Phantasmagoria: A scene of optical effects and illusions in a theater. A constantly shifting scene as if in a dream. The state between truth and imagination. A mind tricked into illusions.
"No." Giacinto laughed quietly. "He's beyond insane."
"What waits beyond insanity?"
"Gods."
A chill ran down Alessandro's back. The Reaper radiated a kind of madness he couldn't comprehend. He was sick. And yet eerily clear minded. "Then why did you meet with him?"
Giacinto's mouth opened, then closed again. Alessandro knew it. It had struck him a few days ago, when Giacinto had his sleeves rolled up after Laelia had removed her stitches, the fresh scar long and shiny across his forearm. A scar on the right forearm. Like the Reaper.
Giacinto had never gotten into a barfight.
Alessandro clenched his fists, his incapable heart jumping back and forth between worry and suspicion.
Giacinto glared at something in the distance. He looked like he was considering stabbing Alessandro right then and there just to have his peace.
But Giacinto's shoulders only slumped with a sigh. "I'm aware it was not my brightest moment. But Steno... we're losing this fight. We're only alive because his targets have been the agents, Piero de 'Medici, now Marius... but we keep getting in his way."
Giacinto had met with the Reaper to bargain for their lives. Shame pooled uncomfortably in his stomach. What had he turned into over these years?
Giacinto waved it off. "You wanted to know how a wayward prince came to call death by his first name."
It wasn't just obsession. The Reaper thought they were the same. The Reaper was trying to turn Giacinto into him. He branded Giacinto with a scar like his own.
But ... yesterday, Giacinto had told him about the Reaper, a monster donning human skin, comforting a scared boy who'd witnessed rape, feared for his life and taken another's.
"At first, many opposed the Regent. My mother had married him because he had the north rallied behind him. But he wasn't royal. Noble, but not enough."
So the Reaper had been hired to silence the opposition.
Giacinto's laugh rang empty. "It's a peaceful rule if there's no one to question it."
Alessandro was going to be sick. He didn't know what to say.
"The Regent was paranoid. He didn't trust Luca's loyalty." Giacinto's jaw worked. "He ordered Luca to kill his wife. A test."
Perhaps the ancients had been right – Crete was the land of Gods and Monsters. "Did he kill her?"
"Of course. There's no exception to his rules." Giacinto snorted. "I don't think Luca is capable of love as we think of it. It's more... fixation. She was a girl from the village he grew up in. I don't think he loved her, more what she represented. An illusion."
"You think doing this to you is his revenge? Even if he didn't truly love her, he felt something."
"I ... " Giacinto shook his head. "I don't know. I don't understand him. He doesn't think like us. The Regent hates me. If Luca killed me, he'd do him a favour."
Alessandro stayed silent for a while, watching Giacinto's jaw work. This was getting to the Greek more than he admitted. "But if he could get you to kill the Regent... that would be the ultimate revenge."
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.
"Why do you have such big hands?" Giacinto grumbled. He seemed fascinated by their difference – Alessandro's palm square and big and rough, fingers long but broad, tips blunt, calloused. He felt almost embarrassed, it was plain obvious he worked with his hands – a disgrace for any noble.
Giacinto's palm was small – if Alessandro would close his hand, it might just disappear – but his fingers were long and slender, impossibly fine. Against his dark skin, Alessandro's was as white as porcelain.
"The rest of me is big too."
Giacinto wiggled his eyebrows.
Heat shot into Alessandro's cheeks. ""You know that's not what I meant!"
Giacinto cackled. "I love messing with you. You're so wonderfully embarrassed."
Alessandro huffed an indignant breath.
"What happened here?" Giacinto brushed his ring finger against Alessandro's – it was slightly crooked, bent the wrong way at the joint.
"Prisoner broke it."
Giacinto grimaced. Alessandro didn't know what moved him in that moment. He shifted his hand, slowly sliding sideways, until he held Giacinto's like a gentleman about to kiss a lady's hand. He should've stopped right there.
Brushing his thumb over the other's knuckles, he inspected purple and black bruises like another might art. Be more careful. He didn't say it. Don't run away again. The way he held Giacinto's hand said it.
He could feel Giacinto force himself very still, like a rabbit about to dart away. Alessandro bowed his head, pressing a slow kiss onto the Greek's knuckles.
"You're impossible," he whispered.
Giacinto's eyes were too wide.
Alessandro slowly let go of his hand. "I want to trust you."
"Can you?"
"You tell me."
"No. Are you capable of truly trusting someone? Because I think whatever Daniele did three years ago, trusting someone... It scares you. After what you see every day, how could you not assume the worst of people. And me, Steno, out of all people?" He scoffed. "Start with Lia. She can't lie to save her life."
Alessandro gritted his teeth. Giacinto was right. But he couldn't change that. He had never wanted to change that. And yet... he hated it. It had just taken one very annoying, tiny Greek prince to show him that.
"Don't feel bad," Giacinto's laugh was cold. "This world... There's only lost sinners and the devils who lure them. I would rather be villain than victim."
