The Mosaic

Chapter 71 | Glasshouse Hearts

People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones – Proverb.

Like a shattering star, glass burst and blue fire roared free.

Alessandro lunged, tackling Giacinto to the ground, a storm of heat roaring over them a second later. Sudden brightness pierced his eyes, wiping his mind clean in searing white.

The heat tore its way through his clothes with violent fingers. His eyes were stinging, no matter how tightly he squeezed them shut. He hid his face in the crook of his elbow, pushing Giacinto further under him as a heavy crash thundered around them.

A shrill ringing in his ears made his head swim.

Was the room spinning or was he falling?

Giacinto squirmed under him, twisting free. Alessandro thought he heard his name in the raspy voice next to his ear. He tried turning towards it, but the world spun away from him.

"Steno!" Fingers dug into his arm, pulling him to his knees. He swayed, blinking, trying to clear the bright fog from his vision. Ash and heat stung his eyes like sand. He groaned.

"You bloody fucking moron." Giacinto hoisted Alessandro's arm over his shoulder, dragging him to his feet – Alessandro kept forgetting how strong the small man was. They stumbled through ash and screams, Giacinto's hand on his waist keeping him upright when the high ringing in his ears threatened to topple him over.

As Alessandro's vision returned, he could make out dark shapes staggering in the smoke, like lost ghosts, blue flames dancing around them, licking up the columns of books. Thick ash scratched his throat with every breath. Giacinto shook with coughs beside him, but he didn't stop, dragging Alessandro with him, eyes narrowed at the ray of light cutting through shifting smoke.

Alessandro had slowed down once and Giacinto's finegrs had tightened on his waist in a silent warning – he couldn't go back to help the men that had tried to kill them. Most of them would be beyond saving anyways. They had been much closer to the strange fire.

"The Reaper –" Alessandro coughed out when finally, the shattered windows appeared from the smoke. "We can –"

Giacinto shoved him out into the night. "You don't fight the Reaper. You run."

Alessandro gasped in the cool, clear air, shaking his head until the ringing stopped. The assassin had been closer to the explosion. The two of them might have a chance.

The edge in Giacinto's glare let the argument freeze on his lips. But instead of insulting him again, the Greek patted down Alessandro's chest, fingers slipping into the pocket and pulling out Alessandro's handkerchief.

Alessandro hadn't realized he was bleeding until a sharp sting cut across his forehead when Giacinto pressed the cloth against it. "Thank you." Giacinto sighed. "...Idiot."

Their fingers brushed when Alessandro reached up to hold the cloth himself. He could feel a small smile tug at his lips. "Careful, people might think you are worried about me."

Giacinto rolled his eyes, but then returned the smile. "Worried I won't have anyone to piss off." He glanced back at the pavilion, smile vanishing. "Follow me."

He took off sprinting across the rose bridge, not once glancing back as if he could feel Alessandro right behind him.

Back inside the palace, Alessandro soon lost track of the endless corridors and halls again, all the gold and oil paint blurring together into a labyrinth of opulence around them, but Giacinto never hesitated.