Chapter 18 : The Art of Reparation

Perhaps they had not left sea at all. Because here he was again, on a ship that reminded him painfully of a smaller version of the Trinidad. But Lovino was beyond welcoming or shunning the memories. He simply stood at the railing, clutching it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

A hand touched his shoulder; without turning he knew it was Antonio, and that he probably looked as concerned as he had been an hour ago.

"Lovino," said the Spaniard in a low, worried whisper. "Please talk to me."

His voice was too gentle, and Lovino felt his throat constrict. Wearily he faced Antonio again, but without meeting his eyes. That would have been too much.

"I'm talking right now," he managed.

Antonio looked as if he might touch Lovino's face—his hand certainly seemed to be moving in that direction. But there were men within sight at the crow's nest. He paused, and settled for patting Lovino's back instead.

"Lovi," he said softly. "Don't worry, all right? It's going to be okay. Remember how Alessandro said they left?" Lovino could only nod mutely. "So… they must have gone somewhere safe before things could get to them. They'll be fine, Lovi. Just fine."

"I suppose so." Lovino could hear his own voice, hanging flatly in the air, giving the illusion of calm. In the silence that followed he turned to the sea. Just a few hours ago it had been serene as the surface of a mirror; but now that they were on it, the water crashed and boiled as if some hidden monster lay beneath, struggling to escape. The ship's deck rocked, as if mocking their efforts to remain steady, thwarting their progress towards Venice.

And before he knew it Lovino had cried out and smashed his fist into the wood. Anger rose high in him, anger with himself, and he punched the side of the ship again, welcome pain exploding in his hand.

"Lovino, no, stop!"

Antonio seized him and hauled Lovino back before he could injure himself further. Somehow Lovino's fingers were throbbing; as if from a distance he saw the skin of his knuckles bruised dark, a cut across the center bleeding freely. But he did not care in the slightest. He tried to retract his hand from the Spaniard's.

"I'm fucking fine! Let go of me!"

But Antonio didn't listen. His grip tightened on Lovino's wrists, and he marched Lovino below decks to the ship's doctor. Sullenly the Italian watched the wound disappear under a pile of bandages; then he found himself back in the room he had been given, with Antonio still holding on to him.

"Let go," he said again, more flatly.

"So you can hurt yourself some more?" Antonio looked as if he too had sustained an injury. "I'm not going to let it happen, Lovino, and you know it."

His eyes flashed hard emerald—not the fire of anger, as no doubt shone in Lovino's—but something like frustration and worry combined. After a long moment he moved closer and put his arms around the Italian. This time Lovino did not resist.

"I'm sorry," he choked out.

Antonio's hand rested gently on his back, the other running through Lovino's hair. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

"But I do. I was unkind to you just now. And I was the same way to fratello and sorella, the only family I had. Now they might even be gone—" His voice cracked.

"No, Lovino, no—"

"I dreamed this would happen," Lovino whispered and felt Antonio freeze. "I saw the villa abandoned, and some man told me I couldn't see Feliciano and Chiara anymore. Or even you. And now it's happening." He could feel himself shaking. "Antonio," he mumbled almost incoherently, burying his face in the Spaniard's shoulder. God, he was so warm. "If I—if I just had another chance... I wouldn't have been like that."

Antonio only held him tighter. His lips brushed across Lovino's forehead.

"Mi amor… all that matters is right now. You're Lovino Vargas, you have a good heart. And your dream was wrong, you know that?"

The Italian looked up to meet his glowing eyes. "R-really?"

"Yes. Because I'm right here with you. And I always will be."

And he said no more, but rocked Lovino gently, and for a while at least the Italian was comforted.

The city loomed up before them, quiet. It was no ordinary quiet now; even from a distance Antonio could sense it. No gondolas passed through the canals. The bridges were empty. The streets were deserted and filthy. Houses and buildings were shuttered; there was no one at the marketplace at this hour. An eerie aura hovered over all, and as they walked through it the Spaniard could feel it settle upon him like a dark substantial cloud.

He reached over to Lovino and pressed his hand comfortingly. The Italian squeezed back, but his face was pale.

"Here, I picked this up from one of the sailors," said Alessandro to his right, and Antonio found himself being handed a short length of cloth. "You may need to tear it apart to share with Signor Vargas over there—we're going to pass through the worst part of the city, so you need to cover your faces. Your ears, too, if you don't take kindly to unpleasant noises."

That was enough to silence them all. Lovino's face had gone whiter than the sheet Antonio gave him, but he was still calm enough to follow, and involuntarily he pressed closer to the Spaniard as they walked.

