I'll make up a bed for you, since it's late, and it smells like it's going to rain soon, and you look like you've been soaked enough for one night. I'm sorry, I didn't notice before, or I would have gotten you dry clothes."
"I'll change after dinner; they're almost dry now anyway." Forthwind smiled, and wanted to dance with joy when Brom tentatively returned it.
Outside, unnoticed by either, a shadowy figure smiled softly and faded off, headed back across town to his own rooms, Forthwind's note tucked into the sash of his yukata.
Chapter Twelve
"Fool that I am...that I did not tear out my heart the day I resolved to revenge myself."
― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Dante's raised sandals clacked loudly on the cobblestones, all the louder for the early morning hour. The nightsoil workers were finishing up the last of their work, and farmers and shopkeepers were beginning their days as a last few straggling drunken nobles would be stumbling into their beds—or going straight on to breakfast.
He passed only a smattering of people on his way, a light drizzle falling. He barely needed the umbrella he'd brought along, but he hated when his hair got wet. It was already heavy, given its length and thickness. Getting it wet just made it exponentially worse.
Several food carts were ready to go for the morning rush that would begin in another ten, twenty minutes. Dante paused at one that was selling stuffed bread, picking out one filled with red bean paste and another filled with sweet espresso cream. Another cart provided a marvelous shot of espresso to chase the sweet breakfast down, and then he was on his way again.
Despite the years that had passed, years where anger and a desire for vengeance had chipped away at Ferro Carac and carved out Amore Dante, he'd never forgotten his way around the city.
He'd certainly never forgotten the path to Janshai's shop, though he dreaded making that walk. At night, stealing the contraband Acaeus had intended for pirates, had been easier.
Now, though… now was going to be more difficult. Of all the betrayals he'd endured that day, Brom and Janshai had hurt the most. His family was his family, and after he'd had time to calm down, their backstabbing had surprised him least.
The kindly old man who'd always seemed to care for him…
Well, all clams looked the same at a glance. It took paying attention to figure out which ones were dead inside.
Never mind trying to find the ones that contained pearls.
His mind immediately pulled up memories of Naoki. A stolen kiss in the rain. Dante jerked his head sharply, trying for the hundredth time to banish the damnable image. What had he been thinking? Why would he ever do something as stupid as kiss an Ishikawa? Loving one had destroyed him. The Ishikawa and the Ferro were too full of rot.
Try as he might, he could not forget that moment he'd realized when Naoki was far more than a spoiled drunk. When he'd realized just how deep Naoki's pain and sadness ran. That depth was achingly familiar, and Dante hated it. He didn't want to understand, let alone resonate, with a fucking Ishikawa.
That kiss. Why, why had he done that? The memory of it, Naoki's warm mouth, that delicate body flush against his own, the surprising strength in the slender arms around his neck. He still didn't know why he'd done it. Something in him had not been able to bear seeing Naoki so deeply entrenched in such a stupid lie. Ugly. Naoki was easily the most beautiful person in Verona. If his mother was alive, she would consider Naoki her greatest triumph, her glory. She would have fought to ensure he married into royalty, became a principe or an imperial consort.
Instead, he was left to rot, used and abused, mostly by a jealous, insecure stepmother who couldn't stand her children weren't half as impressive. Well, no, that wasn't fair. Haru was more than half. Not quite a rival, but not easily dismissed either.
No, this was stupid. He shouldn't be wasting his time and energy thinking about Naoki's beauty. Or his mouth. Or his everything else that Dante wanted to see, because apparently he really was the world's biggest damned fool.
As the dumpling shop engraved in his mind came into view, Dante tried yet again to force thoughts of Naoki from his mind. It worked this time, but only because his mind was well-trained to focus when revenge was right in