They were on their way out when Giacinto practically fell through the front gate. He laughed about himself, drenching the air with the heavy, half rotten smell of wine as he staggered and swayed to an inaudible rhythm. His arm was wrapped loosely around a wide hipped woman. For no apparent reason, she was giggling like a five year old.
Alessandro's lips twitched down in annoyed disapproval.
How did he get himself wasted this fast? The man could barely stand, more hanging onto his companion than anything else. Given Giacinto's usual gracefulness and balance -- he had easily walked up and down on the balcony's rail while ranting about bankers -- that was alarming.
Giacinto waved a hand in front of Alessandro's face. Alessandro blinked, quickly biting back a speech about just how foolish wandering the streets in this state was. He had been almost killed just a day ago. Did he not learn anything --
"Cloud-head!" Giacinto snapped his fingers at Alessandro. "I asked where you're going."
"For a walk," Alessandro said. "Maybe we should take Laelia." He cast a dark glance at the woman.
Giacinto's eyes sharpened dangerously for a second. The sneer on his lips was a sad, dull red, tainted with wine and confusion. "I wouldn't miss her."
Even drunk, Giacinto was almost impossible to read. But Alessandro didn't need to see anything to know that was a lie.
"You won't have time to," the woman purred, a greedy hand splayed over Giacinto's chest.
Did she have no shame? In broad daylight? In front of two strangers? Alessandro shook his head. Not his business.
The woman misread Alessandro's dark frown. "You can join, handsome, " she simpered, batting her eyelashes far too quickly.
"Do you have something in your eye?" Alessandro asked.
Lorenzo snorted. "Our cue to leave." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Churches to visit, witches to save."
Damned. Alessandro had lied on purpose. He wanted to trust Giacinto. But he couldn't risk it. Not now. Not this. He sighed. He should've told Lorenzo. Whatever. That woman would keep the Greek busy anyways.
"Do I hear wedding bells?" Giacinto grinned, almost tripping over his own feet as he shifted.
Lorenzo managed to choke on nothing.
"If you do, I recommend consulting a medic about these hallucinations," Alessandro said flatly.
"You'll hear so much more than bells--" The woman started, plastering herself onto Giacinto. "I'll--"
Alessandro grabbed Lorenzo's arm and dragged him off before he'd throw up. Good Lord. Mercy.
"His taste is getting worse," Lorenzo tried not to laugh as they stepped outside, bright sunlight catching in his eyes as he grinned at Alessandro.
"It was good once?" If she tied her breasts up even further they'd squeeze her chin. If he noticed anyone's bosom, it had to be painfully overdone.
Lorenzo cackled, jogging to catch up with him. "Bad mood, hm?" Then his smile fell. "It's not because of earlier, is it?"
"Not at all. I'm... relieved. In a way... I suppose I needed it," Alessandro said. He was surprised to realize he was actually glad. "I'm just not looking forward to seeing this witch."
"If you'd feel better if I accompanied you... I can still cancel--"
Alessandro shook his head firmly. "You've done more than enough."
"So have you, Inspector."
Alessandro hesitated. "Alessandro." He held out his hand.
Lorenzo's smile brightened the entire street ahead of them. "Lorenzo." It grew stupidly wide when he clasped Alessandro's hand. "But that's too serious for me... Most just say Zo." He almost looked sad.
He didn't like being seen as the always cheery, ever foolish boy, Alessandro realized. It must be hard, with a brother like Antonio, the mastermind, the duke's favorite.
"Lorenzo is nice." It was velvet on his lips, soft and rich.
And then they were walking on sunshine.
Lorenzo was laughing about one of his own jokes, elbowing Alessandro when he didn't. "Come on, that was funny."
"Slightly."
"Slightly is better than nothing," Lorenzo decided. "Laugh."
Alessandro offered half a smile. Seemingly content with that, Lorenzo grinned proudly. Alessandro had to admit he wasn't smiling about the joke, but Lorenzo. The man had the sun in his smile.
