Chapter 11 : Rising Sun


The wind whipped mercilessly at him, bringing cold that chilled him to the bone and gripped his heart until it was all but numb. But Lovino noticed none of it. Nor did he notice the tears that fell intermittently as he stared out over the roiling waves.

He was gonegonedespite Lovino's every effort to hold onto him, to keep him close, to stop him from leaving again.

The sea churned beneath him, calling to the sky with eerie crashing cries that echoed in his heart and mind. He had never felt so empty, so abandoned, so utterly alone as he did then.

Woodenly he stood and began walking about the deck, driven by some unconscious impulse to search. Perhaps, he thought faintly, perhaps it had all been a delusion and Antonio had never gone at all. Perhaps even now he was hiding somewhere behind the mast, or among those barrels in the corner, or underneath those old canvas sails. Perhaps he would jump out when Lovino passed by, tackle the Italian, laugh and apologize with a kiss, and Lovino would smack him and things would be all right again.

But no cheerful Spaniard emerged to chase away the shadowsAntonio did not answer to his nameeven after Lovino dreamily circled the deck for what must have been the tenth time, and eventually the Italian stopped altogether.

What little strength Lovino had left him then. He very nearly crumpled to the ground again, but a burly pair of arms caught him and hauled him upright. It was a tired and cranky-looking Eduardo, with dark circles under his anger-filled eyes.

"The hell are ye doin' here makin' such a racket?" he shouted above the roar of the sea. When Lovino didn't answer he shook him. "Git back to work!"

"No," the Italian said finally.

"... What did ye just say?" A threat suddenly gleamed in the tall pirate's eyes, and his grip on Lovino's shoulders tightened to the point of painfulness. "Ye'd best do what I say ye do or ye give up yer head as payment. Understand?"

"Where's... Antonio? Tell me..."

"Antonio?" Eduardo's eyes widened and he let out an incredulous laugh, as though Lovino were some strange talking sea-creature. "Ye call him Antonio? What do ye think ye are, his lover? His wife? Yer a funny 'un. I heard ye yellin' for him all the way from below decks. Well, lo siento, little prisoner. He's gone. Gone to fight Kirkland 'fore he gets ahold o' this here ship." Gauging Lovino's reaction, he smiled rather maliciously and stroked his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Methinks... he ain't comin' back..."

"Don't fucking say that!" Lovino kicked at him, immediately receiving a heavy blow to the jaw in return. Stars exploded in his vision but the pain awoke him, and the fury spilled out. "How dare you"

"How dare I? How dare I?" The pirate's voice had suddenly grown dangerously quiet, and he held on to Lovino even as the Italian struggled. "How dare I, ye ask? Ye should've asked your precious Antonio, little man."

"Whatwhat the hell do you mean?"

Eduardo's face was hard and cruel.

"He took what was meant to be mine," he hissed. "I was here long before him. I found him an' helped him avenge his sister. I looked after him when he was hurt an' suchlikeI stood up for him when the old capitán wanted to throw him off the ship. An' hewhat does he do for me in return? He steals me place on this shiphe thinks to order me aroun'an' now ye tell me, how dare I?"

Lovino stared up at him, fearful and unable to answer. And Eduardo laughed, a high chilling laugh.

"No, little prisoner, this is the way things are meant to be. I am capitán nowbecause we all know Antonio ain't comin' back. An' even if he doeswhy, who says I have to let him back in? I gots enough men for me own crew. I can make me own way without himdon't ye agree?"

"No."

"No? What, still pinin' after that worthless excuse for a cap'n? He left ye too, remember. He's no good for ye. Why, he told me hisselfyer worth nothin' to him"

"I love him."

Eduardo laughed again. "Ye call that love?"

"What would you fucking know of love?" Lovino shouted back. Anger suddenly boiled inside him, infusing him with red-hot strength. He wrenched himself free from Eduardo's grasp. "I don't give one shit about you and your goddamned idiotic plans. You go your fucking way and I go mine. All right?"

