping into the yard. It wasn't training. It was Giacinto demonstrating he was superior in every way.
Giacinto was already there, boots kicking up dust at a series of quick paced steps around an invisible foe. It looked more like dancing than fighting.
Did that man sleep at all? Giacinto was either poring over mountains of tiny numbers at the very end of the long dinner table when all others had long retired. Or he staggered home with more grace than Alessandro could muster even when he was sober at ungodly hours. But he raced the sun to get up first in the morning. One more reason to not trust him. Who didn't want to turn around and fall back asleep at any time of the day? Clearly a maniac.
How was he supposed to improve when they always just had one match? Why were they even doing this? Alessandro dragged a hand over his face, stifling a yawn. He wasn't ready to get beaten again.
"If you're that bored, I'd expect you to be a bit better than ... bad." Giacinto turned, the dancer vanishing as he sheathed his daggers.
"I'm tired. It's early," Alessandro sighed.
"Boohoo, go cry to mama. Maybe you can tell the assassins to only appear in an approved time frame? Just ask nicely, I'm sure they'd love to cater to a spoiled brat's every whim."
"You're in a bad mood," Alessandro said. When wasn't he? Whatever had been between them when they chased murderers through dark alleys and fought back to back for their freedom in prison had vanished. He should be glad. They'd only fight.
"Seeing your face first thing in the morning? Tends to do that."
Alessandro shook his head, drawing his sword. "Save your breath."
"Please, I could hold a service fighting you," Giacinto snorted.
Alessandro couldn't decide which was the worse tactic (fighting Giacinto had no good aspects) -- attacking first, or giving him the first move. He'd either run right into a knife or have it thrown at him. He went with attacking first, maybe the Greek would just stop talking. His sword thrust forward -- but Giacinto was already gone.
The Greek had leant backwards like an exotic dancer, the blade cutting the air above him. He sprung back upright like hadn't just bent in half. He twirled past the blade, spinning around his own axis, into close range. His knife came up, shooting towards Alessandro, he could see the smirk pulling at Giacinto's lips -- and then it was ripped from his hand.
The smirk vanished. Alessandro had used a dagger. All these past days, Giacinto had used the supposed advantage of the longer reach of Alessandro's sword against him. If he was close enough, it was useless. And he always got past Alessandro's defences.
This time, Alessandro had awaited him. He had remembered his time as a duelist, it wasn't uncommen to use a dagger in the free hand as backup to block attacks. Giacinto was far too quick for Alessandro to land a hit, twisting away and out of reach, but the inspector saw how he turned serious.
A satisfied spark bubbled in his chest. And to his surprise, he saw the same satisfaction in the other's curt nod.
Giacinto loved to play. He jumped closer again, slashed, jumped back. Danced around Alessandro. Alessandro thrust the sword towards him. Giacinto caught it with his knife. Sent his other knife towards Alessandro. The inspector in turn caught it with the guard of his dagger. Giacinto laughed.
A sweep of his sword, swung in a circle. Giacinto dropped into a crouch, the blade hissing above him. One leg stretched out, he spun on the other. Alessandro had to jump over it to not be swept off his feet.
The Greek used the time Alessandro couldn't use his sword to jump back up. Immediately, Alessandro was assaulted by a hail of blades. They seemed to come from all sides. He couldn't fight. Had to give way, backing off, just barely keeping up with the defense. Another stab, another step back. Another. And another. He couldn't keep doing this.
Not just here. Everywhere. Always. Giacinto always had him defensive. From the moment he had spoken in the hall, a broken corpse and an irritated spark between them.
Another stab. Alessandro stepped forwards. His sword covered him. His dagger shot forward, right to the heart.
But Giacinto was gone. Something threw his outstretched arm aside. Twisted it behind his back. Hit the back of knees.
Alessandro flew forward into the dust. A boot settled between his shoulders, slowly pressing the air from his lungs. Warm breath fanned his ear. "Dead." Alessandro could hear the smile in Giacinto's voice.
The pressure vanished, steps moving away from him. Giacinto was leaving like always. He didn't even need to say this wasn't worth his time. Alessandro could hear it in the way he stalked off.
Alessandro rolled onto his back, closing his eyes. His chest was heaving. It hadn't worked. His shoulder ached. But most of all, his face burnt with shame.
It wasn't that he couldn't beat Giacinto. But he couldn't even last five minutes. And that was spending most time just backing away. He had been a master duelist. He hadn't lost a single match. And then he had become an investigator. He had caught all -- but one, damned be the shadow -- criminals, solved every case, uncovered every secret. But now? He had nothing. He was nothing. And he couldn't even fight.
"You can sleep when you're dead, giant."
Alessandro opened his eyes, glancing around.
Giacinto stood right where they had started, arms crossed, tapping his boot. "And if you continue like this, death is quite likely."
"What are you doing?" Alessandro raised his head. He just wanted to sleep. Pretend this never happened. Pretend he hadn't felt proud to surprise Giacinto with the dagger. To stop backing off and start fighting back. But the little spark had been shoved right into the dust next to him.
"Waiting. Obviously," Giacinto rolled his eyes. "How do you even solve cases?"
"Waiting for whom?"
Giacinto inspected the yard with mock exaggeration. "Hmm, now, who might I be waiting for?" He glanced pointedly at Alessandro.
Alessandro got up, dusting off his trousers. "Fine, I'm listening. Tell me how much I failed. Please, I'm dying to hear it one more time."
"Take your position."
Alessandro blinked.
"We're doing this until your arms fall off."
"But the other days--"
"You were terrible. You didn't even try. You didn't even want to. Now you do." The same approval from before flitted across Giacinto's face, a tiny smile playing around his lips.
