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The temple to Bellenos stood proud in the center of Halcyon. Its magnificent dome, as pale and perfect as the moon, arose far above any other edifice on the island—save perhaps the towers of the princely palazzo, which lay just a stone’s throw beyond it.
In theory, Lucrezia could be standing in one of those towers even now and watching as Enzo strode into the piazza to meet his courtesan. In practice, she likely had far more important matters to concern herself with and had settled for trusting in Carlotta to keep close on Enzo’s heels.
Enzo hadn’t yet spotted Carlotta this morning on his jaunt through the city. He knew she followed him regardless.
The fountain in front of the temple was likewise enormous. Marble nereides, dolphins, and serpents frolicked amidst at least a dozen spouts in the scallop-shaped basin. Above them all arose a sculpted wave bearing the god Bellenos in androgynous mortal guise. The nude contrapposto pose, with one arm gently curled around a vicious barnacled trident, displayed to full advantage the lithe arms, slender waist, supple thighs, and a peculiarity not unlike Enzo’s own.
“Admirable, isn’t it?” said a voice at Enzo’s elbow.
Enzo turned to find Fiore at his side, leaning back with his arms propped up against the rim of the fountain as if he’d always been there.
“A masterpiece,” Enzo agreed, smiling beneath his mask. He gestured towards the benches ringing the fountain. “Shall we sit?”
The shadow of a grimace flickered across Fiore’s perfect face—just for a moment. “We might stroll, if you’re not already winded from the journey here.”
“Not at all,” Enzo replied. He held out his arm to Fiore.
Fiore pushed off from the fountain with a wince. He put a smile over it quick enough and twined his arm through Enzo’s own. But still, on his first step, he’d winced.
Enzo drew upon the hints and reached a conclusion. “Rough night?”
Fiore gave him a startled glance. It melted into a smile not of pageantry but of genuine relief. “Something like.”
“Should we do something more restful?” Enzo asked.
Fiore shook his head. “I’ve had worse.”
Enzo didn’t find that particularly comforting. But Fiore laid his head against his shoulder, and when he stepped forward, Enzo felt compelled to follow. Fiore could lead him into a dark alley to rob and murder him for all he cared. It felt worth it to spend but a moment at his side.
Fiore did not lead him down a dark alley. Rather, he led him around the rim of the fountain to admire the back view of the strong-yet-supple Bellenos.
“Have you learnt the trick to the city’s fountains?” Fiore asked Enzo. “How to tell which are seawater and which are fresh?”
For Enzo, the trick had been to follow Vittorio’s lead on their morning ambles. The hound had a better nose than he for which fountains to drink from and which to spurn. But for those who didn’t have a faithful hound at their side, Enzo knew not how they could tell one from the other, and so he shook his head.
Fiore seemed more eager than otherwise for the opportunity to explain. “Well, for one, the fresh-water ones are smaller. Nothing like—” Fiore gestured up at the grandiose sculptural marvel before them. “They only ever have just the one spout. And it’s always a human mouth. Or a god in mortal guise,” he added. “Silvanus. Faunus. Bacchus. That sort of thing. What’s good for them to drink is good for you.”
“What’s good for the gods is good for the gander?” Enzo suggested with a smile.
Despite being unable to see the smile beneath Enzo’s mask, Fiore returned it. “Precisely. Their ambrosia is our fresh-water. There is another hint, however. Have you a guess?”
Enzo shook his head.
Fiore’s fingertips trailed through the air before them to trace the distant curve of a particular spouting dolphin. “The seawater fountains depict the creatures that dwell in it. Porpoises, serpents, shells, nereides… and, of course, Neptune himself. Whereas the fresh-water fountains, on the rare occasion when they’re more than a mere face embedded in a wall, depict greenery. Mostly foliate heads.”
“Foliate heads?” Enzo echoed.
“A face formed from leaves. Sometimes disgorging them as well, alongside the fresh-water. Further proof of its nourishing qualities.”
Enzo knew Fiore had dwelled in the city for far longer than himself. Therefore it didn’t surprise him that he knew which fountains to drink from. But the depth and reasoning behind the knowledge seemed to bespeak something more than the mere practicality of a casual resident. Which prompted him to enquire, “How came you to be such a local historian?”
Fiore laughed. “I’m not. But one of my gentlemen was. A librarian for a noble household,” he added in response to Enzo’s curious glance. “Gnaeus—or so he told me to call him. City histories were his pillow-talk.”
“Were?”
Fiore’s smile transformed into something more wistful. “He’s not visited me since he married. Which is a shame, for he paid well, but his wife loves him more than I ever could, so I may content myself with his contentment.” He turned from the fountain to the temple behind. “You’ve already seen the interior, I assume. Mosaics, murals, dragon bones, and all?”
Enzo had. No aristocratic family in the city could escape participation in the pageantry of all the holy festivals on the calendar. Supposedly he could trace his own ancestry to those very dragon bones. In reply to Fiore’s enquiry, however, he simply nodded.