"And ye think ye can go just like that? Think I can't stop ye?"

He grabbed Lovino again, heavy hands squeezing the Italian's shoulders harder and harder, until it felt as though something might break. Lovino struggled but refused to cry out in pain.

"Yer such a weak little thing," Eduardo said, observing him almost pityingly. "Ye shouldn't even be here in the first place."

It was so much like something Antonio might have said, and a shudder ran through Lovino's body. And he could not help answering the unspoken question.

"Maybe I was. Meant to be here, I mean. I was meant to find him and he was meant to find me andand no one's going to stop us." He raised his head and met Eduardo's eyes steadily. "If you keep me hereI'll escape and find him. If you torture meI'll scream for him. If you kill meI'll find him as a fucking ghost." By this time he had become completely calm, in contrast to Eduardo's visible unease. He continued staring unflinchingly at the pirate.

"You cannot stop me, you cannot stop him. No one can. And no one ever will."

The tall Spaniard's eyes flashed for a split second, his face contorted somewhat, and yet he was silentas though Lovino's words had just forced him to remember something.

And then his grip loosened and he set Lovino back down on the deck.

"Go, take that there spare boat," he said, refusing to look at Lovino, becoming angrier when the Italian did not immediately follow instructions. "Go! Go risk life an' limb to find yer lover boy. Dios, I can see it in yer eyes yer goin' to do it." His voice was shaking. "Damn people like ye, damn yer soft, pure, noble little hearts and yer true love and yer happy endin's. Damn ye all."

Lovino stared at him openmouthed.

"I"

"Don't go givin' me those looks o' pity, ye little bastard. I don't need it. I don't need it, ye hear me?" he shouted in Lovino's face. "I don't need no kindness - had enough o' that. This here is all I have. Don't need nothin' more. Ye need Antonio, go an' find him, go an' save him. I won't stop ye."

"I'm going now."

"Good." Eduardo helped him ready the boat, pushed Lovino in, and at the last moment pressed a sword into his hands. The boat began to lower into the water. "Go, an' don't come back."

Lovino clutched onto the oars and took one last upward look at the pirate's face, which was getting smaller by the minute.

"Goodbye," he said.

A strange emotion raced across Eduardo's features, and when he spoke his voice was rough. He did not look at Lovino again.

"Goodbye."

And then the boat's ties were cut, water splashed gently around him, and Lovino was once more alone in the vast open sea. Only this time, he was free and one step closer to the one he loved.


Higher and higher they climbed, quickly and stealthily, making no noise whatsoever. Kirkland's sentries were just barely visible from this side of the ship, but they were looking directly out at the sea, not below. They did not see any of the small boats floating away towards the rear, nor the Spaniards scaling the sides of the Rising Sun like so many cats.

Antonio's dagger threatened to slip from his belt for the umpteenth time; at last he gave up adjusting it, and stuck it sideways in his mouth. Climbing became much easier when he did not have to pause to check his weapons. And the other men still relied on him to give the signal.

The ship was larger than they had expected, but still only half the size of the Trinidad. Before long Antonio found himself only three feet from the top and, hanging on with both his hands, he turned and looked about for his men. Most of them had kept up with his quick pace, but there were still some stragglers.

Two feet from the top. They had caught up.

One foot

Antonio gave the signal and the Spaniards swung up and over the railing, swords in hand.

The first pirate who saw them was a lanky blond-haired man, a little older than Antonio. His eyes widened silently when he saw them, and his mouth opened to give a yell, but it was abruptly cut off when a silver blade sliced across his throat.

He fell, followed by the bodies of several other sentries, as Antonio's pirates quickly disposed of their unwanted attention. Most of them died silently, within the first few minutes of the Spaniards' arrival, except for one.

"Cap'n, Cap'n!" a shout came from the far end of the ship. "They're attackin'the Spanish are attackin'"

Antonio threw his dagger and it hit the man squarely in the chest, ending his calls for helpbut the damage had been done. His words had broken the silence like a blade piercing a thin veil. And already the invaders could hear commotion from down belowthe English pirates rousing each other from sleep, whispers of alarm, the thump of booted feet as they ran to meet the intruders.

