Chapter 14 : Love's Labors Lost

Lovino had forgotten how criminally bright the sun could be in Italy. It streamed through the open window, striking his eyes with a vengeance, and he cursed loudly at it before reaching over to yank the curtains shut angrily. Only when the room was suitably dark did he finally open his eyes.

And that was how he spied the small slip of paper on the floor.

Instantly his heart and mind leapt to irrational conclusions. It had to have been Antonio who'd left it. No doubt he'd come in the middle of the night—Lovino cursed his own weakness, he should've been awake then—and no one else would have reason or ability to climb to his window like that.

But the note... he strained to reach it, his side protesting the action, but at last he managed it without tearing his wound open. With shaking fingers he unfolded it. The message was hardly a message, but even the sight of the familiar writing took a weight off his chest that he hadn't realized was there.

The Singing Mermaid. Heracles Karpusi. Ask for me and he will know.

Antonio was all right! Most likely he hadn't had enough time to write the note—Feliciano still kept just as many guards as before, if not more, since Lovino's disappearance—and this must be where he was hiding. All Lovino had to do was go meet him.

But he quickly realized it wasn't happening—any movement in any direction produced a sharp pain in his side, as if he might injure himself all over again. He remembered what the doctor had said while he'd been half-conscious: that any strain could worsen his internal injuries, which would bleed, and then there would be no hope for him after that.

He lay back down, more angry than truly fearful. But his mind was whirling through possible plans of action. If he couldn't go he'd have to send someone else… but the problem was choosing the right someone…

Suddenly footsteps echoed up the stairs and Lovino heard voices, one female, one male. Sorella and fratello, come to check on him. He gave a loud groan and quickly slipped the note under his blankets, just as the door opened with a bang and the pretty girl bounded into the room.

"Lovino! You're up already! How do you feel?"

"Perfectly fine, except I can't fucking move," he growled. The dark circles under his sister's and brother's eyes only added to his unease and guilt; here they'd been, worrying about him for who knew how long, and all Lovino had done upon returning was shout about running after Antonio. But then again they didn't know him like Lovino did… "Is there anything to eat? I'm starving."

"Oh!" Chiara turned to the servant behind her. "Fabio, bring us some food, won't you? If Paola isn't done yet, just give her a hand or something."

Lovino eyed the young man as he went obediently out without a word. Here was someone who could do the job, he thought. Fabio was slight of build, quick and not very talkative, though he had an honest look about the eye and face; he'd served the Vargas household from boyhood, and never complained. Not too young to be inexperienced, not too old for reluctance—just Lovino's age, where everyone understood each other. Yes, he would be the best choice.

"No fever, and he's in stable condition," announced the doctor, feeling Lovino's pulse with a wrinkled hand. Lovino hadn't even noticed he was there. "If signore rests for a few more weeks, perhaps a month, the recovery should commence quickly."

"A few weeks!?"

"Sì, signore, that is the only way," the doctor said gravely. "Although I have medicine that can stop pain, it is best not to move for the time being."

"He's right, fratello. Now please calm down." Feliciano's face was surprisingly stern; Lovino couldn't recall the last time he'd seen him like this, like an older brother almost. Everyone seemed to have changed since he was gone. "Now if you'll eat a little and get some rest like Dottoro just advised—"

"I know," said Lovino irritably. "You don't see me moving."

"Ah, here he is!"

Chiara stopped both of them, clapping her hands together as Fabio entered the room with a tray.

"Paola couldn't send up the maids," he said quietly. "Aria and Anna are out in the market, Maria is missing, and the others are washing—"

"Maria? Why, where is she? I thought I saw her yesterday night..." And Chiara left quickly, her pleasant face worried. Feliciano dismissed the doctor and gave Lovino a long, hard stare.

"She doesn't know yet about... the Spaniard," he said carefully, avoiding Antonio's name. Well, he certainly had no qualms revealing this particular secret to Fabio. "Don't tell her; it'll only worry her further."

Lovino blinked slowly at him. "I won't."

"Good." Feliciano still looked disapproving—what the hell was up with him?—and glanced away for a second. They heard Chiara calling his name from down below, and he sighed and turned to the door. "Fabio, help him for me. When you're done come find me—there's something I want you to do later." Then he, too, exited the room.

Fabio was quiet for a minute, as was his wont, but his brown eyes fixed intelligently on Lovino.

"Did you have something to tell me, sir?"

Here was a sharp one, Lovino thought, beckoning him over and pushing aside the tray. "I can eat by myself; I don't need anyone's help for that. But tell me, Fabio, have you any family?"

"Yes," replied Fabio without expression. "A mother and a younger sister."

