Chapter 62 | Chiaroscuro

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Chiaroscuro: Painting technique, the broad use of strong  contrasts between light and dark affecting a whole composition


The General's ghost lingered around Alessandro like the empty, dead air after a storm.

He had sat up against the bed's headboard, surrounded by scattered notes like a mad eagle in his nest. His head throbbed with midnight devils drumming a march against his skull, every move sent a stab through his bones.

He had protested he was fine, but Giacinto hadn't bought it. "Get in a bed or I will gut you and tie you down with your entrails.".

The Greek had offered him the General Zeno's chambers and had a servant watch the boy instead, claiming Laelia would roast and eat him if he let Alessandro ruin his head even more.

Alessandro had given in -- mostly because he had been seeing two Giacinto's, half overlaid and swaying like a sailor, and feared he might just faint and bury the smaller man under him.

He let his gaze wander. The bedroom's ceiling was painted with stars of foreign lands, a telescope pointed out of the high windows that lined the wall. The adjoining study was drowning in books, nautical maps piled high between brass instruments and maps.

Captain-General of the Seas. The undefeated commander of the Venetian fleet. He won battles not even a demigod could have turned in Venice's favour. His men said he had his ships fire in such fast, seamless succession it seemed the sea was on fire around him. They called him the son of blood and fire.

He was sure the General had something to do with this. He was a war hero now. But Alessandro had done some digging after the death of the mosaic artist in Zeno's villa.

Carlo Zeno had been supposed to pursue an ecclesial career, but instead had turned his interests to money and women, been a mercenary, killed a Holy Roman knight, been exiled, became a merchant, married an Ottoman noblewoman – an enemy, even back then – joined the navy and the blink of an eye later swooped in and saved Venice from being torched to the ground by the Genoese fleet after everyone had already given up hope.

Alessandro tapped his quill against his lips. Just what was Giacinto and the General's relationship? Giacinto lived in Zeno's palace in Venice. The General had even gifted him this entire villa. But Crete and Venice were enemies, how did the Prince end up with the General?

There were so many figures in this play.

Alessandro frowned at his notes. Everything left a trace. It was right there, but he couldn't see it. He rubbed his temples. Sleep came over him in waves, eyelids growing heavier and heavier, but he just couldn't let go. He was overseeing something. He was trying to fit the pieces together the wrong way.

This was pointless, the letters swam into twins before his eyes, blurry and dancing.

He needed to sleep. He couldn't sleep. They didn't have time.

After Giacinto's vow of hate, they had stayed in their embrace until the moon had wandered past them on his way through midnight, bathing them in silver and shadows, still like a statue out in the gardens below.

Alessandro had wanted to say something. Giacinto had cleaved his chest open and offered Alessandro his torn heart. Alessandro should be able to tell him something, too. He wasn't.

The moment had passed before he could grasp it. It slipped through unsure fingers when Giacinto had pulled back and cleared his throat, shattering their little bubble.

Even now, Alessandro felt selfish for the fear that ran cold down his back.

He was a coward. He couldn't even admit who he was. Even less what he was. It takes one to catch one, he could feel Daniele's whisper against his lips.

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