Alessandro had been right. As they turned the corner into a shadowed street Antonio didn't recognize, a horrible stench hit them like a wall. Antonio could smell it even through the cloth that covered his nose. He wanted to gag—he recognized it.

The smell of death.

And even worse than that, they could hear the voices and exclamations. People were dying all around them, behind the walls of the surrounding houses. They moaned and groaned, old and young alike, in terrible high notes, some wailing, others crying. Agony poured from all the shuttered windows, all the locked doors, filling the air around them. Never in all his years as a pirate had Antonio been afraid of death, but now his blood ran cold at the sounds, and at the sight that suddenly loomed before them.

At the entrance to a house whose doors were open, there stood a cart, the sort farmers used. But this one did not hold hay, or crops, or anything of the sort. It was piled high with human bodies, stiff in death. The limbs that dangled over the side were blackened as if they had been burned.

Alessandro stared pointedly away from the cart, but he had paled. Antonio found himself frozen, transfixed by the grotesque scene. And Lovino—

—He made a low suppressed noise in his throat, and suddenly he bolted, running back the way they had come as fast as he humanly could.

As if Lovino had jerked on some hidden cord binding them all, Alessandro and Antonio automatically followed suit. Antonio was the first to reach the Italian, catching him before he could hit the ground. Lovino had torn off the cloth, and his sobbing breath sounded beside Antonio's ear.

"I can't," he croaked. "I can't go back. Can't fucking… go back… no…"

"We're not going to," Antonio whispered into his hair, fighting down the urge to run to the canal and retch. Alessandro, it seemed, was doing just that.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and came back on unsteady feet. "I… I wasn't expecting that either," he said shakily. "I didn't see it the first time. But… I think I know another way. Slower, though…" His eyes were tired blue, but Antonio could see truth in them. "We need to get back to the villa. At least we can stay there for a while—or both of you can."

Still he kept a respectful distance and waited as Lovino slowly collected himself. Only Antonio held on to his Italian, providing as much support as he could without actually speaking, which was beyond him at the moment. As for Lovino, the Spaniard couldn't blame him. No one could. To have lived in sheltered luxury all his life, and then to see something like this...

Finally Lovino straightened up; he had not regained his color, but at least he looked slightly more composed.

"Let's go, then," he said weakly, and gripped Antonio's hand hard enough for it to be painful.

A subdued Alessandro led them speedily through a different route. They passed more well-known buildings this time and fewer houses, and the streets were significantly quieter for it. The little sunlight left in the late afternoon glared balefully down upon them. But no one took notice of anything, save the path.

"We're almost there," Alessandro said after ten minutes, breaking the silence. "Just around the—" But Lovino had darted ahead with a strange sort of desperation, and Antonio followed on his heels.

The roof of the villa was already visible, and as he rounded the corner Antonio saw it. Outwardly it appeared little changed; but there was a certain melancholy air about it that spoke of abandonment. None of its curtained windows were open, and no light shone within. There were no guards milling around the great locked gates. And the shrubbery and trees on the grounds had already taken the week or so to begin growing wildly, wreathing the villa in disarray.

Antonio finally caught up to Lovino, who had stopped some distance away and stood stock-still, staring up at his old home.

"They—they really did leave," he said despairingly.

"Maybe there's still someone there who can tell us something," said Antonio, trying his hardest to sound hopeful. Woodenly Lovino nodded and followed him to the front of the gates. Antonio paused before them for a minute, then raised his hand and knocked as loudly as he could. The resulting clang sent echoes all the way into the courtyard.

"Is there anyone home?" he shouted, and turned to Lovino for help. It was his home, after all; but the Italian seemed lost for words. Behind them Alessandro had already caught up, and was standing to Lovino's right, looking around nervously.

"Hello? Anyone?"

For what seemed like ages there was still no answer; Antonio's shout had all but vanished into the quiet of the villa. The house was just as still as it had been a few minutes prior, still as dea—

No. Antonio stopped himself before he could finish the thought.

Just as he had begun to lose hope, there came the sound of a door slamming, somewhere, far beyond the gates, and beside him Lovino drew in a sharp breath. It could only have been someone within—and as they listened, footsteps, measured ones, made their way forward until they stopped just around the corner to the entrance. Whoever it was, he evidently did not wish to be seen. There was a short pause, and then—

"Who goes there?" called a young man's voice.

It was not Feliciano, or anyone Antonio recognized. But Lovino's face lit up suddenly and he threw himself against the gates, rattling them as hard as he could.

"Fabio!"