"Well then. You will leave this afternoon because your mother is sick." The young man gazed steadily at him. "I need you to follow the instructions here" —Lovino brought out the note— "and find for me a Spaniard called Antonio. Then come back and tell me everything."

"Yes, sir." Fabio allowed the note to be placed into his hand. He did not open it, only glanced at it with interest. "I will keep it a secret if you so desire."

"That's exactly what you'll do. If you can go later, and come back before supper, I'll give you twice the pay you usually earn, and in advance. Understand?"

The young man bowed. "It shall be done, sir."

"All right then. You may go."

After Fabio had gone, Lovino sat and regarded the food before him, without hunger or interest. At last he ignored it in favor of his thoughts. In the almost-darkness of his room it was easy to imagine some tall Spaniard hiding in the shadows, waiting to surprise him with his arrival; it was easy to imagine how things would be when they were together again. He was almost a part of Lovino, with him all the time.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself, clenching the sheets. "Antonio... you'd better come back..."

True to his word, Fabio was gone by afternoon, under the pretense of going to visit his mother. No one had questioned him, a reassuring fact for Lovino, who still slept only fitfully in his absence.

Evening soon arrived, and the sun began to set, casting its last rays through Lovino's drawn curtains. After realizing for the hundredth time he couldn't get up as he'd used to, the Italian lay and stared at the ceiling. If Fabio was true to his word he'd be back in a few minutes, probably with good news of Antonio—most definitely with good news of Antonio.

Raising himself up halfway, he glanced out the window. The path underneath was dark, but in the dim light of the lamps the guards carried he could see a shadow moving under the trees. Slim and not very tall—it had to be Fabio. Lovino waited a good five minutes, allowing him time to enter through the back gate, and then called up one of the maids.

"Is Fabio back yet? I need to talk to him." He made his voice sound appropriately stern. The girl nodded and went downstairs to carry out his order.

Still Fabio seemed to take his time. It was, to Lovino, almost ages before the sound of his light footsteps could finally be heard. By the time Fabio entered the room Lovino was nearly out of his mind.

"What did you hear?" he all but shouted. "Tell me!"

Carefully the young man shut the door behind him before approaching, his face devoid of emotion.

"I went to The Singing Mermaid as you instructed, signore. Heracles Karpusi was there, the innkeeper. I asked him where I could find a Spaniard named Antonio..."

"What did he say?"

"He said..."

"What did he say?"

"He said... Antonio left. He... ran away in the morning when the authorities came questioning. Heracles said he was with an Englishman."

Lovino's heart stopped beating for a split second and a wave of cold washed over him.

"He left...?"

"Yes... but he also left a note with Heracles. He said it was for you, sir..."

No sooner had Fabio produced the note than Lovino snatched it from his hand, opening it so quickly he almost tore it at the fold.

Dear Lovino,

By the time this reaches your hand—if it does reach your hand—I'll probably be on some ship sailing north. Either because I had to avoid being captured, or because... well, that part doesn't really matter. I don't want to get caught and endanger you by being here. I know a lot of people have heard of us by now. There are rumors going around in the streets.

I didn't want it to be this way. I wanted to lay low for a while until the danger passed, then return and find you. But I guess I have to do this somewhere other than Venice—that's probably for the best. Don't worry about me, I'll be safe. I don't know when I'll come back... but I won't forget you. In spite of everything... I won't ever forget you.

And if you love me, Lovino, if you ever loved me, instead of someone else—please don't forget me either. Please.

I love you.

- Antonio

He couldn't remember a time when nightmare had become so much like reality. He was running, running toward something, or someone—someone he wanted to see so badly, so badly—and he kept stumbling, kept running into things, while that someone slowly but surely slipped further away.

The courtyard was quiet, and he had left through the back gate; there was almost no one here, save the few guards, and Lovino could just stagger past them if he were quiet enough. He had told Fabio to get a horse ready for him.

He would ride to Heracles' inn and force him to tell where Antonio had boarded the ship, where he had planned to go. Then he would follow and find him. Surely he couldn't have gone too far. It hadn't even been a day. And ships traveled slowly on shallower water.

With every heartbeat reverberated the name. Antonio. Antonio. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't. He needed Antonio. He needed those strong arms around him, those gentle lips against his, that solidity, that security. He needed him like he needed air and sustenance. And now—Fate was being cruel to them, to Lovino, so cruel.

Nowhere ahead of him did he see a horse. But maybe it was somewhere in the shadows and he, without a light, had simply overlooked it. Wildly he turned—perhaps it was over to the right—made in that direction, bracing himself against the clattering pain of his wound and the weakness of his limbs.

And then his foot caught onto something—a stone or a root—and he tumbled to the ground. There was no one to catch him, not even Antonio—he heard voices shouting his name, but none of them was the Spaniard's—he breathed Antonio's name one last time, willing him to hear, and then darkness closed over him.