"It's been a while since I've been to Florence," Alessandro admitted, when they crossed one of the many bridges, the river sparkling below as it lazily swam past red roofed houses and the colorfully striped canopies of small market booths.
"I'm here often. I like the vibe."
"That's not how you pronounce 'men'," Alessandro said.
Lorenzo grumbled. "Oh, so now you can be funny?"
They reached the church too soon. The gigantic cupola stormed the bright sky above, Alessandro marveling at the architecture. These patterns of black and white marble, like a more intricate chessboard. The fiery red dome, the golden spire pointing at the sun like an index of eternal light. Hexagons stacked onto octagons, shifted and rotated until it seemed to transform into a spinning pyramid, spiraling towards the sun. He was so absorbed into angles and colors, he didn't notice Lorenzo leading him off the large square again, past a half finished monument of a bronze rider -- the clanging of metal and the hissing of ropes made his heartbeat quicken in delight -- and tugging them into an empty side street.
The sudden silence woke him up, the sun gone, cool shadows brushing his skin instead. "What are we doing here?"
"Nothing!" Lorenzo replied a bit to fast. "Saying good-bye?"
Alessandro almost laughed at the others hesitant expression. "I wasn't under the impression you were leaving to travel with the merchant? No need for long good-byes." He couldn't resist teasing him.
"Right," Lorenzo said. "Right, right, right. Yes. I just meant..." He looked up and down the small street. Finding it empty, he stepped closer, trapping warmth between their chests. "Good-bye."
Lorenzo was already slipping around the corner back onto the square, waving over his shoulder and calling back "See you around!" , when Alessandro blinked and snapped out of his stupor. Lorenzo had kissed his cheek before skipping off. He lifted his hand, brushing over the tingling skin. Lorenzo's lips had been soft, but their press hadn't been unsure. He shook his head quickly. What was he, a young girl? He had work to do.
----
The echo of their steps was like a mad metronome, growing quicker and quicker, urging them deeper down the cold corridors. It was highly improbable, if not impossible -- but Alessandro couldn't help worrying they would be too late.
It hadn't taken long to find Marius, a telltale halo of pure white floating half a head above the churchgoers. He looked like the light cascading down onto the people had seeped into one of the perfect marble statues, animating art itself.
Alessandro had no idea how the archdeacon knew what he looked like, but Marius had glided over the second their eyes locked. He had expected anything but the priest immediately abandoning his duties and offering his help.
Laelia's descriptions of angels of winter had sounded much like exaggerated excitement (he had been busier trying to deduce the secret she kept about this priest, he could see it in her eyes, but she wouldn't tell). If anything, her fawning had been an understatement.
Marius was beautiful, but unattractive. Unobtainable and pure. He felt like the sunlight and cool air on a bright winter day. Art, nothing the common man would ever grasp.
The archdeacon had swept past the columns, twisting behind a statue near the wall. A soft click -- suddenly there was a narrow door, leading out onto an abandoned street. Moses had watched with stone eyes as Alessandro lead his priest away.
Things were finally going well. The guards had just nodded at Marius claiming he needed to take the prisoner's confession. These halls were eerie, but every step brought them closer to the truth. Or so Alessandro hoped.
The stones lining the tunnel were rough, making the glow of the torch flicker in eerie, jumping shapes.
Despite being clearly scared of the dark, the archdeacon didn't turn back. He could have waited outside, he had just been Alessandro's key through the heavy front gate. His shoulders were tense and he stayed close to the oil lamp Alessandro carried, but never hesitated.
They had stopped talking a while ago, just cautiously listening to their own steps, hearts jumping every time a different echo ghosted past them from somewhere far away, always expecting a third set of steps to join them out of the shadows...
How large was this prison? The Medici must be keeping the entire world down here...
Every now and then, they passed two stone faced guards, still and silent, heavy lances uncrossing for them to step through. No one could have gotten in...
Their long shadows folded themselves around the last corner... and then it hit him.
No. No. This couldn't be. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. This was simply the smell of a prison. The smell of torture ripping wrong confessions from wrong witches.
Blood. Warm and thick and metallic.