They fought until the sun was watching from high above them, sweat plastering hair to burning skin and dust staining their boots and clothes. Alessandro had made friends with the ground. Giacinto laughed every time the officer dragged himself back up, grumbling how this was way too early. But he had always waited across the yard for another go.
They fought until Alessandro had been slammed against every wall surrounding the yard, had had dagger, sword and breath knocked from him and had heard "Dead." from servants passing, Laelia watching and Giacinto smirking.
They fought until Giacinto had been panting to hard to keep grinning. Until his knives had missed their aim every now and then. Until they'd both blinked in surprise when Alessandro knocked the knife from the Greek's hand.
They fought until another servant arrived. He whispered something into Giacinto's ear, then hurried off. A grin spread over Giacinto's face. "Gotta go," he said. "Also: dead." A knife happily flew against Alessandro's chest.
He couldn't resist it, could he? Alessandro shook his head as the Greek disappeared into the villa. His arms protested as he raised his sword again. His feet found the duel position on their own. One foot forward. Knees bent. Other foot ninety degrees to the side. His free hand rested on his lower back. He could hear the 'En Garde!'.
His arms no longer ached.
It was like being possessed by the ghost of his past self, his body moving on its own, knowing the techniques thought long forgotten by heart. His sword cut the air in perfect arches and exact thrusts.
"Take a break, giant," Giacinto called out.
Alessandro dropped his arm, turning. The Greek skipped down the stairs to the yard. He had changed. The high leather boots were polished into black mirrors, the shirt embroidered with dark pearls. "Wait for me tonight. If you'll manage, sleepyhead." He passed Alessandro, disappearing through the gate.
Alessandro knew he had meant he'd have news now. Finally. After weeks of nothing, a lead. Still, it was hard to imagine nothing else with his grin, sharp and daring. Mother's would lock their daughters away at the sight of it. Men would fear for their lives at that glint. Most of the time, Giacinto meant nothing by it. It was just his way of grinning. He actually got rather flustered with people he actually did like half the time, muttering to himself in Greek around Laelia.
Alessandro had used the past weeks to observe Giacinto. The more he knew about him, the better. The suspicion had never left. Sometimes it faded into the background, until one wrong word was enough to have it jump back.
He sheathed his sword, dragging a hand through his hair. He didn't want to know what nightmare he must resemble right now. He probably smelled like an entire garrison of soldiers.
He had made a list with things he knew about Giacinto, other than his name. He didn't even know exactly why he used the italian version of his greek name, and an entirely different last name. He suspected 'pronunciation issues' weren't the whole reason.
1. He can't sit still for longer than thirty seconds. (Alessandro had counted.)
2. He's scarily good at maths. (He calculated everything for his banking mentally, just jotting down the results. Including interests, foreign currency exchange rates and taxes over the span of a year.)
3. He loves pissing people off. Especially Alessandro. He just loved to poke everyone until they snapped. (Numbers made no sense to Alessandro -- they just ended up all tangled up in his mind. Ever since Giacinto had found out, Alessandro wasn't hearing the end of it. Whenever Alessandro would ask 'Why?' about anything, Giacinto would tell him it was a careful calculation. Alessandro wouldn't understand. And then he'd smile smugly and Alessandro wanted to punch a wall.)
4. His horse was the devil. (Huge, black, flaring its nostrils like a dragon about to spit fire. Giacinto had named the demon 'Gypsy'and loved it to death. Gypsy disliked Alessandro and loved trying to step on his feet.)
5. He liked to sit on things. (Tables, drawers, anything. He said he needed to feel tall. Laelia had once walked in on them fighting: Giacinto had stood on the table, shouting down at Alessandro. She had slowly backed out of the room and not returned anytime soon.)
6. He has knives everywhere. Literally everywhere. (There was one in his shoe sole that could spring out if he clacked his heels together the right way.)
7. He loves French wine. (And Cretan, but that was a reminder of home he rarely indulged in.)
8. He's infuriatingly fickle. (Alessandro always felt like he had to stay on his toes around him. And then he didn't. And then he'd do something and Alessandro would snap back into his wariness.)
9. He scrunches his nose when irritated. (He was irritated a lot, usually the angry kind. But he'd only scrunch up his nose at the confused kind of irritated. It was almost adorable, but it was Giacinto.)
10. He adored Laelia. (And he was terrible at hiding it, but Laelia was even more terrible at spotting it. It was surprisingly entertaining.)
"I've heard some rumors..." A voice sounded behind a half closed door. "On the market. There's a Greek woman, selling pottery. She's from Crete. Say's she's seen the master before." The voice dropped to a whisper.
Alessandro stopped in the hallway to his chambers. Servants' gossip more than once had been the crucial point into the right direction at investigations. They talked a lot and heard more.
Something about the hectic voice told Alessandro there was more. There were whispers coming from the room, but he couldn't make out what they said. He inched closer. A gasp.
"No! Some bullshit you're telling! He's a bit odd, but not bad. Just a bit lost, the boy!" A female voice scolded.
The male voice from before responded. "You just say that because you're an old mother hen! She swore it, to the lord and all them angels! There was talk he murdered a man. But another hanged for it."
Ahhh finally, new chapter. I'm so sorry this is so late!
What do you think? What do the servants mean? What about Alessandro's list? Is he being to suspicious?
How was their training? Any theories about Giacinto? Where do you think these two are headed, can they get along or will they inevitably crash about their differences?
And what is Giacinto up to now ... next chapter is from his POV ... and with a very special character who hasn't been around much so far... luckily.
Thank you for reading! Your support means so much!
Avis.