Alessandro wanted to tell Giacinto that wasn't true. But wasn't that exactly how he saw the world? No saints, no angels.
Giacinto shifted on the bed, strange green eyes gleaming in the morning light. Alessandro wondered if there was a court portrait of him that could catch that exact spark of green. He doubted it.
"Can you trust me? No." Giacinto's smile was wickedly sharp. "But I'd like it if you did."
Alessandro hesitated. "It's – you – I can't read you. I can never tell if you're lying." It was driving him insane.
"And yet it always feels like you see too much," Giacinto said. "I've listened around in Venice. Some think you're a medium. There's no case you haven't solved."
Alessandro's jaw worked. He heard the whispers, too. That he spoke to the dead. It made people treat him with even more respect – and drove them further away. It was lonely, in the twilight between the dead and the living.
"Not every case." All but one. The Shadow... No. He had to ban that petty thief from his mind. He was trying to see connections were there weren't any. "And I can't actually tell if anyone's lying."
Giacinto laughed. When Alessandro didn't react, he cut off, eyebrows rising in confusion. "But then how –"
Alessandro leant close. Giacinto stilled. Fidgeted. Stilled again. Alessandro's eyes flitted over Giacinto's face. The Greek really couldn't stay still for long – his hands twitched, flexing against the blanket – but his face was a perfect mask. Giacinto blinked, tilting his head. His eyelashes brushed his cheekbones – Alessandro drew back. "You're curious. You're angry, but not at me. Well, not angrier than you usually are with me." He chuckled. "You're in pain. Not your hands. Chronic."
"How –"
"Your hip. Until you left Crete you had a royal physician. You're extremely agile for a scar that size. After you left you never went to see a doctor. It's locking up."
"Most are charlatans, the rest would randomly prescribe tinctures – I'm more likely to die from the wrong treatment than –"
"You're ashamed."
"Stop –" Giacinto gritted his teeth. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"You keep your shirt on during –"
"That's different! It's –"Giacinto's eyes burned, a last flare before the fire died. "It's disgusting." Then he laughed, hollow and a note too high. "Don't distract. How do you do it?"
"I'm observant. People are like constellations. When you just look up at the sky, you see nothing but a myriad of stars. But if you connect them in the right way, they form entire stories."
Giacinto snorted. "Anyone can be observant. You're not like anyone else." The last sentence was soft. Then he frowned. "Emotions. You read emotions."
"There's signs for lying, but actors fake them for a living." Alessandro looked down at his hands. "I always did it. My mother thought I was just a sensitive child. Everyone had such strong emotions. They're messy. I don't like it."
He didn't know why he was telling Giacinto all of this. No one knew. 'Observant' was his only answer if anyone asked. For all of his distrust of Giacinto and his halo of secrets, he felt like he could trust him with this. "At first it was a mess. I learned to connect them. You never feel just one thing. Meaning depends on how they're paired."
Now he knew when someone lied without trying. He could see the ashes of emotions even on a crime scene. That's how he caught everyone. He picked up emotions from everything the killer left behind, hunting them down like a dog latching onto a scent. Humans thought themselves above animals, priding their rational thought, but every thought rose from the messy depths of emotions. Even the most rational – their calculated mind was nothing but the desperate try for control.
He wasn't good at social gatherings. Or anywhere out of a crime scene, where his prying eyes would see too much and offend. People needed their little secrets. Feelings were private. He couldn't expect them to like him. How could he like them knowing when they were lying?
"So why can't you read me?"
"You're a fantastic liar. But more importantly, you grew up a prince. All eyes always on you. Everyone just waiting for one misstep. Everyone trying to get your favour. You can't afford anyone knowing what you think."
Alessandro continued. "I focus on the face, but you control that." A body could tell him as much as a face, but it wasn't as precise. It would reveal base emotions. It never revealed such details. And too many unique habits muddling it all up.
Alessandro tapped the back of Giacinto's hand. "Look. Your hands talk. It's just harder." Giacinto had his own language. Alessandro just had to learn every little quirk.
Giacinto thought about it for a second. "Nah, I'm pretty sure you are a medium."
"No. You read the dead far better than I do. How?"
Giacinto frowned. "Remember when we first met? You thought I was the killer, I thought you were a fancy prick."
"You could tell the time of the artist's death faster than my men."
"Born in a morgue?, you had asked. You were close."
Giacinto had been unnaturally comfortable with a dead body on his hands. He could have been to war... No. He had disposed of the bodies of two assassins – his men had found one, days later, bloated in a canal. They had assumed the wrong cause of death. "You worked in a morgue."
The flash of emotions across Giacinto's face was almost too much, even if he reigned them back in within a second. Pain, so much pain.
"Why would a prince work in a morgue."
"Because he was hungry."
Alessandro wanted to ask. Wanted to pry, find more puzzle pieces, chase every secret – he forced himself silent.
"You're not going to ask?"
Alessandro shook his head. He wanted to ask. He felt like he was underwater, lungs bursting, desperate to open his mouth and suck in a breath. Trust him. He forced it down, offering a small smile.