But their only way up to the deck was through two trapdoors, only a few men wide. And the Spaniards' only entrance below decks turned out to be the same.

There followed a long moment of hesitation, during which neither group dared to move, those two doors becoming their barriers. Any man in his right mind knew he would be killed as soon as he passed through. It was a test of the brave, the foolhardy, and the cowardly.

And then an Englishman raised his voice.

"Come in if you dareyou gutless weaklings!"

He knew that voice. He would have recognized it anywhere.

The taunt had hit homeAntonio's men were furious. Suddenly one man broke ranks and raced down, followed by another, and then another. The first two were taken down, but the third leapt over their bodies and fought. And then the Englishmen could no longer stop them, because pirate after pirate continued to enter. Antonio was among them. Angry curses sounded, along with the terrifyingly quiet echoes of metal against metal and the soft thuds of men falling.

"Mierda," Antonio muttered to himself as he dispatched two Englishmen who dared come near.

It was clear his men were an almost even match for Kirkland's—in numbers as well as skill. He could see now how Kirkland had managed to make his way in the pirating world—not by how many men he had but by the illusion he put up. No physical strength was necessary when an easy facade could accomplish the same. And no wonder why there had never been any reported mutinies with regards to the Rising Sun.

But this was a different situation altogether—and from the looks of things, this battle would be over soon, very soon.

Felling a few more pirates, Antonio began rapidly scanning the crowd for a familiar black eyepatch. It was time to show that English privateer who had the real upper hand.

He was doing this not for his men, not for the Trinidad, definitely not for himself. But for that one Italian who had shared his heart with him.

And Antonio would not fail.

Because it was all for him.


Rowing a boat had never been so difficult—not while the sea tossed and turned like some medieval monster, rendering the small craft all but useless against its strength. Lovino struggled with the oars while trying to keep an eye on the English ship that seemed so far away.

Behind him the Trinidad had mostly faded into the darkness. Whatever Eduardo and his cronies were planning, at least it would not involve Antonio. Antonio who had been so loving and yet so foolish, rushing headlong into things without even caring about himself.

The very thought of him was enough to make Lovino's heart race, and his breath grew short with the urgency of the situation. Straining against the stubborn sea, the Italian plunged forward in his little boat, making some headway through the waves. Eventually he won the battle and found himself several feet away from the hull of the ship.

Even from there the sounds of fighting and the groans of the wounded and dying were audible. Lovino realized with a sinking heart that he was lateagain.

"ANTONIO!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, but there was no answer.

Angrily he jumped from the boat, grabbed on to the side of the ship, and started climbing as quickly as his tired limbs would allow. Fear for Antonio aided his progress—soon he was at the top of the ship—then he had leapt over and discovered to his dismay a deserted battlefield.

"Fuck... fuck fuck holy fucking shit—ANTONIO!"

He ran, nearly tripping over the bodies of dead pirates, to the brown-haired man lying facedown near the railing. Lovino's mouth grew dry and his heart all but stopped as he reached him—

He had so much blood on him—his hand was so cold—he was so pale—

And then Lovino turned him over and saw not a familiar Spanish face but the features of an older man, with a scar on his right cheek, a few missing teeth, and glassy dark eyes.

The Italian threw him back down and stood on shaky legs, almost choking with relief. It was not Antonio—would never be Antonio—Antonio was still here somewhere and alive, because he had to be, he had to—

"ANTONIO!" he screamed again and this time he was certain he heard a faint answer, somewhere off in the distance:

"Lovino...?"

Below decks. He was below decks.

Lovino found the trapdoor and leaped down, drawing his sword in the same breath, and landed in the midst of a dying battle between several men.


