L’uomo propone, Dio dispone.
What man proposes, god disposes.
Alessa stumbled back, yelping as the door handle jabbed her side.
Dante jerked away, and his snarl faded. Looking anywhere but directly at her, he sheathed his blades.
“Sorry.” For the first time, he sounded like he meant it.
“You’re supposed to protect me, not attack me,” Alessa said.
“I warned you not to sneak up on me.”
“You were asleep! In a hallway! You can’t stab everyone who walks by.” She rubbed her chest as her heart fought to escape her ribs. “Do you always carry those?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “In case someone sneaks up on me.”
She rolled her eyes, which somehow managed to hurt.
She’d already been losing hold of the broken pieces of herself before her bodyguard had nearly killed her, and now her bruises throbbed, and every breath burned. By the time they reached the fourth floor, Alessa had to stop and clutch the wall, silently begging the darkness in the periphery of her vision to retreat.
“You okay?” Dante asked.
She nodded, lips pressed together for one steadying breath so she didn’t vomit on his shoes. “I need to visit the salt baths.”
“Can you do that without drowning?”
“A risk I’m willing to take.”
He made a noncommittal sound.
Dante followed her down the narrow staircase off her suite. The air grew warm and thick with salt as they descended, pink crystal lanterns diffusing a rosy glow across the white stone. Droplets condensed on the tips of her hair, already wet with sweat, curling the ends into tight coils.
“See? It’s perfectly safe.” She gestured to the rippling surface of the pool. A constant current carried the hot spring’s fresh water in and stale water out.
Dante sat on the stairs. “I won’t look.”
Heat climbed her neck, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. She’d have to trust him to keep his word.
The warm pool called, offering relief. She’d need it to pull herself together before the Fontes arrived. The high salt content made her so buoyant she doubted she could sink, but if it came down to a choice between having Dante haul her naked body out or drowning, she’d stay quiet.
Besides, she wouldn’t have to endure the mortification if she was dead, and, bonus, she wouldn’t have to welcome a pack of terrified Fontes in a few hours.
Casting furtive glances over her shoulder, she shed her clothes and stepped into the water. The stonemasons who’d shaped the pool centuries ago had recognized bodies weren’t made of right angles and the surfaces below the water were carved in a pleasing mix of slopes and curves. She settled herself in a curved hollow with a sound that would have been a moan if she hadn’t caught sight of Dante’s boots as he stretched his legs. He couldn’t be comfortable, but he didn’t complain.
From a covered ceramic jar by the side of the pool, Alessa scooped a palmful of the aromatic oil that floated atop a mixture of lemon juice and coarse sea salt, gingerly massaging it between her neck and shoulders.
“What is that?”
Alessa jumped, covering her chest with crossed arms, but he was still out of sight.
“Smells like a damned orchard in here.”
“What do you have against lemons?” Alessa retorted.
His only response was to radiate curmudgeonly gloom through the wall.
She opened the jar of body scrub again, aggressively wafting it in his direction. “You know, some people think there’s healing power left in these waters.” If she kept him talking, it would serve as an early warning if he moved.
Dante probably would have preferred to shrug, but the lack of visibility forced a “Hmm” out of him.
“My Nonna says it cured her rheumatic knees.”
“Miraculous.” Dante’s tone was so dry it drew a smile from her.
“Either way, it feels glorious.” She waved her hands through the water to create small waves. “La fonte di guarigione.”
“La fonte della guarigione,” he said, emphasizing every syllable she hadn’t and none she had. “And your accent is terrible.”
“Well, excuse me,” she said, a bit indignant. “I didn’t begin studying the old language until I came to the Cittadella, and pronunciation wasn’t my priority. Are you fluent?”
“Yes.”
“Who taught you?”
Silence.
That’s what she got for trying to be nice.
She twirled her hand through the water to create a funnel. “Do you believe any of the old lore?”
“Some.”
“How about the ghiotte? Some people think they’re still out there.”
A pause. “You ever met one?”
“Of course not.”
“But you believe they’re lurking in the forests, waiting to attack the good people of Saverio.”
“No,” she said, drawing the word out. “They were banished to the continent, so they were either killed in the first Divorando or died out since. No one could survive that long without a community.”
“Maybe they had their own. Maybe they still do.”
“You’re awfully crabby for someone who doesn’t have an opinion. I thought you didn’t believe in them.”
This time, she was left to picture his shrug.
“You’re probably right,” Alessa said. “If it was true, Dea would have just taken the power back. Why let someone keep a stolen gift?”
“Who knows why the gods do anything?”
“We know plenty. They created Finestra and Fonte to protect the island. Obviously.”
“From the attack they send. Why doesn’t Dea tell Crollo to knock it off?”
“She’s trying to make us better. To remind us about community, kindness, and connection. Two souls joined in partnership, creating a window to the divine and a physical reminder that all mortals can, and must, be a stitch in the tapestry of the world.”
“They make you memorize that speech?”
“No.”
Yes.
Alessa flicked the water, creating angry ripples. “If our soldiers could drink from the fountain, thousands more might survive every Divorando. It’s appalling that anyone could be so selfish.”
“People are selfish,” Dante said. “Everyone just pretends to care about others, hoping they don’t get found out.”
“How delightfully cynical. All the more reason to have the ghiotte as a cautionary tale.”
He scoffed. “Against what? Healing?”
“Selfishness. I always assumed the Finestra was naturally selfless. But I’m not.” She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. “I think that’s why it keeps happening. I’m being punished.”
Dante seemed to have used up his capacity for conversation.
Alessa stared at the water, wishing she could pull the confession back and wipe it from his memory. What was it about speaking to someone you couldn’t see that made one want to overshare?
Right when she thought the conversation was dead and buried, he spoke. “If you even try, you’re better than most.”
Her lips twitched into a grateful smile. “Why, Dante, are you being nice to me?”
“Not intentionally.” A long silence. “You staying in there all day?”
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
She was tempted to stay in longer, simply to aggravate him, but if she stayed another minute, he might have to fish her out after all. Besides, the Fontes would arrive soon. By evening, they’d be alone together for the first time. Well, their first time alone with her. For all she knew, they met weekly to discuss how much they loathed her.
Alessa stood, watching the water drip down her legs before reaching for a fluffy robe. Bundling up, with a few pats to be extra sure everything was covered, she walked over to where Dante reclined on the stairs, hands behind his head.
He looked up at her through a fringe of dark lashes. “You didn’t drown.”
“Maybe next time.”