Chi cerca trova.
Seek and you shall find.
Alessa’s breath came fast and shallow as she wiped the hot trickle from her neck. Blood wouldn’t show on her gloves, and fear wouldn’t show on her face. It couldn’t.
Her eyes followed the trail of crimson droplets on the stone to a flash of sunlight glinting off a dagger. If she’d been one step to the left, the blade that had notched her ear would be lodged in her skull.
The Captain of the Guard barked orders, and his soldiers formed a protective wall around her. For the first time in her life, she yearned for the protection of the Cittadella’s high walls.
“Wait,” Renata said. “They need to see she’s unharmed.”
Alessa clenched her fists. Hiding wasn’t an option. Not for her. Never for her. Duty called, a little blood be damned.
“Chin up, Finestra,” Renata muttered. “Show them you are not afraid.”
Alessa fought the horrific impulse to laugh as she lifted her head so high, no one could see the tears burning behind her eyes.
At her reassuring wave, a ripple of relief—at least she hoped it was relief—rolled through the crowd, and Renata gestured for them to retreat at last.
“How bad is it?” Renata asked as soon as the gates clanged shut behind them.
“Could have been worse.” Alessa winced, probing her injury. “Why would someone do that?”
It made no sense. A Finestra dying before Divorando was unimaginable. Or, at least, she’d thought it was. A number had been wounded during battle, but they’d all lived long enough to climb Finestra’s Peak. Without a Finestra and Fonte, Saverio would be entirely defenseless against the demons.
“Who can explain the choices of an unhinged person?” Tomo said, holding out his elbow for Renata. They exchanged a tense look.
“If you know something, tell me.” Alessa followed them through the arched corridor to the interior courtyard. Tomo, tall and still athletically built despite his health struggles, made Renata look even more petite by comparison.
“You can’t protect her forever, Tomo.”
“Renata,” Tomo pleaded, his tan skin going a bit gray. “We don’t even know if he’s connected.”
He? The knife-thrower had been a woman.
“Who?” Alessa asked. They didn’t answer. In moments like these, she became invisible.
“I told you, we should have him arrested.” Renata’s voice crackled with fury. “Lash him to the peak and leave him to die.”
Tomo sighed as if he’d made the argument countless times before. “For talking on street corners?”
“For inciting violence!”
“Who?” Alessa said, louder, and they turned to look at her as though she’d blinked back into existence. “Who isn’t connected? Who should be left to die? Tell me. I’m the Finestra, not a scared child.” If she said it firmly enough, she might even convince herself.
Tomo waved his hand as if shooing a fly. “Some ridiculous street preacher calling himself Padre Ivini. He’s just fanning fears to line his pockets.”
“And which fears are those?” Alessa hugged her sides, suddenly cold. She knew what she feared—swarms of demonic insects descending from the sky, everyone counting on her to stop them. But braving terror so others didn’t have to was the Finestra’s burden.
“Foolish prattle. Everyone with sense is ignoring him.” Tomo looked to Renata for support, but she shrugged.
Alessa gestured at her ear. “Everyone?”
“Everyone but a few desperate souls looking for certainty in an uncertain world. Enough about that.” Tomo’s smile was kind but pointed. “We have more important matters to deal with.”
Than her life? Alessa frowned. She might have managed to pry one answer from them, but that didn’t mean she’d asked the right questions.
Renata sighed. “It won’t happen again. Put it from your mind.”
Right. The many things Alessa was supposed to remember had a tendency to slip away like sand through her fingers, but she wasn’t likely to forget a dagger flying at her head.
Renata rubbed her temples. “The sooner she chooses a Fonte, the better.”
“I didn’t even get to speak to anyone,” Alessa said. “I have to make an informed choice. I need it to work this time. Please.”
Please don’t make me kill again. She might as well have said it aloud. They knew what she meant.
Tomo moved as though to clasp her arm, awkwardly brushing at his sleeve instead. “How about a performance? A gala, where every eligible Fonte can demonstrate their gifts, and you’d have a chance to speak with each of them.”
Anticipation fluttered beneath Alessa’s breastbone. She’d expected to spend the next few days in isolation, begging Dea for a sign before choosing whom to shackle herself to, but a demonstration might be exactly what she needed to choose the right Fonte, for once.
“Tomorrow.” Renata nodded. “And she needs to look transcendent. The more jewels the better. I want her dripping with proof of Dea’s favor.”
Inwardly, Alessa rolled her eyes. Once, she might have equated wealth and jewels with a person’s worthiness, but now she knew the truth: The gods gave and took for their own incomprehensible reasons, and only fools tried to make sense of it.
Her. She was the fool. Because she still wanted to understand.
“Perfect,” Tomo said. “Our guests will leave here raving about our blessed savior, prepared to choose her final, true partner. That will silence the naysayers.”
Alessa still didn’t know what, exactly, needed silencing, but she’d slipped back into invisibility, so she left them to their plans and climbed the stairs on leaden feet.
