CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“No, I absolutely forbid it.”

Shade stared at Dante as he shuffled papers on his makeshift desk – some farm wife’s kitchen table, old and worn, but polished to a sheen – and murmured to the village men coming and going from the hovel he’d commandeered. Her announcement that she was returning for Raiden had barely ruffled him, and his casual refusal left her mute. It was bad enough he’d been ignoring her ever since they’d arrived at this far-flung Veil, but for him to forbid her from saving Raiden? It was too much.

“You forbid it?” she finally managed to say. She put a hand on a blade hilt and gave him a look she reserved only for idiots. “Since when did the Faces grant you the power to forbid me anything?”

Dante sighed impatiently, gathering sheets of parchment to hand to one of his attendants. Orders for supplies and equipment, everything he needed to outfit what was left of his men. Preparing for war, or so it seemed. Not that he’d included her on any of the planning.

She watched him, seething silently. His dark hair was pulled back into its usual neat braid, and there was no trace of the devastating wound he’d taken to the skull, one even worse than hers had been. After digging him from the wreckage of the villa, Korin had healed the deep crack in Dante’s head, most assuredly saving his life. Poor Marco, his valet, hadn’t been so lucky – he’d shielded his lord with his own body. It had broken her heart to learn the sweet, old man was dead, but she’d been comforted knowing Lizette had escaped. The elderly lady’s maid had led the villa’s staff to safety amid the chaos. For all her frippery and feminine airs, she was iron.

Shade touched the scar at her own hairline, her fingers tracing the pale mark. Like Dante’s wound, it was faint and nearly healed, thanks to Korin. Normally, she would have let it heal on its own, but she itched to return to Sicaria. The fact that Cyril and the boys had also survived, and opted to stay behind in Sicaria, was her only consolation. They would watch out for Raiden, she was as sure of it as her own blades.

Meeting her gaze at last, Dante leaned back in his chair, gesturing for the village men to leave them alone. They scurried from the room, bobbing respectfully as they exited. One threw Shade a satisfied smirk. Maybe he thought Dante was about to chide her for her impudence? She bared her teeth at him, and he flounced out with his nose in the air.

Dante sighed. “You shouldn’t antagonize the locals. They don’t know what to make of you, and I can hardly blame them.”

“They can all go to the lowest hells.”

Since they’d arrived, the “locals” had shown her only disdain, giving her hostile stares when they weren’t snickering behind her back. Children dogged her heels only to run shrieking when she turned on them with a snarl. It had been amusing… the first day. Even most of Dante’s men didn’t know what to make of her, having known her as the Lady Nox. But she wasn’t about to hide behind a dress again, or even in tunic and trousers as Dante’s callow fosterling. No, she would be herself. And she would wear her blades like a bloodwizard.

She adjusted her knife belt, settling it comfortably on her hips. The village tailor had scowled through her specifications for more suitable garb, muttering under his breath about the “scandal” it would cause for her to parade around in a snug-fitting vest and skirt of leather pteruges. But he’d produced the clothing. Having Angelo and Matteo scowling at her shoulders had encouraged him.

At some point, the brothers had decided to become a sort of honor guard for her and were never far away. They had stood side-by-side with her after their wild ride from Dante’s villa, facing what they thought had been an enemy at the time. She would forever be grateful to them, and if she couldn’t have Cyril and the boys at her back, at least she had them.

“Nevertheless,” Dante continued. “We don’t want to bring suspicion on us. We need time to regroup.”

She scowled. She wasn’t worried about these Veil-dwellers. Tales of the Black Witch hadn’t reached this insular village within Enrice Veil, luckily, so most of the villagers thought she was some painted whore. He had made no comment about her choice of clothing, just given her a raised eyebrow before returning to his work. Also infuriating. Of course, he was dressed as a Corsaro soldier, too: bare-chested, skirt of armored leather strips, knife belt, and sandals. The people of this interior Veil knew him as “Capo Donatello”, never suspecting he was a city-prince of Sicaria, and the last scion of a First Family.

Forcing her scowl into a smile, Shade sauntered around the makeshift desk. It pleased her to see his eyes linger on her legs. The short kilt left a scandalous amount of tattooed skin exposed. He’d seen her dressed this way before, of course, but since their kiss he hadn’t bothered hiding appreciative glances anymore. When he’d bothered to give her glances…

“It won’t matter much longer,” she said, perching on the edge of the desk, her leg nearly touching his. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

He regarded her, lacing his hands behind his head, his long legs sprawled beneath the table. “I agree, you will be leaving soon.” He clucked his tongue at her sudden grin. “But you won’t be returning to Sicaria.”

“I won’t abandon Raiden. You can’t ask me to do such a cowardly thing.”