That black eyepatch had to be Arthur Kirkland's downfall. Like Antonio, he had discarded his pirate captain's clothes in favor of blending in with his men, but almost none of them wore an eyepatch as prominent as the English privateer's. Antonio had spotted him in no time, but the man, instead of meeting him head-on, had dived back into the crowd and vanished temporarily from view.

"Kirkland!" he roared, and followed in hot pursuit, catching the Englishman right before he reached the trapdoor. The pirate in question stopped and turned, with a toothy grin that did not quite reach his one devious green eye.

"Oh, so it's you," he said lazily.

"I see you remember me," returned Antonio, just as calmly.

"Of course. How could I not? You were that captain's little servant, if my memory is correct. What happened to him? Did he die? Looks like you're the captain now, no?"

He was talking as though they were old friends of some sort. As though they were not sworn enemies, as though he was not on the verge of losing this entire battle. Looking at him, Antonio could feel an involuntary shiver run up his spine. This Englishman had something else under his sleeve, he was sure of it.

"You don't look much like a captain to me," the Spaniard retorted. "Running away like that—why don't you fight like a man?"

"Well, you can call that running away, but really, it all depends on how you look at it. And as for fighting... that can definitely be arranged." A dangerous gleam entered Kirkland's eye and he moved away from the trapdoor, wickedly sharp cutlass in hand. He tossed it in the air and caught it neatly, twirling the hilt round and round between his fingers. The Englishman winked devilishly.

"How about this. If you win, you take my ship, my men, and my treasure. If I win, I do the same with yours. Whoever loses gets to sleep in the sea. Agreed?"

His voice was dangerously cool and collected. And it hit Antonio—this most wanted man in Europe was not going down without a fight. He did not expect to lose at all.

But then again, neither did Antonio.

"Agreed," he replied, in a tone just as hard and dangerous, and brought forth his own sword. They circled each other for a moment, a moment that seemed to drag on longer than seconds or minutes or hours. Green eyes met green, exchanging equally cold glares; and then Kirkland pounced forward.

Antonio's sword screeched harshly against the Englishman's as he parried the surprisingly strong blow, deflecting it just in time.

Kirkland chuckled. "Was that too much for you?"

He brought his cutlass down again, a quick strong movement, narrowly missing Antonio's face by an inch. This time the Spaniard was faster on the defense, but the blade still sliced thinly across his left arm, drawing blood. Kirkland laughed heartily.

"Why, I thought you were a captain."

"I am," Antonio gritted out, clutching his arm. "But I would rather be captain in my own way instead of yours. And whether you kill me or not, you're going to lose. Look, your men are all dead."

"Or are they?" Kirkland interjected, raising an eyebrow, and suddenly it seemed he was asking the question. An unpleasant feeling arose in the pit of Antonio's stomach as he realized just what the Englishman might have in mind—

And then Kirkland swept an arm toward the nearest window.

"Look," he said.

Antonio did not look.

"Nice try."

"My God, are you Spaniards stubborn. I'm not even joking this time. Look." Suddenly the English pirate threw down his cutlass and unstrapped his daggers and tossed them far away. "I'm not going to kill you, git. Now look and tell me what you see."

His voice had an evil singsong quality to it.

And Antonio, the distressing feeling growing ever stronger, turned to look out at the sea.

Under any other circumstances the sight would have been the most ordinary— no one would have given it a second thought. But now, precisely at the end of the battle, it was surprising in the most terrifying way.

In the distance, silhouetted against the slowly lightening sky, were two ships. Two unmistakable large ships, undoubtedly full of men armed to the teeth, advancing on anotherthe Trinidad herself.

Despite himself Antonio felt his heart stop; his whole body tensed. There was no way this could be true—there was no way.

There had been a trap after all... and he had fallen straight into it.

But it was not of himself that he thought now; it was someone else. His heart stilled in his chest and his breath grew short. How had he been so careless? How could he have left, slipped away so quietly with only three words of feeling, how? Something stirred powerfully within him at the thought of Lovino, his Lovino... nothing could befall him. Nothing.

Antonio could not—would not—would never let it happen.