Fabio had been faithful to his more sensible master. At the first sign of the older Vargas' mad plan to go running into the night, he had trusted his better judgment and told Feliciano, despite the violent reaction he received. Feliciano had gone so far as to accuse Fabio of falsehood, especially when he'd gone to see Lovino and confirmed him to be all right. Then Chiara had gone to check on him at eleven o'clock and found his bed empty, the back gates swinging open, Lovino lying in a heap near the trees.

Though his bruises were minor and his wound had thankfully not grown worse, Lovino was not the same after they brought him back. He made physical improvements, seemed on the way to recovery from his injuries; he was quiet and docile enough, but often sat listlessly and stared into space, speaking almost to no one. Occasionally they'd hear him murmur something which sounded suspiciously like "Antonio." But no one dared comment on it.

He also seemed to be waiting for letters of some sort, and would demand this incessantly of whichever unfortunate maid or man happened to pass by. If he received an answer in the negative, he would sit sullenly or start shouting enough to shake the walls. Feliciano had no way of calming him when he was in one of these moods; Chiara tried, but for some reason Lovino avoided her in particular.

One day when the two other Vargas siblings were away and Fabio instructed to keep the house in order, Lovino summoned him to his bedside. He looked outwardly calm, but he had a strange request.

"Send this letter to Antonio for me," was all he said.

Fabio was about to protest that no one had heard from Antonio in a month, that whoever knew would probably have turned him in to the authorities, but wisely he kept his mouth shut. So he took the letter and retreated. At first he had debated on giving the letter to Feliciano or Chiara, but that would only spark argument; throwing it away would be too hardhearted of him. And because he was a servant, and therefore much invested in his master's business, he finally decided to read it.

Dear Antonio,

Where the fuck did you go? Why haven't you come back? You said you'd never leave me. I've been waiting for you for ages and it's driving me mad. I miss you, you know. Miss you so much it hurts enough to kill. I hear your voice in my head every day, hell, I even see you in the dark sometimes when no one else is around.

But where are you? Why aren't you here?

I still have your letter, you know. I read it all the time. Why did you write that part—"if you loved me, instead of someone else"? I do love you, you know—so much. Everything about you—your voice and your smile and the way your eyes shone so bright when you laughed. And how warm you were and how soft your lips felt when you kissed me. That heroic expression of yours whenever you had to do something important. It's not fair how you take over my life like this, you stupid pirate. You've taken everything with you and left me nothing. Fucking come back to me. Come back and make things right again. Don't leave me here alone because I can't stand it. Please.

Antonio.

Please come back.

Lovino never asked what became of his letter, and Fabio never found a right time to say it. But both of them knew when another few weeks passed, that there wouldn't be an answer.

The villa became increasingly quiet, even though it should have been a good thing that Lovino Vargas had finally returned and would not be kidnapped by pirates again. Oftentimes Feliciano would pace up and down, brooding, while Chiara bent over her sewing and shed a silent tear or two. Fabio and the other servants would observe them worriedly from the sidelines, not knowing what to do with their masters and mistress when they were in this state. Only the older ones, like Paola, could sufficiently comfort them.

Almost three months had passed since the day Lovino attempted his escapade. Still no one spoke of it. Sometimes Lovino would look out his window towards the spot where the road was shadowed by trees, and his eyes would grow unbearably sad.

Fabio, seeing his master like this, wanted desperately to do something to reverse it. He still remembered the days when young Lovino had thrown temper tantrums and flung toys on the ground for him to pick up. It had been a long time since then. Long enough for Lovino to grow older and much more rash. He rather wished Lovino would assign him some ridiculous task that didn't involve a Spaniard, which Fabio would perform ridiculously and thus excite a laugh from him. At least things would be more cheerful then.

But they weren't.

It was three months to the fateful day, three months and three hours to be exact. The great house was quiet and its inhabitants were still. And then Fabio, strolling outside the grounds on his way to the market, was accosted by an oddly dressed young man on foot, a man with the fair hair and blue eyes of the north.

"Is this the way to the Vargas villa?" he asked.

"What is your business there?" Fabio countered just as smoothly.

"I have been sent here—I have an urgent message for him."

"Signor Lovino Vargas?"

"The very one."

"Well, he is not available to see anyone at present. I am his servant. I will take whatever information you give me, and pass it on to him."

The young man nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable, and brought out from his bag a small envelope. This he gave to Fabio, along with a few whispered words, before turning back the way he had come and strolling off.

Fabio, thoroughly confused and not a little excited, decided to postpone his trip to the market in favor of rekindling the light in his master's eyes.

And in that endeavor he was not disappointed.