Chapter 8: A Job for Michelotto

Disclaimer: Just in case you forgot, I don't own Cantarella and Yuu Higuri does.

A/N: Yes, there is in fact conflict in this story, because more conflict means more character development. :-)

A/N 2: I'm posting two chapters back-to-back, since the next one's really short, but doesn't really fit with the one before it or after it.

Cesare frowned at the report from France. Damn it all, but Monsier Larangue had to die. He was becoming far too dangerous and things were getting out of control, and the only person who could do it was Michelotto. Unless… could he do it himself? He wasn't as good as Michelotto, though, and he really didn't want to leave anything to chance. Not to mention, he was a lot more obvious, and he couldn't really leave his post.

He sighed. What had happened to his ruthless, conqueror's heart? He was this reluctant to ask his assassin to kill? Would Chiaro hate him for it? No, that was ridiculous; he never had before. The closest he'd come was slapping him across the face, and obviously he'd stayed. Cesare hadn't really cared at the time, but now…. But he had tried to think of other options. Tried pathetically hard, really. No, it had to be done.

"Cesare?" Cesare turned to see Chiaro come in. Chiaro smiled at him and came to put a hand on his shoulder, sending the demons away. "Are you all right? You seem upset." Cesare sighed and stepped away from Chiaro's hand. "Cesa—"

"I have a task for you, Michelotto." Cesare didn't look at him as he spoke.

There was a pause, and Chiaro gave a slight sigh. "Oh."

"Monsier Larangue has become too dangerous and needs to be eliminated." He looked around at Chiaro, feeling awkward and guilty. "I… I tried to think of other options. I've been debating over this for several days, but… I can't see a way around it."

Chiaro met his eyes, looking surprised. "Did you?" He smiled a little. "Well," he said, "I guess it can't be helped." He pulled his mask out of his pocket and put it on, then straightened, Michelotto now, not Chiaro. "Information?"

"He's staying in Venice, in the house of Pergini. You should be able to be back by tomorrow evening." Which meant a night without Chiaro. Well, he would accept it as his punishment. "Here." He counted gold coins into a pouch. "This should be more than enough for travel expenses; you may keep the rest as your reward."

Michelotto frowned at the pouch. "I don't need a reward. I'm not keen on blood money. I'll get on it right away." He gave a slight bow, looking almost like Volpe, which pained Cesare more than any argument would have, and then left the room. It occurred to him that, while Chiaro wouldn't leave him, he might stop the flood of affection he'd been giving Cesare recently. Well, he could get used to sleeping on his own again. He sat down at his desk, glaring at the letter and thinking that world conquerors really ought not to have best friends who hated killing.

…

"No… please. Please, I have a wife and child, please don't…." Monsier Larangue had already been mortally wounded, and no mercy on Michelotto's part would save him now. With a quick thrust through the throat, he was put out of his misery. Sighing, Michelotto disposed of his body and washed his hands. A wife and child. How many other victims had had wives and children? Or ailing parents that needed caring for, or best friends? He scrubbed hard at his palms. Why was it so hard to get the blood of his hands? He closed his eyes. What if Larangue had been someone else's Cesare?

Hands finally clean, Chiaro got to his feet. He'd forgotten in the last few weeks that Cesare was still a conqueror. Not completely forgotten, of course… but he had been caught off guard when Cesare asked him to kill again. Which was absurd, of course. He was Cesare's assassin. He might also be Cesare's best friend and knight, but he was still Cesare's assassin. And Cesare was still the type to send assassins after his enemies. He was still a conqueror who wanted to be a king, and he was still possessed by demons.

In some ways, Chiaro had always wanted, and still wanted, to see Cesare's dream come true. When he was young, he had thought it a grand adventure to be the right hand man of a tragic conquering hero. But so much had happened between now and then. He'd killed dozens of people on Cesare's orders and seen lives fall apart. He'd seen Cesare become more and more frustrated and angry the longer this went on. He'd seen him go into fits and spasms when the demons "helped" him. Conquering the world no longer seemed worth the destruction it would cause. But some part of him still wanted Cesare to achieve his dream because he thought it might possibly make Cesare happy. That it might be some compensation for all he had gone through. That afterwards, Cesare might be able to find peace, if he survived.

Most of Chiaro, however, knew that he was deluding himself. Conquering the world would not bring Cesare peace, satisfaction, or happiness. Nothing would ever compensate for the demons, because the demons would take him if he kept accepting their help. The only reason he killed for Cesare now was to keep him safe, and to keep him from having to kill himself. And he had to keep accepting the fact that he would never be able to stop killing people, as long as he stayed with Cesare.

And yet… this time had been different. Cesare had been reluctant—shockingly reluctant. Not because he cared about killing people necessarily, but because he hadn't wanted to ask Chiaro to kill people. He'd gone to the extent of looking for other options. This made Chiaro wonder—how many people had Cesare done this with? How many potential victims had escaped assassination because Cesare hadn't wanted to make Chiaro kill? He would have to ask Cesare when he returned. Which he ought to do quickly. Cesare might not be able to sleep without him.

