Chi semina spine, non vada scalzo.
If you scatter thorns, don’t go barefoot.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 27
The wind whistled outside as night fell, but the air in Tomo’s room tasted as stale as the crypt.
Propped up in bed on a pile of pillows, his eyes were black pools of shadow against his ashen skin.
From his bedside, Renata turned as Alessa entered on whisper-soft feet. “He’s resting,” Renata said in warning.
“I won’t stay. I just needed to see…”
“Come in, child.” A wan smile spread across Tomo’s face and he released Renata’s hand. “Put on some tea, won’t you, love?”
Renata shot Alessa a sharp look as she left the room.
“Sit, sit. Leave your guilt outside,” Tomo said. “I’m a weak old man, and I was overdue for one of my spells. A bit too much excitement, that’s all.” He patted the bed beside him, but she perched in a brocade chair instead. He might want to show that he wasn’t afraid of her, but she was afraid of herself.
“You aren’t old, Tomo.”
He smiled. “Age is relative. When I was your age, I saw a man of forty as a day shy of a hundred.”
“I’m just thankful you’re okay. I thought—” She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of the color leaching from his face. “You were very brave to volunteer.”
He tutted. “I only made it worse. Renata said you had to call off the remainder of the lesson.”
“Everyone was worried about you. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Get some rest. I can manage without you.”
His eyes drifted shut. “I know you can. You’re meant to bring people together, Alessa.”
With the echo of her name in her ears, Alessa slipped out of the room, wiping her eyes.
“Will he be okay?” Dante asked.
“I don’t know, but if the Fontes weren’t terrified before, they are now.”
“Did you even touch him? It happened so fast I couldn’t tell.”
“Barely. It doesn’t matter. Today was supposed to reassure them. Instead they saw the last Fonte suffer a heart spasm the moment we touched. I’ll be fortunate if they show up for tomorrow’s training at all.”
As they made their way upstairs, sobs, faint but unmistakable, echoed from the library. Alessa held up a hand to warn Dante.
“I’ll volunteer,” came Josef’s voice from inside. “You go home with your family.”
Alessa tried to retreat, inching backward, but ran into a Dante-shaped wall.
“And what about your family?” Nina asked. “Haven’t they lost enough?”
“I’m sure whoever she chooses will be … fine,” Josef said, his tone soothing.
“Fine? Ending up like Tomo, or worse?” Nina sniffed loudly. “Renata was a good Finestra and she still broke him. Can you imagine what this one will do?”
This one. Alessa hugged herself.
“I’m older and stronger than you. I can take it.”
“Kaleb should do it. No one would miss him.” From her tone, Nina knew Kaleb would never volunteer. He’d be gone before Alessa finished thanking those who did. “I’ll do it.” Nina’s voice trembled, and Alessa could easily picture her raising her pointed little chin, tears glistening on her copper-colored lashes. A portrait of a martyr.
Dante let out a sympathetic breath.
Alessa couldn’t fight the thread of envy that came with the guilt. Poor, delicate Nina, whose brave sacrifice made people want to protect her.
But not Alessa. People only helped her when she bribed them with coin or because the gods demanded they do so. Sympathy, kindness, love, and friendship—all those precious human experiences that made for a full life—those were for other people, not her.
She tried to hustle away as their footsteps neared, but there wasn’t time to make it to her suite before the couple stepped out of the room.
They faltered at the sight of Alessa and Dante.
“Oh, hello there,” Alessa said. “Didn’t realize the library was being used.”
Josef gripped Nina’s hand. “Finestra. How is Signor Miyamoto doing?”
“Good.” She nodded. “He’s good. Awake, feeling much better. He has these spells often, I’m afraid, and with the excitement…” She bit her lip. “Anyway, please tell the others he sends his best, but he won’t be able to attend our training in the morning. I’ve asked the kitchen staff to send something up so there’s no need to dress for dinner.”
Nina wouldn’t meet her eye, but Josef thanked Alessa, then cleared his throat. “We know it’s not your fault,” he said. “All of this. I just want you to know that we don’t blame you. I—I don’t blame you.”
Alessa swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Josef bowed and ushered Nina toward the Fonte suite.
If she could have walked down the stairs and out the front gate, Alessa would have kept going until she reached the farthest edge of Saverio, but the library would have to do.
Josef didn’t blame her. For Tomo? Or for Ilsi? Either way, she blamed herself enough for the both of them.
Alessa stepped inside the dim library, lost in thought, and nearly collided with Kaleb.
He jumped back, the whites of his eyes stark in his face. “Shit, you had to listen to that, too?”
Alessa massaged her chest above her pounding heart. “Were you spying on them?”
“No. I was looking for something to drink.” Kaleb held up a crystal decanter he must have swiped from the credenza. “But the star-crossed lovers showed up, and I got stuck listening to their whining. Were you spying on them?”
“Of course not.” Alessa gritted her teeth. “I forbid you to mock them about this.”
“Oh, don’t get your gloves twisted.” Kaleb’s sneer didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll finish this bottle and burn it from my brain.”
He bumped Dante on his way out.
Alessa clenched her fists. “Do you think he’ll tease them?”
“Probably. He’s been a pain in the ass since he got here. Doubt he’ll change now.”
“Oh, right, I forgot.” Alessa rolled her eyes. “People can’t change.”
“I said people don’t change.”
“Same thing.”