Alessandro hadn't realized he had unlocked the door, mind blank except that smell, until the heavy iron slowly creaked open. Nothing but darkness.
Like a dark omen, a gust of wind swept through the corridor, extinguishing the torches lining the stone walls. They were plunged into a sea of black, only a small halo glowing around the lamp in Alessandro's hand. It wasn't enough to even reach the corners of the small cell.
A shadow was slumped on the ground. "Get the guards," Alessandro's voice was empty.
"Thank you, Signore, I do value my life." Even his voice sounded like glacier water.
Someone might still be out there... Alessandro stepped through the door, holding up the lamp -- it really was the witch, the proud woman reduced to a vague heap of robes on the cold floor. Her face was turnt away from them, the black lion mane fallen into the dirt.
Marius gasped, rushing past Alessandro. He fell to his knees, uncaring for the stale water and dirty hay ruining the black silk of his cassock. His hand flew out, grabbing her shoulder -- she rolled onto her back, a limp arm hitting the ground, then her head lolling back. Her eyes stared emptily at the ceiling.
No. Impossible.
Marius pressed a hand over his mouth, eyes impossibly wide. "She's--"
"Hold the lamp for me," Alessandro steadied his voice. The priest couldn't panic now. He'd have something to do, feel useful -- stay out of Alessandro's way.
His eyes swept the room. This was just another investigation. Something he had done a hundred times. Something he had succeeded in a hundred times.
Blood was splattered onto the wall to his left, glinting oil black in the faint light. It wasn't much. There were no windows -- whoever had murdered her had used the door, just like them. For a moment, he stilled in anticipation, almost waiting for the door to bang shut behind them.
He needed to get a grip. His fingers found her cheek -- cooler than his, but still warm. He reached out, pulling her half closed lid open -- still completely white. The exposed part of her eye would have turned yellow soon when it dried out, then purple, then black. Less than an hour. The air in the cell was cool and humid, she'd cool faster, but still her skin held a faint, fading warmth. Half an hour. His fingers found the puddle of blood on instinct alone. Wet. 15 minutes.
Alessandro squared his shoulders. They might still be down here... Focus. The blood on the wall -- the drops were long, diagonal. One fast splatter. The hay was disturbed. Her knuckles bloody. Fought back. But there was no wound... He narrowed his eyes. Brushed her hair back.
No. Please no. Please.
She had been stabbed right through the temple.
Giacinto.
Alessandro closed his eyes. The cell started spinning around him, the shadows in the corners growing longer and longer until they reached him and --
"Are you alright, Signore?" Marius' voice was forcefully calm.
No. "Yes."
He could see it, in the moving darkness. It seemed so long ago that he had woken up to Giacinto saving their lives in that inn. Laelia trying to save Piero, the poisoned assassin. Giacinto stabbing his temple. A fast death, he had said. No blood splatter.
No blood splatter? His eyes flitted to the wall. Back to her head. The rich brown skin was starting to grey. Whoever had killed her, he had missed, just by a finger's width.
Giacinto didn't miss.
Giacinto was drunk. He had barely walked straight, he wouldn't have his usual precision here.
"Signore!" Marius called out in a strained whisper.
His head whipped around, expecting a shadow lunging at them -- the priest was crouched in front of the wall. "She wrote something!"
Alessandro was over in an instant.
She hadn't been dead immediately... He had to squint to make out shapes. In bloody letters, a shaking hand had scrawled: All'oro. To gold...
Gold. Either she had meant an assassin, paid in gold, or....
"The Lady in gold." Marius jaw hardened. The lady Medici.
Deditcated to allieallieoxenfree_ for their kindness and support. Thank you so much!
It's been so long since I killed someone -- back in the game! Rules are abandoned, there's no one to trust ... what do you think? Trust Giacinto? Alessandro isn't taking it well...
Marius back as well! And Lorenzo -- what do you think of him and his not so little crush on Alessandro? Alessandro seems to warm up to him. And Giacinto seems to be hellbent on drowning in liquor.
The next chapter will be a tough one for Alessandro...
Thank you for reading! You guys make my day!
Avis