"Signor Vargas?" the man responded incredulously, and then, "You came back!"

And he ran out into the open and unlocked the gates with all haste, welcoming them inside. Fabio was a small man, rather lanky, with a quiet sort of face but sharp eyes. They narrowed as they came to rest on Antonio, but then he noticed Alessandro.

"Oh, you came back."

"With a living letter this time," Alessandro said dryly, his gaze flicking towards Antonio. Fabio only raised an eyebrow in response, but it was clear he understood. It was a strange feeling, being scrutinized by a servant.

Fabio closed the gates securely, then led them through an archway into the courtyard of the villa. As expected, even that was empty; the small bushes and flowers planted by the walls were in the same sort of mess as the plants outside.

"Are you the only one here, Fabio?" Lovino demanded, looking around.

"Yes, sir. Signor and Signorina Vargas, your brother and sister, asked me to wait here for a week to see if you came back. If you hadn't arrived, I would have left by the end of today."

Lovino was staring at him, frozen in shock. It took him several seconds to recover himself. "So... they're all right, then?"

"Yes, sir. They went south, and were kind enough to take my mother and sister along. I'll be joining them soon."

"Did they—did they leave anything for me?" asked Lovino, almost ashamedly.

"As a matter of fact they did, sir. I will bring it to you. But please, do sit."

They had entered a well-furnished parlor, and Fabio bade them occupy three of the large comfortable chairs in the room. Antonio was tempted to move over to Lovino and hold him, but Fabio's eyes drilled him into his seat before he left.

He settled for holding Lovino's hand instead.

"That man," Alessandro remarked after the door had closed. "I remember him. He would always spare me a full journey, by taking Antonio's letters before I could get here. I couldn't even peer through the gates to get a better view."

"I told him specifically to do that," said Lovino, and the younger Italian seemed tempted to deliver a rejoinder, but restrained himself. It was at this moment that Fabio reentered, with a folded piece of paper in one hand.

"This was all Signore left for me—" he began, but Lovino had already leapt up and snatched the paper to read.

Fratello,

I hope this is you reading this letter. If so, then my prayers and Chiara's have not been in vain, and Fabio too will have done his job. I hope you are safe.

As you may have learned, we had to leave home. There was no choice—the plague was brought in somehow, and people were dying all around us. I would have stayed, but for Chiara—and there had to be one to accompany her safely to Palermo.

We had to trust that you were somewhere far enough away to have escaped the disease. And it was hard for him, but we entrusted Fabio to look after the house to see if you came back. He is an honest and loyal man, as you well know, and he will also be rejoining us in Sicily. I am certain he will prove a useful guide, or companion, if nothing else.

That is, if you are coming to Sicily as well.

I am running out of time; we must leave within the next hour or so, because that is when our ship will set sail. I hope you will consider coming back to find us, if only to relieve our worry. I hope that whoever you have found to give you strength and comfort is capable of doing so, and will do so for you endlessly.

Until we meet again, fratello. You must take care.

- Feliciano

Somehow the sea air seemed more breathable by the time they set sail. The sun had begun to set, setting the sky aflame in its light. Lovino could see his shadow stretch ever longer across the deck of the ship.

In his hand he still held the letter from his brother, that read like a letter from a stranger. It was as if Feliciano had given up hope on him, like a parent casting a horrible child out into the street. Reading his words had been akin to swallowing ice.

"Goddammit," he snarled at no one in particular.

"It's all right, Lovino. We'll be there soon."

His anger drained away as quickly as it had come, and he turned to Antonio with a sigh, letting the Spaniard envelop him.

"I don't care if he compliments me or not," said Antonio. "Just don't argue with him over me."

"I wasn't going to," Lovino answered tiredly, allowing himself a moment before he pulled out of Antonio's embrace. "It's just... he seems so far away. Cold. I don't know if he'll ever think of me as a brother again, and—"

"He'll come around. He'll understand. If not understand, at least he might learn to put aside the past. Everyone does."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely. That's what brothers do."

Antonio sounded as sure as Lovino had ever heard him, but he couldn't quite see the Spaniard's expression in the rapidly fading light. He decided not to dwell on it, and, taking advantage of the dimness, stole a quick kiss from Antonio.

But evidently Antonio had not wanted it to be quick. His lips brushed across Lovino's once, twice, more firmly and more fervently than Lovino had expected, and he found himself pushed against the ship's railing, with Antonio's mouth on his and hands on his waist. It was a lingering, longing kiss that made Lovino's heart pound erratically and his hands shake ever so slightly as he reached up to grip the Spaniard's shirt.