“Do you think Raiden Mad would appreciate you racing into a den of lions to save him? Do you think it would please him to see you die at the hands of the Brotherhood for his sake?”

“You know Cyril and the boys stayed behind to keep an eye on him. Even if he’s being held in the deepest dungeon in the Brotherhood citadel, they’ll find a way to reach him. And if they can get to him, I can get to him. I’ll have him out of there, and into the Wastes before the Brotherhood has a clue.”

“There isn’t time for you to go running back to Sicaria, and you know it.” He shifted forward in his chair, lowering his hands to take her by the waist. Surprised, she bit her lower lip and held still as if she might frighten him with sudden movement. She could feel the warmth of his hands through her vest. “You wanted to raise the Veil in Kindred land, and Korin has shown you the way. We have the charter. We have the cornerstones. You have a path to follow, and it doesn’t lead back to Sicaria. Don’t forget your vision, now, Shade. Not now, when we’re so close.”

Shade looked away, her heart sinking. He was right, but she couldn’t admit it. Time was short. The qaraz were being touched by the blight. She had to raise her Veil soon. Without the qaraz, life in the Wastes would be impossible even for the Golondrina.

And yet…

“I can’t let Raiden die for my sake,” she said. “Not if I can save him.”

“The Brotherhood will not kill him, not the son of an emperor. Not even they are so foolish, or mad.”

“Can we take such a chance? He stayed behind and fought so we could run. I can’t abandon him now. I can’t. If I don’t go back for him, who will?”

“Do you think so little of me?” he asked. Hurt laced his soft words.

“What?” She blinked, taken aback.

“The Imperial is my emissary; I owe him my protection.” His hands still at her waist, he moved closer to her, his arms resting on her thighs and his chest against her knee. A flush rose to her cheeks at his nearness. “I will be going after Raiden. Not you. It’s my turn to ride to the rescue.” He fixed her with a stern look. “You are going into the mountains, to find the way to the Kindred. Korin gave you the maps he promised even though he disagrees with your choice. There’s nothing stopping you now.”

Uncertainty and guilt twisted in her gut. She wanted to save Raiden, but she needed to raise her Veil. Before the attack, she’d already decided to go into the mountains, and now she had maps showing her the way. The fact that Korin had provided them was the source of her hesitation. At every turn, he seemed to be there to push her in a certain direction. Had she decided to go to the Kindred, or had he decided for her?

But he had seemed so reluctant to hand over his maps…

Shade clenched her teeth. It was her decision. She’d made it days ago, before she even knew Korin had maps.

“I know,” she said, resting her hands on his bare arms. They were solid and warm, his skin like velvet beneath her fingers. “I’ll leave for the mountains as long as you promise you’ll go after Raiden.”

He smiled wryly. “You need a promise from me? Haven’t you learned to trust me yet?”

Her heart leaped into a gallop. “I trust you.” She shifted toward him, sliding her legs around him. A spark entered his blue eyes, and he pulled her hips to the edge of the desk. Her heart thudding, Shade lowered her forehead to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him. Lavender soap and sunlight.

Dante had the simple farmhouse to himself, though it was hardly luxurious. But it was cozy and clean, all stone and warm wood, shutters open to the breeze. A door behind his impromptu office led to a second room where a wide bed sat beneath a window, this one looking out over a flower-strewn hillside. Shade found her eyes slanting toward the other room as she stroked his muscular arms, her breath coming faster.

For the last few days, she’d been sleeping in the loft of a barn, not wanting to give these people any more fodder for their rumors. Suddenly, it seemed a ridiculous reason to avoid a comfortable bed. She nuzzled his hair, drawing a low moan from him. The soft noise made her grin. Her hands moved up his arms to his shoulders, and she clasped him with her thighs. She exclaimed in surprise when he stood suddenly, lifting her easily from the desk.

“Are you done ignoring me?” she whispered in his ear, her arms clasped around his shoulders.

“It’s called restraint, my dear,” he growled back, nuzzling her neck as he carried her to his bedroom. “I was protecting your reputation.”

She laughed, low and throaty, and he nipped the delicate skin beneath her ear, turning her laugh into a gasp. Her nails dug into his broad back as his teeth teased her flesh, sending ripples of heat through her. Wrapped together, they fell onto the soft featherbed. Somewhere between laughing and gasping, Shade sought his mouth while her hands roamed his body. His fingers worked deftly at the laces of her vest, and she started to tug his knife belt loose.

With her hands at his narrow waist, she pulled back to meet his gaze. “They’ll think I’m your whore for sure, now.”

His fingers paused. “We can stop… if you want…” His words came out strangled, and the fire in his eyes belied them.

She smiled sweetly. “Stop, and I’ll break your fingers, my prince.”