"Oh, you look so worried, my friend! What is the matter, I wonder?"

Loud guffaws interrupted him and he jolted out of his thoughts—Kirkland was laughing at him. Then he calmed; something like a smile crossed his face, an insincere, mocking smile.

"Now you see, don't you?" His wicked grin grew ever wider, and he stooped to retrieve his cutlass, eyes never leaving Antonio. "Now that you know... how about we resume our little duel. Like men. Shall we?"

Antonio did not reply, but one of his daggers did shoot past Kirkland's head to bury itself in the wall behind him. Kirkland's one eye widened for a split second and then he laughed again, an unnaturally lighthearted sound.

"So you agree," he exclaimed, although Antonio had said nothing of the sort. "Well, it's been nice meeting you. I'll make sure to give you the best eulogy I can—I think I know one by heart now, since I say it so often..."

A loud thump from above interrupted them and Kirkland glanced up in surprise. He had just opened his mouth to shout when the man from above did it for him.

"ANTONIO!"

For the second time that night Antonio felt himself freeze, felt his blood run cold at the familiar voice.

He couldn't be here—it couldn't be him. No, no, no—not now, not here—and yet there was no other way—

"Lovino...?"

"ANTONIO! ANTONIO!"

Frantic footsteps began making their way towards them, and less than a minute later Lovino hopped through the trapdoor. His face had been drawn with worry and trepidation, but it immediately lightened when he saw Antonio. He looked as though he might break down on the spot.

"Antonio—you're all right—!"

"Who are you?" interrupted Kirkland, looking him up and down with sudden interest. "You two know each other?"

Both the Italian and Spaniard ignored him, because Lovino had just run forward to throw his arms around Antonio, and Antonio had responded by stopping him and shoving him behind his back. The Spaniard pointed his cutlass straight at Kirkland.

"Don't come any nearer or I'll make sure you die a slow, painful death."

"What? Did you think I would?" Kirkland had once more reverted to his humorous mood. He did not move forward, however. "Cute little Italian you have there. What, he can't defend himself?"

"If he doesn't kill you first I'll fucking cut your windpipe out, you low-down little bastard," spat Lovino, brandishing his own sword. "And if you value your life you had better fucking leave us alone or jump in the sea."

"Oh, a feisty one, I see."

"Do you want to have your throat slit, hijo de puta?"

"Maybe some other time." Kirkland snickered and suddenly plopped himself down onto an abandoned crate in the corner. "I'm really getting too old for this sort of thing. Look how tired I am." He sighed a mock sigh. "I think I'll just wait until my men come here—probably won't be long."

Antonio remained where he was, not taking his eyes off the English pirate, watching his every move. But Kirkland did nothing—in fact, he leaned back against the wall and closed his one eye.

"If you want to kill me, kill away. I'm at the end of my road, anyhow. When you get to be like me you'll understand, Antonio," he said. "Or maybe you already do."

Antonio did, and because of that he was angry.

Very quietly he nudged Lovino towards the trapdoor, but the Italian didn't budge, instead tugging on Antonio's sleeve to get him to move along. At last the Spaniard relented and they inched slowly away from Kirkland, making their way back to the top. The English pirate must have heard them, however, because he spoke.

"You can wait for me up there. I promise I won't be long."


He was grateful for the sea air for once—it cleared his head and provided a welcome contrast from everything that had just happened. Antonio was all right, but nothing else was. The boat he had rowed had floated away on the ocean current, and there were no others in sight. Lovino felt it necessary to vent some of his anger. And he did so by kicking the railing so hard that his foot felt somewhat numb afterwards.

He felt Antonio wrap his arms around him from behind.

"Lo siento," the Spaniard whispered close to his ear, his voice enough to break a heart. "I'm sorry for everything—"

Lovino quickly disentangled himself.

"Don't you fucking tell me you're sorry, bastard. Not here and not now. I don't want to hear it."