…

Cesare apparently was addicted to Chiaro. Because he hadn't slept at all the night Chiaro was gone and had finally given up and went to study politics, accompanied by his host of demons. He'd been in a bad mood the entire day since, to the point where Volpe sullenly apologized for not being Chiaro. He'd been very moody about Chiaro lately. Cesare would have to do something about that eventually.

"Chiaro is back, Lord Cesare," Pedro said, coming into his office. "He sent me to tell you everything went fine."

"Thank you, Pedro." Pedro bowed and walked away. So, Chiaro wasn't coming to talk to him himself. Cesare sighed, and went to seek out his assassin. He needed more information that that… and he wanted to know if Chiaro was okay.

He found Chiaro in his room-turned-semi-library, sitting by the fireplace and still wearing his mask. He hesitated at the doorway, wondering if he should go in. He doubted Chiaro wanted his company at the moment, which meant another night without him. Possibly several; maybe even indefinitely. Well, honestly, it would probably be better for his plans anyway. It seemed world domination didn't fit very well with Chiaro's angelic affection. He pointedly ignored the pain in his heart and the demons mocking him.

Presently, Michelotto turned and saw him, then looked back at the fire. "Everything went fine," he said. "I told Pedro to tell you. No one saw and there's no evidence to point to either of us."

"Thank you," Cesare said, feeling like he ought to say something. He stepped into the room, even though he thought Chiaro probably didn't want him there. "You know, you can take your mask off." Michelotto made no move to do so. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." There was a slight note of defiance in his voice that hadn't been there in several weeks.

Cesare went closer until he could pull the unresisting Michelotto's mask off, briefly enjoying the freedom around his hand before pulling away. Then he saw why Chiaro had kept the mask on. He was crying. And Cesare ached to comfort him, as he'd promised himself he would, but how could he comfort Chiaro when it was his fault? "Chiaro…."

"I'm fine," Chiaro said again, rubbing his sleeve across his face. "He begged for his life, and it threw me a little, but I'm fine." He took his mask back from Cesare and reached into his pocket, handing back the pouch Cesare had given him. "Your change. I don't want it."

Cesare took it reluctantly, and it occurred to him suddenly that there was really only one way he could make up for this. He didn't really want to, but… it was unfair to keep putting Chiaro through this. "I'll hire another assassin," he said.

Chiaro looked around in surprise, then looked alarmed. "But I did fine, I did what you wan—"

"Not to replace you," Cesare interrupted. "I mean… you would be my companion and I can have someone else do the killing. You'd like that, right?"

Chiaro met his eyes, then looked down, smiling a little. "You really like me a lot, don't you?"

"I'm serious, Chiaro."

There was a pause, then Chiaro shook his head. "No. I don't want you to. I mean, I obviously can't stop you, but I'd rather you not."

This was unexpected. "Why?"

But Chiaro answered with another question. "I was thinking about it on the way home. How many men have you thought about killing in the last two weeks but decided not to because you didn't want to make me?"

Cesare blinked and thought about it. "Three."

Chiaro smiled a little. "That's why. You think twice. You try to come up with other options. You wouldn't do that with another assassin. I can't be your sheath unless I'm also your sword, so I don't want you to hire someone else. Besides, someone else adds another level of complication."

"Well, I'd prefer not to," Cesare said. "I just thought… you might like me to."

Chiaro shook his head.

"Very well," Cesare said, a little disappointed by his complete failure to remedy the situation. "Well… goodnight."

He started to walk away, and got to the doorway before Chiaro said, "Wait…."

He turned around and saw that his friend was on his feet, looking like he wanted to say or ask something but didn't know how. Cesare hesitated. Did Chiaro want him to comfort him? Taking a chance, he crossed back to where Chiaro was standing and drew him into a hug, trying not to notice the sudden freedom from his demons that he hadn't felt in nearly two days. Chiaro held onto him tightly. He took a deep breath and let it out. "He had a wife and child. That was why he begged me, but by then he was already mortally wounded. I really need to start getting them… on the first try."

Cesare frowned. The man's wife and child would starve. He was only of peasant origins, after all, even if he had become a dangerous army commander. Chiaro probably knew that too. "We'll send reparations," he said on a whim.

Chiaro let go a little to stare at him in disbelief.

"An anonymous gift to console them in their loss. So they'll have enough money to live on, and so his wife will have a dowry for a second marriage if she wishes."

"You'd do that?" Chiaro looked incredulous.

"Would it make you feel better?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

Chiaro continued to stare, but now he was smiling a little. "Thank you." He paused and his eyes softened. "You… you really are changing a lot lately." His smile broadened. "Volpe would probably kill me if he knew why." He hugged Cesare again. "Well, we should probably go to sleep. I'm tired." He let go and started toward Cesare's room. Cesare stood for a moment, confused. "Are you coming?"

"You want to?"

Chiaro blinked, then smiled. "Cesare, I still like you."

"Why?" Cesare still didn't understand this. He was not a likable person. He didn't even like himself.

"Well, at the moment," Chiaro said, "because you're going to send reparations to the Larangue family."

Cesare blinked. "It changes?"

Chiaro gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "Cesare," he whined, "I'm tired."

"All right, all right." Putting aside his confusion, Cesare followed Chiaro back to his room.