Adrick would know what this Ivini person was saying—he collected gossip like children hoarded pretty rocks—but she had no idea when she’d see him next.
From outside, the Cittadella looked like a massive stone block, but within the austere facade, the building blended a military stronghold and an elegant estate, with an exquisite atrium in the center and lavish gardens out back. The first two levels were all business, with a mess hall, barracks, an armory, and training spaces, while the second floor served as the military command center.
The upper levels, however, were the private residence for the Duo Divino, the divine pairing. Pairings, plural, as the previous Finestra and Fonte were expected to return to the Cittadella when a new Finestra rose and remain for the duration of the five years Dea gave them to train their successors.
Dea must have ignored the fine print of whatever divine contract she’d signed with Crollo, however, because instead of sending Divorando on the fifth anniversary of the new Finestra’s rise, Crollo chose a month at random in the fifth year, and no one knew precisely when he would strike until the First Warning arrived.
Seven months into her fifth and final year, Alessa was no closer to finding her battle partner than she had been the day the Consiglio confirmed her.
The formal banquet hall on the third floor was empty and dark, and Tomo and Renata had not yet returned to their suite, so Alessa didn’t see another soul until she reached the fourth floor, which was all hers and would remain so until she found someone to fill the rest of it. The largest library on Saverio, a private chapel, and two suites for one lonely girl.
When she reached the top of the stairs, Lorenzo, the young soldier assigned to guard her rooms, blanched beneath his olive complexion. He was supposed to open the door for her and complete a thorough inspection before she entered, but he, like the string of guards before him, refused to touch anything of hers.
She opened her own doors now.
She’d never say it aloud, but it stung like ice water on bare skin every time someone cringed away from her. Especially soldiers. They’d volunteered to face a swarm of demons but acted like she was something even worse.
Lorenzo deigned to cast a cursory look around and retreated to his post, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ghiotte.
Greedy one.
Alessa kicked the door closed.
“Don’t be a ghiotte,” her parents used to chide her whenever she’d asked for more than her fair share of sweets. They’d softened the word, so it sounded almost endearing, but visions of Crollo’s thieves took residence in her head. Even now, she often dreamt of growing claws and horns.
Every child on Saverio grew up hearing tales of the ghiotte. How Crollo sent demons disguised as humans to find Dea’s third gift before the first Divorando. When the ghiotte found La Fonte di Guarigione—the healing fountain created for the soldiers—they stole its power, becoming nearly impossible to kill and leaving nothing behind for the troops. Caught and damned for their sin, they were hunted or driven into the sea, their only remaining legacy a warning about the consequences of greed and selfishness.
Some skeptics believed the story was a metaphor, a morality tale to keep people in line, but the church elders insisted that every word in the holy Verità was history dictated by Dea herself.
The Finestra was Dea’s first blessing.
The ghiotte had stolen the third.
And Alessa kept killing the second.
She stripped off her gloves and tossed them with the others piled by her bedside.
A warm, citrus-sharp breeze from the balcony blew dark curls into her eyes as she padded barefoot to a small table set with a selection of breads, cheeses, and fruits. The cheese shone with grease in the waning sunlight, and the bread was stale. Not a feast worthy of a Finestra, but she could hardly blame anyone else for underperforming.
The sunset reflected off the ocean below, painting shades of rose-gold across the city cascading down the hillside in a jumble of sun-bleached pastel buildings. It looked as if the city walls were holding everything in check so they wouldn’t collide with Finestra’s Peak, looming over the black sand beach where she and her chosen partner would take their place at the head of Saverio’s army.
At least her prison had a great view.
She should bathe, wash off the blood and anxious sweat, but she curled up in an armchair instead, pulling a throw blanket up to her chin. It was too warm, but the texture coursed over her bare arms and neck, sparking her nerves awake after a long day of slumber. Not a human touch, but a touch at least. Anything was better than the static half-sensation of being covered from head to toe.
After a childhood littered with forgotten schoolwork, burnt loaves, and waste bins she’d never remembered to empty, Alessa had finally made her mother proud the day she became the Finestra and had to stop calling her “Mama.” But even ordained by the gods, she disappointed everyone. Sure, she was determined, always trying to please. She meant to complete her chores, to remember the shopping list or check on the bread, and now she meant to control her goddess-given power. Her failures didn’t mean an extra trip to the market anymore, but dead Fontes and dried blood crackling on her skin.
Papa always said any problem looked better in daylight, but it would take a wickedly bright sunrise to improve hers.
She closed her eyes and plucked at the underside of the blanket, pinching the knots, running her fingertips over the stitching.
You are not alone. You are alive. You were chosen.
You are lonely. You will die. Maybe Dea chose wrong.
This was hopeless. She couldn’t afford to get trapped in a never-ending spiral of worries, and the only way out was to get answers.
Alessa sat up, letting the blanket slide to the floor.
If no one inside the Cittadella would tell her what was going on, she’d find someone who would.