"Lovino," he whispered, breathless, and suddenly the Italian understood what his lips were trying to say.

This is stupid of me, but I'm scared. I'm scared I might lose you again.

You won't, responded Lovino, pulling him closer.

But what if—

He won't. He can't. Anything but this.

Lovino...

Sì?

I love you.

I love you too, Antonio.

The stars had come out again, brighter than Antonio had ever seen them. He would have liked to point out the constellations with Lovino, or have Lovino point them out to him, but the Italian had gone to bed an hour ago and his room was the most heavily guarded on the ship—thanks to Fabio. Antonio trying to enter would only have aroused suspicions of the worst kind.

He gazed out at the calm silvery-lit sea, his chest constricting as he remembered the kiss. It should not have caused him pain, but it did now, the same sort of pain he always felt when he thought of Feliciano and his cold voice, asking that he never see Lovino again, and his own promise.

Well, Antonio certainly had broken it now, broken it and flung the pieces to the wind beginning two weeks ago. There was no going back, he never wanted to go back, and yet—if this went on, who would Lovino lose instead?

"If you're looking for the North Star, you're searching in all the wrong places. It's over there."

Antonio turned and found the lanky servant, Fabio, standing by the mast and scrutinizing his face with sharp eyes.

"The North Star? I know where it is." The Spaniard paused. "Lovino showed me."

Fabio's eyes narrowed and he stepped closer. Though he was a full head shorter than Antonio, he still somehow managed to radiate intimidation. "Does every sentence from your mouth have to include Signor Vargas? I find it hard to believe that he's so attached to you still, when you hurt him so badly."

"True," said Antonio, "I did not deserve him. You know what I was before, don't you? I could never have measured up to him in that state." He took a breath. "But I am trying to make it otherwise. I left so I could start anew and come back to him an honest man."

"Very noble. But might I mention that you still do not 'measure up to him,' as you say?"

"I never said I do now. And Lovino can decide well enough; if he doesn't want me, he will tell me himself."

"Ah, and that's where the catch comes in—he does want you to stay. Well, here's a thought: if you're after his money, forget it. There isn't much of it anymore."

Antonio stared at him, a slow feeling of indignation rising in his chest.

"I'm not." He said it flatly; he still remembered a time when he would have thought differently, but that was when he hadn't known Lovino was Lovino—and it was already past now. He would never return to it again. "I don't need money to love him."

"It is certainly easy to say."

"I suppose Feliciano would say the same," he mused. "I wouldn't put it past him either."

"So what will it be, then?" Fabio was unrelenting. "Stay or leave? I would think it's better to hurt him sooner than later."

"I made a promise," said Antonio. "And I plan to keep it. I'll be there for him when he's happy, when he's sad, all the time. And if I must lay down my life for him to be safe, I would do it in a heartbeat. I would do anything. I swear by all that is good and holy in the world, and may lightning strike me dead if I have told a lie."

His words hung heavily in the air long after he had said them. Fabio was staring at him, a look almost of surprise in his dark eyes—or maybe he was still searching for some ulterior motive in Antonio's face. At last he seemed to give up, and turned to walk back the way he had come.

"You had best keep that promise then," he said over his shoulder. "That is, if you know what's good for you."

And he went below decks, leaving Antonio standing alone before the sea and the sky.

They were in for a cruel shock when the ship finally reached their destination. It was an otherwise beautiful day, another day of fleeting clouds and blinding sun in Palermo, but hundreds of people were crowded at the shore, shouting as the ship drew nearer for the captain to take them away. Some even jumped into the sea and began swimming towards them.

The ship's captain, a graying but authoritative man, regarded Lovino, Antonio, Alessandro and Fabio sternly.

"This is why I have not landed for the past few days," he said, ordering his sailors in the same breath to bring the ship no closer to shore. "They are all running from the plague—but not all the ships in the world could save them now."

"But you have space here, can't you take just a few of them?" asked Lovino.

"If I did, the rest of the world would want the same. You do not know how far the plague has spread. It is here, in Venice, all over Italy" —Lovino drew in a breath— "and the rest of Europe as well. I cannot risk catching disease aboard this ship, or it will be the end of us all."

There was nothing more the young Italian could say to that. But he did take out part of what money he had left and pushed the coins into the captain's hands, followed by Antonio, Fabio and Alessandro, who did not have much money at all.

"Grazie, Capitano," said Lovino, "for agreeing to take us this far. You have done us an invaluable service, and I wish you the best of journeys."

