For a split second, Voldo felt nothing but relief at being out of that carriage. Then he remembered where he was, and the prospect of returning to Vittore's mobile interrogation chamber gained surprising appeal.

Before him was the hive his parents built, a showplace for their fine collection of servants and sons. This was where they'd primped and preened Vittore, the precious first born, crowned prince of their own little kingdom. But one successor is never enough, heavens no! The Lord and Lady weren't satisfied until they'd had themselves a whole litter of sons, all the better to marry and have their own piles of children. Yes, what great breeders of the upper class they would be, Tiberio, Ilario, Guiseppe and Voldo, sweet little Voldo. Precious, precious god damned baby Voldo.

As he pried open one of the set of oaken doors before him, a great gasp screamed form his Voldo's lungs. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath ever since he left the carriage. Curtsying timidly, a maid appeared before him, "the Lady is in the North Parlor," said the girl. She found herself staring at Voldo as he passed by; it was a habit all of the servants seemed to have.

With the enthusiasm of a prisoner on the gallows steps, the young man made his way to the North Parlor. As soon as he stepped through the door he was ambushed. "Voldo!" screamed his mother as she threw her arms around him. The son's body stiffed. He had no idea what to do with his hands or his sanity as the woman buried her face in his chest.

"Oh my baby, my baby we are undone!" she wailed like a cat, grabbing his elbows and pushing away to look up into her son's eyes. "Our Tiberio is gone! My boy gone! And...and you! My young one out on the streets all the time! Oh heaven knows what could hap...what could ha-ha-happen! Oooowaah!" .

It was the third eldest brother, Ilario who freed Voldo from his mother's cling. "Come, mother," he said. "It is best that you don't exert yourself."

The next few hours--or minutes, in all honesty Voldo couldn't tell what measure of time had passed---went by in a blur. The house was full of faces. Staring, crying, talking at him, all intent on filling the young master in on what he'd been "missing" over the past few days.

It seems that this month had seen the end of some battle or other; the name or location of the fighting escaped him. In between movements, his brothers were able to visit their home for the time being. All four of them had chosen to go off to war, and though they had only known a few weeks of battle, one had already managed to get himself killed.

Pacing the halls was Voldo's main pastime at the mansion. When his feet brought him to the scullery, he took the time to bag up a bit of food, and then started walking what appeared to be a deserted hall which would lead him out of the house. As to its emptiness he was mistaken.

The outlines of Vittore and Ilario shone black against a series of French windows at the end of the hall.

"What," Vittore spat, staring at the bag Voldo carried "is that you have in your hand? Unbelievable. You are completely unbelievable. Already trying to flee while our mother is lost in tears and Father is planning the burial of his second son! To think you would go off and abandon us at a time like th-

"Oh what? interrupted Voldo. He had tired too quickly of his brother's empty scolding to let it continue. "So I'm going out for a bit, what of it? Do you truly find any way my presence here is of any help to the situation? Mom's lost a son, well really what of that? She's got more than enough to keep doting on her, doesn't she? Or at least that's how it is for the time being 'till you two go grab Guiseppe so you can fill yourselves with lead as well!"

"Voldo..." Ilario began, but he was cut off as Vittore nearly knocked him over, charging closer to the wiry brat before him.

"You insolent shit! You dare let your mouth spew off such refuse? Turning your back on our dear parents just isn't enough for you, you must continue and directly insult the rest of the family! You have no right to speak against we who hold the decency to take up arms as you live as a canker on the streets of the very city we fight for! With what depth of Hell's fires will you find yourself satisfied?"

"Ah take up arms, take up arms," Voldo shouted. "How can you not see it? You stand here bothering to speak to me of Hell when you will get to see its gates far before I!"

Voldo took a pause to reclaim his breath before going on.

"Take a look around you. This house, these clothes. Battlefields spill red blood, not blue. Our status is enough to save us from the obligation of war, yet you choose to throw your lives away! I'd expect that from you, my oh so brilliant Vittore, as well as the others, but Ilario..."

"My status is why I must fight, brother," Ilario finally spoke up. "This kingdom has allowed me to grow up knowing not emptiness of cup nor pocket. If all it seeks in return is my sword, than I should be grateful to lend it."

Voldo just stared at Ilario, cold , narrowed eyes locking with a pair alight with life. In seconds the gaze was broken, and the youngest man pushed past the other two to the door beyond.

He hadn't made it out of the courtyard before the sound of footsteps came from behind.

"You know it's Sunday," Ilario said. "You'll have trouble finding a tavern to fight in."

Voldo stopped in his tracks. "So you know too?"

Ilario nodded. "That's what I don't understand. You run off to free your fists in back alleys, and here with the kingdom threatened, you have a reason to fight, a good and true one, yet you won't take it."

"I fight to free myself," Voldo told his brother. "To face a man in the height of his skill and instinct, armed with nothing but my own, or to stand before a gray field of rifles and cannons...no mythical pride could bring me to choose the latter option."

"I see," said Ilario. "Well the way I see it, a life is only lived when one finds something he is willing to die for. I have my passion and my duty, and it is all I can do to hope that one day you find yours."

Pulling his lips into a smile, Voldo let out a laugh. He'd figured it was the best thing to keep his brother from realizing just how much the sheer truth of those words stung him. In all of his eighteen years, the world had given him nothing to live for. He wandered as a ghost, filled with only with the terror of an entire life of emptiness stretched out before him.

Voldo turned his back and began to walk through the gate, calling out to his brother as he did. "Well, Ilario, you keep doing your best to throw your life away, and if this world ever manages to produce anything worth it, I'll give it mine."