* * *

Dante woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. Visions of blue fire faded, and the feel of crushing timbers across his chest eased. He wheezed, dragging in air as the dream released him. He blinked, and found a ceiling of pale, water-stained plaster above him. Soft light seeped through the tatted curtains beside his bed. He turned toward the open window, and took a long, deep breath, remembering where he was. In Enrice Veil, safe and whole, not trapped in burning wreckage, the body of his valet across him like a shield. His memories of that night were vague, but his nightmares brought it back to him in vivid clarity. He knew Korin had dragged him from his home, saving him, but he couldn’t recall exactly how the old man had managed it. It left him feeling ashamed. He should have been the one to save all of them.

Breathing easily again, though the memory of suffocating lingered, Dante rolled to his side. The bed was empty beside him, the covers tossed back. He ran a hand over the crumpled sheets, wondering if she’d just risen to visit the privy. But the linen was cold, and he knew she’d been gone for some time. Gone. And not just from his bed.

Pain lanced his heart, and Dante squeezed his eyes shut. His hand closed to a fist on the empty sheets. I sent her away. What was I thinking? For a moment, he doubted everything he’d said to her: he shouldn’t have sent her off alone. He shouldn’t have volunteered to chase after Raiden Mad. He should have gone with her, protected her. What Shade had gone to do was more important than anything. She would need him beside her when she fashioned the Quattro Canto.

Dante tossed aside his blankets. There was still time. She’d be traveling on foot. On horseback, he could catch her in no time…

He had his horse saddled and loaded with supplies before the sun had cleared the treetops, his confused men following his snapped orders without question. He’d called for Angelo initially, but the man had been nowhere to be found. Him, or his brother. Too bent on his own mad goal, and driven by haste, Dante barely gave their unusual absence a thought. He had plenty of other men to follow his orders.

His people would wonder at his departure, Dante knew, but his lieutenants could keep everyone in line while he was gone, however long it might be. They had nowhere to go for now, anyway. Sicaria was too dangerous for anyone swearing allegiance to Dante Safire. It would be best if they laid low in Enrice. They might be glad to see him gone, after how badly he’d bungled things. He’d failed them as badly as he’d failed Shade. And Raiden. And poor Marco…

His fingers trembled as he tied another waterskin to his saddle, and his vision blurred. He’d failed everyone…

“What are you doing, Dante?”

Dante stiffened, but finished tying the leather thongs before turning to face Korin. His old mentor was staring at him, his face wrinkled with concern. They stood beneath a tall, glossy-leaved pear tree behind the hovel he’d been using as his base, and a pleasant breeze rustled through the leaves above them. Birds chirped and sang nearby, and the sounds of the waking village drifted to them. It was peaceful, bucolic, but Dante felt only a yearning to run. A burning need shivered through his limbs, possessed him. He ached to be away, to be racing through the Wastes. He ached to be useful.

“I’m going after Shade,” he said, his voice remarkably calm considering the roiling stew of emotions in his belly. He adjusted his knife belt and tugged down his broad-brimmed hat. “She left before dawn, I suspect. She’ll need my help to find the Kindred. And once she reaches the place in her vision, she’ll need me when she raises the Veil.”

“Matteo and Angelo went with her,” Korin said, shade dappling his face. His golden eyes shone in the dim light, holding Dante captive. “She is going where she needs to be, Dante. She doesn’t need your help, not in this.”

Dante scowled, filled with sudden fury. “Those two went with her? I gave no such orders!”

Korin drew himself up, his face stern. “I sent them with her,” he said. “I told Angelo you gave the order.”

Shock made him gape. “You? You sent them – who are you to send my men anywhere without my say?”

“Would you rather she fulfills her destiny alone, my boy?” Korin’s expression softened, and he raised a hand toward him. His brows dipped toward his long, straight nose. There was sympathy in his golden eyes. “I know how you feel about her, but this is for the best. I sent her to where she belongs, but I didn’t send her alone. Trust me, you must let her go. Your place is not with her, Dante.”

“What are you talking about? Where did you send her? She’s going to the Kindred, isn’t she?” Sudden suspicion gripped him, and he took two steps and grabbed Korin by his shirt. The white silk crumpled in his hands. “Shade never trusted you,” he hissed, fury rising in his gut. “Was she right? Where did you send her? What have you done?”

Despite Dante’s grip on him, Korin remained unflappable. “I told you. I sent her where she needs to be. There is no pass through the mountains, not where I sent her. When she finds her way blocked, she’ll have to go to the Nexus.” He settled a hand on Dante’s fist, his eyes boring into him, compelling and bright as the sun. “I told you she must be forced. When she realizes there is only one path left to her, she will take it.”