"One last thing. When we were arrested –"
Alessandro knew exactly what was coming. He had been thinking about it when he wasn't able to sleep.
"Daniele."
"No," gritted Alessandro. "No."
He could feel Giacinto's too clever eyes on him, searching for that one little flinch that would betray him. "Daniele and I have nothing to do with each other nowadays. Don't waste our time."
"Really?" Giacinto's smile was as false as the soft, melodic ring of his voice. Wickedly sweet poison. Alessandro hated that smile. It felt like the other was pressing a dagger against his heart while caressing his face. "It didn't look like that. You know, in that alley outside the tavern? He sounded awfully emotional. He kissed you."
"Judas kissed Jesus, that doesn't mean he loves him," Alessandro spat.
Giacinto was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, but serious. The man changed faces like masks during carnival. "My mother said you never stop loving someone. You might let them go, you might send them to hell. You learn to love someone else. But there's a small space in your heart that'll forever be theirs. That's why he hates you so much. Because he loves you just as much."
"We were friends. We moved apart. That's it."
"You don't kiss a friend as if you had to push three years of love and pain into one moment."
"How much did you hear," Alessandro gritted. Just moments before that kiss, Daniele had called him a murderer. No, he had begged him to deny it – but Alessandro hadn't. Couldn't.
"Now dear, never lay all your cards open."
Alessandro wanted to rip that wicked little smile off his face. "You said we were friends. I thought you trusted me," he growled.
"And I do. I trust you not to kill me. I trust you to catch me if I fall. But I will always have a safety net."
Alessandro's jaw worked.
"You see, I never wanted to die," Giacinto mused. "But some time ago, I didn't care when I'd finally earn a dagger between the ribs. Today, tomorrow, as good as any day. I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. But now... you forced me to work towards a goal. That... that feels different. I want that."
Alessandro searched for the right words.
Giacinto laughed. "Worried? A man with purpose is dangerous."
"Not if he just wants to live."
Giacinto looked taken aback. Then he laughed. "No, Steno, those are the most dangerous."
They were silent for a moment, Alessandro unsure what to reply. It felt too raw for him to deny.
"Daniele has nothing to do with this." Alessandro knew how desperate he sounded. As if he could will it into being true. "He and I fought. He knew something. He forced me to take his place as inspector. But he would never do this."
"His father is the head of the police force. There's only a handful of people who would've known you would be at that crime scene. If it even was one."
How he hated Giacinto being right. Nothing of it matched the Shadow's normal heists. In the middle of day, just days after the last – but that had been off, too. The Shadow was a petty thief, yet back then, the letters of the dead order had been stolen.
"Daniele would know you're obsessed with that thief. He has the influence and money to stage it."
"His grandfather was Doge. He was the one who uncovered Falier's Coup. Why would he try to overthrow all his family built?"
"Maybe he hired the Shadow?"
"No." The Shadow never left any traces, except his strange signature, the closed eye, carved into the empty place of whatever he had stolen. He was a petty thief, but a master of his trade. Alessandro had a feeling he wasn't doing it to make money. It was more of a sport. He was proud. He wouldn't lend himself for hire.
He stopped dead in his tracks. "What if Daniele is the Shadow?"
"You hit your head too hard."
"No. The break ins started three years ago. Just after I had joined –" Just after he and Daniele had that horrible fall-out.
No. There was nothing to support that. ...the timeline matched. And Daniele hated him.
"Did you see him? When we broke out?" Giacinto asked. "Why would he be there if he had nothing to do with it?"
When fought the guards on the prisons courtyard, Alessandro could have sworn he had seen Daniele in the long windows looking out onto the yard. He had been talking to someone. It was his superior's office – the last of the three men who knew who Alessandro had murdered three years ago. The man hated Alessandro for his popularity. He'd be more than happy if Alessandro would end up being hanged for a false accusation.
What was Daniele doing there? And had there really been a second scar, a twin to the one cutting through his eyebrow down to his cheek – or had that been just a trick of light, a reflection in the glass? He never had found out how Daniele had gotten the first one.
Even if Daniele had set them up. He couldn't blame him. Couldn't hate him how he used to. Couldn't curse him, throat raw from waking up screaming, corpses bloodying his dreams.
Daniele's father had suspected his son's inclinations a long time ago, swearing hell and heaven's fury should his son turn out a sodomite. Still, Daniele had made his choice.
But Alessandro hadn't.
All the women he kept around, even if he wanted to throw up the second they left – it was his fault. He just – it hit him so hard he missed a heartbeat. He wanted to talk to Daniele. He missed him. He missed him so much.
If Daniele was part of these horrors, if he had the blood of all those people on his hands – that was on Alessandro.
"Are you alright?" Giacinto mustered him carefully.
Alessandro swallowed the lump in his throat. "Of course. Get dressed. We'll have to find that last clue de Vito left for Marius."
Finally finding out how Alessandro reads people!
Do you think Daniele is behind this? And what of the Reaper's plan for Gio? Will the Shadow play a bigger role?
I hope you're all doing well, despite pandemic chaos! As always, thank you for reading, you're the best!
Stay lovely,
Avis.