"Lovino—"

"Stop it. Fucking stop it, all right?" He took a deep breath to calm himself before he lost it, ignoring the way Antonio was looking at him, and walked on. "We need to get the hell out before the other motherfuckers arrive. And I just lost my boat."

"We can look for another," Antonio supplied, slowly following him.

"At least you can actually use your head for once—" Lovino stopped short when a blur flashed across the edge of his vision.

It was an Englishman that was not Kirkland—somehow he had survived despite the blood soaking him, and he was standing behind the mast, some distance away, behind Antonio. Something glinted in the dim air and with horror the Italian realized it was a dagger in his hand, poised to throw.

Antonio must have noticed the look on his face, because he turned.

"Lovino, what is it? Is there—"

"Shit—watch out!"

Almost automatically he jumped for the Spaniard and pushed him to the side, out of harm's way.

And at the same time something buried itself inside him with an unearthly screaming pain.


Antonio's mind had frozen up in that split second before Lovino tackled him—but it quickly stirred back to life when something whizzed, a cry sounded, and both of them hit the wooden floor with a heavy thud.

His first thought when he scrambled upright was of the Italian.

Because that had been his voice.

"Lovi—Lovino—are you all right—"

And then his eyes fell upon the Italian lying a short distance away, half curled up and breathing shallowly, one shaking hand reaching out to touch—sticking out of his side—

The hilt of a dagger.

Everything crashed down.

"Lovino! LOVINO!"

Antonio rushed to him, picked him up in his arms, cradled him. The Italian seemed small, so small. Lovino's face was drawn tight and pale with pain, but he still managed to give Antonio a faint smile.

"It—it's not that bad—is it?" he whispered.

Antonio couldn't think. He couldn't speak. He couldn't do anything except shake his head. Because it was Lovino and oh no it couldn't be Lovino not him anyone but him—

"He's... he's getting away," the Italian mumbled.

"No—I don't care!" he choked out. "Lovino—why did you have to—it was meant for me—"

And it couldn't be it couldn't be he was only dreaming only dreaming only dreaming—

Lovino grinned slightly and leaned one hand against his cheek.

"Do you think... I would really... let you die, bastard?"

"Don't do this to me, Lovino. Don't. Please—"

"I love you, Antonio..."

"NO!" He couldn't stop it; he was choking on sudden tears. "Mierda, Lovino, lo siento, lo siento mucho... te amo, eres mi todo, por favor, no..."

Lovino grabbed his face and pulled it down against his, fingers working gently through the sobbing Spaniard's brown curls.

"Don't be... such a... dumbass. I'm not..." His eyes closed. "I'll be okay."

His hold loosened and his hand slipped from Antonio's hair and fell back down into his lap.

"Lovino—NO! LOVINO!"

Frantically he grabbed the Italian's hand, kissed it, kissed his still-warm lips, trying trying trying to reopen those eyes, to get him to wake up again. And then his fingers brushed a spot along Lovino's neck and he felt that faint but unmistakable pulsing that meant—

He was still alive.

Suddenly a loud boom sounded and the floor rocked beneath him and a voice bellowed from afar:

"Arrendersi adesso! Sei in arresto!"


He did not know why, he did not know how, but a stroke of luck had come at the direst moment—Fate, heartless as she was, had turned her head and nodded to them, just once—and now Antonio was on board an Italian ship, under arrest but nonetheless with Lovino.

"Let me see him!" he had shouted when they took Lovino below decks to treat his wound—but oh, how pale he had looked, how small, how fragile...

They had put him onto a bed and taken off his shirt and one man had slowly pulled out the dagger. There had been so much blood, so much blood, even after they had bandaged him and cleaned it off. And at one point, when they had left him alone, Lovino had opened his eyes to see Antonio and smiled faintly and reached out to touch his hand.

"What is it?" the Spaniard whispered when the Italian's lips moved slightly.

"Antonio... come here. Closer."

He did as he was told.

"Promise me... promise me one thing, all right?"

"I will—I will—I'll promise you anything—!"