A small smile spread across the older man's face, and he immediately had a small boat prepared for them. While they were lowered into the water, he leaned over the side of the ship, and shouted:

"Goodbye and good luck!"

He remained there, waving, until he was too far away to be seen, and the ship began moving farther off into the distance. Lovino watched it go, then turned back to the others and found Fabio and Alessandro working away with the oars.

"Let me row," he said, but Fabio was the first one to refuse.

"No, signore, you must be tired and your—"

"It's been months and you're still going on about that wound, mio Dio. I'm not a weak little girl!" Antonio accidentally let out a snort and Lovino glared at him across the two oarsmen. "Fuck you, it's not funny!"

Antonio looked like he wanted to elaborate on Lovino's swearing, but Fabio's presence effectively prevented it.

"It is my duty, signore," said the servant, and Lovino frowned.

"It is not your duty. You have no duty to anyone anymore except yourself." He watched Fabio's eyes widen as the realization hit him, and allowed himself his first grin in ages. "Fabio, you're released from servitude. You need your freedom after working for us for so long."

The man gaped at him for several minutes before closing his mouth. "That is—that is very kind, signore, and I thank you."

"You don't have to call me that anymore. We're all equal now."

"Yes, but—it may take me some time."

Lovino waved it off, but was quickly interrupted by an excited Alessandro.

"Does that mean I don't have to either?"

"No. And you just left it out again! No pay for a week."

"I take back what I said, about you being an angel compared to my former employer," said Alessandro, feigning hurt. "You are devilish."

"I know."

The brief cheerfulness dissipated rapidly as they reached the shore, and were promptly swarmed by people. Lovino was almost smothered by a large man who had tried to climb into the boat, but the intruder was quickly knocked aside and Antonio had pulled Lovino up onto solid land. Behind them three people had already claimed the boat and were rowing away, but it couldn't be helped. The four men made their way towards the city, Lovino feeling more apprehensive by the minute.

"Did they tell you where they'd be staying?" he asked Fabio.

"Not exactly, but signorina said she was planning to find her husband-to-be. He probably lives close by—"

"I remember where he is," Lovino announced, and walked ahead. "Just around this street, and somewhere over there..."

Thankfully, the street he led them through was considerably quieter, but the silence grew disturbing after a while. Finally they arrived at a relatively fancy villa—incomparable to Lovino's, but decent enough, the color of sandstone. Like the Vargas residence, there was no one guarding the grounds here, and the whole house seemed to be holding its breath. Resolutely Lovino went up to the front and banged on the gates.

"Feliciano? Chiara? Are you there?"

It was as if he had broken a spell—a commotion started up somewhere in the house, and suddenly the curtains in a second-floor window were swept aside, the window itself wrenched open, and there stood his sorella. Upon seeing him she screamed.

"Lovino! You came back!"

Lovino had frozen in pure shock upon seeing her, but her voice moved him. "Sì, Chiara, I'm back!" he shouted. "Open up already!"

Chiara disappeared from the window and he could practically hear her running downstairs, calling for someone. Then she came racing through the doorway, dressed in a flowing rose-colored gown, and unlocked the gates herself before falling into Lovino's arms.

"Fratello," she said, near-sobbing into his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here... we were all so scared..."

Lovino held her tight, a strange feeling pricking behind his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have gone for so long. It was my fault."

"But you're here, and that's what matters."

Feliciano's voice.

Slowly Lovino let go of Chiara, who moved aside to allow him to walk forward. His fratello's face was blank, and he did not move from where he stood.

"I thought you were gone," he said softly. "You don't know—"

But Lovino had already leapt forward and caught him around the shoulders. Feliciano stiffened for a moment, but that was all it took, and at last he relented.

"I'm sorry, Feli," whispered Lovino, and meant it. "I'm sorry for all the things I said and didn't say to you. I was wrong to treat you and Chiara in that way." He pulled back to look Feliciano in the eyes. "Fratello..." he said quietly, his voice pleading. "Will you ever forgive me?"

For a minute Feliciano did not respond, an unreadable expression in his brown eyes. Then he spoke.

"Why do you ask 'will you ever'?" he said finally, and Lovino's heart plummeted. "You make it sound as if I'll never forgive you."

Lovino's heart leapt again. "Does that mean—"

"Sì, Lovi, I forgive you. But really, what is there to forgive? I stopped being angry a long time ago, and I've been doing my best to understand." He looked at Fabio. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for us. And you—" He turned to Antonio. "You had better take good care of him, or else."

"I will," said Antonio, but Lovino had drowned him out with a loud exclamation of joy, grabbing his brother in a crushing hug.