"Promise me... no matter what happens, stay safe. If they take you away... I'll come back and find you. When I get better..." He must have seen Antonio's expression because his eyes grew sad and anxious. "Please... wait for me. I'll find you... I will."

Antonio tried not to grip his hand too tightly but did so anyway—and he could feel Lovino doing the same.

"I will... I promise." The words tumbled out, heartfelt yet panicked because they had so little time, so little time. "I love you, Lovino, I love you—"

"I love you too, Antonio..."

They kissed, quickly and desperately, Lovino's hands reaching up to touch his face, and he felt dampness that was not water race down his cheeks. And immediately after that Antonio was taken away to another room, away from Lovino, where he was locked up and questioned.

"You are a pirate, aren't you?" an Italian man asked him. His eyes were sharp and hard and so was his voice.

"Yes," Antonio said, "yes, yes—but please, let me see him again—let me see Lovino—"

"Do you know who you're asking to see? Lovino Vargas. I can't grant your request, but I can tell you he is in good hands, and he will be all right." The man's stare redoubled in intensity, and it was as though he were trying to gaze into Antonio's soul. "Now tell me: who are you, how did you meet him and how was he hurt?"

"I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and he—he was captured. And he traveled with us, and he—he took that hit when it was meant for me—"

"What is your relationship with this man?"

"I-I don't know..." He was choking again. He couldn't breathe, he could barely speak. "I love him. I love him. I would do anything for him, anything—"

"Then you will agree to never see him again, for his sake?"

Antonio's head shot up and a wild look entered his eyes. "I—but—"

"For his sake."

He remembered what Lovino had said, and closed his eyes.

"... Yes."

"Good. I knew you would cooperate." A small smile entered the man's face, not reaching his eyes, and he turned to the window behind them. "It's my duty to keep him safe. Because you see, I am his fratello."

When Antonio looked at him again he realized it. The same basic facial features, almost the same demeanor now, almost the same look in his eyes. There were slight differences, to be sure—his mouth seemed to have been made for smiling, he did not have Lovino's hard defined jawline, and there was something altogether more open in his face—although it had all been tucked away before Antonio. And Antonio saw that he was very much like Lovino, but not Lovino.

"So... you're his brother."

". Feliciano Vargas. You wouldn't know how afraid we were when he disappeared... How I searched for him, sent out notices, everything. How my sister worried herself so much she couldn't sleep well for days, weeks. And then you turn up with him, almost dead." His eyes were hard and he whirled on Antonio suddenly. "It's your fault my brother is hurt. It's your fault and you will not see him after this, is that clear? I could have you executed for this—I only have to give the word. But I am sparing your life as long as you leave and never come back. Do you understand?"

Antonio stared at him for a long moment and then he nodded. Feliciano looked at him and then away again.

"Come here and look out the window," he said.

The Spaniard did so, for the second time, and for the second time he was met with a heart-wrenching sight.

Fire had lit up the ocean, burning red-orange fire devouring the ship that he had once called Trinidad, devouring the Spanish ship and the English ships, slowly but surely. And as he watched another explosion split the air. The vessels teetered, large cracks appearing in their wooden hulls, and they dipped dangerously low in the water.

"We aren't taking any more prisoners," the Italian said quietly. Antonio did not respond.

Onward they sailed, aboard the Italian ship which sped through the water ever closer to the shore, where spires stood out beneath the sky, no longer dark. Venice stood before them in all her glory, and yet no one saw any of it.

A crimson glare shone from far beyond them, far beyond the sea.

And the ships continued to sink under the red red light of the rising sun.


x X x


Translations

Capitán (Spanish) - Captain

Dios (Spanish) - God

Mierda (Spanish) - Shit

Lo siento (Spanish) - I'm sorry

Lo siento mucho (Spanish) - I'm so sorry

Eres mi todo (Spanish) - You're my everything

Arrendersi adesso! Sei in arresto! (Italian) - Surrender now! You are under arrest!

Fratello (Italian) - Brother