“Not really.” Dante tapped the credenza. “You didn’t tell me there was a stash of the good stuff in here.”
“Most of it is ancient rather than aged.”
“Chi ha bisogno s’arrenda,” he said with a wink.
She shook her head with a faint smile, making a note to look that one up. Too restless to sit, she grasped the rungs of a rolling ladder mounted against a wall of bookshelves and began to climb.
At a rustle of movement below, she peered down at Dante. “Are you trying to look up my skirts?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m making sure it doesn’t take off and drop you on your ass. I don’t feel like catching you.”
“Oh, Dante,” she crooned. “You do know how to make a girl’s heart flutter.”
He smirked. “If I was trying to make you flutter, you’d know it.”
She dropped the book, aiming for his aggravatingly gorgeous face, but she knew he’d catch it regardless.
“The Siege of Avalin,” he read, holding the ladder in place with his foot so he could open the book.
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, if that doesn’t capture the mood of the evening.” Of all the books in the Cittadella, she’d pulled out an account of the one Divorando that Saverio almost didn’t survive.
“The Finestra who panicked, right?”
“Yep. Ran back to the city and tried to hide. The Fortezza was breached, rivers of blood ran through the streets, hundreds were massacred before his Fonte coaxed him back to the peak. Oh, take my advice and skip chapter seven.”
Dante promptly flipped to chapter seven, because of course he did. “‘The Orphans Left Behind.’ Nothing compared to waterfalls of blood or whatever you said. Orphans means they were lucky enough to survive, at least.”
“And is surviving always better?”
“Point taken.”
“It’s not the worst chapter, just the saddest. They put the babies in group homes, and within months, most stopped crying and refused to eat.” She blinked away tears. “Only one group thrived.”
She climbed down, turning to lean against the ladder, but Dante was too close and too tall, so she found the lowest rung of the ladder and pushed up on her toes, as if he wouldn’t notice she’d suddenly grown six inches.
Dante’s eyes twinkled at her sudden height and he stepped back. “And?”
Alessa hopped to the ground. “And?… Oh, the babies. Right. The girl caring for them had lost her entire family in the siege, so she held them all the time. Singing to them, rocking them, talking to them. Mostly just holding them. That was all it took. Everyone thought they needed food and shelter, but touch was what they needed most. Without it, the other babies simply gave up.”
Dante bit his lip. “And you know how they felt.”
She flushed. “Not entirely, but I can relate. That’s all.”
He tapped the book against his palm. “Does it happen when you touch anyone?”
“As far as I can tell.” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “Ironic, isn’t it? I would kill to hold someone’s hand, but if I do, I kill them.”
“And all this isolation is supposed to make you appreciate the holiness of connection or something?”
“Yes. A Finestra’s earthly relationships are severed so we can avoid distractions, remain pure of heart, and be fully committed to the quest at hand. I’m supposed to appreciate connection more by not having any.”
“Seems contradictory.”
“It worked. Made me quite eager to have a Fonte.”
His eyebrows drew together. “You got a real shitty deal, Finestra.”
“Alessa,” she said softly. The words tasted strange, awkward and unfamiliar on her lips. “My name is Alessandra Diletta Paladino.”
“Thought you weren’t supposed to have a name.”
“I’m also not supposed to kill my Fontes or have a man in my suite.”
He gestured to the wall. “You going to tell them?”
“Maybe I should. At least they’d know what name to curse. But no.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“I don’t know.” She sank into a chair and pulled a pillow to her chest. “I’m tired of being a title rather than a person, I guess. Just don’t say it where anyone might hear you.”
He studied her, thoughtful. “Alessandra. The gods’ chosen protector.”
“How do you know that?”
“Too much religion in my childhood.”
She knew what that was like. “Your parents were devout?”
“No.” His expression darkened.
“Well, my full name roughly translates to the gods’ beloved, brave protector of humanity. Dea must have felt she had no choice but to pick me after my parents set me up like that.”
“Does your family ever visit?” he asked.
“Finestra, remember? I have no family.”
“Yes, Alessa, I remember.” Her name on his lips sent a strange thrill through her body. “So. Your family. You had one.”
She sighed. “Yes, I had a family. I suppose I still do, depending on how pious you are.”
“Are they pious?”
“My parents are. They haven’t spoken to me since the day I left. They’re faithful believers.”
“And shitty parents.”
“That’s not fair.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Siblings?”
“I have—had—oh, forget it, I have a twin brother named Adrick. Sometimes he delivers things or sits on the other side of the garden walls to speak with me, even though it’s against the rules.”
“So, was your life … good? I mean, you seem so…” He struggled for the words, twirling his hand through the air as though flipping through a mental stack of vocabulary words. “Lonely. Like you miss it.”
“I do. I miss them so much it’s like something’s been carved out of my middle.” She dropped her gaze. “My father used to call me his little cat, because I couldn’t resist an available lap.” She gave a sad laugh. “I was too affectionate at times. I used to embarrass Adrick by trying to hold his hand around his friends.”
“It must have been a shock.”
“Becoming Finestra was like drowning. You go every day of your life without noticing the air in your lungs, and suddenly you’re plunged into deep water, and air becomes the most precious gift you never knew you’d been given and never thought would be taken away.”
“Not sure I’d notice.”
“That’s sad.”
He shrugged.
“I wish you were the Finestra, then. All the personal space one could ever want, an epic battle, and plenty of isolation. Clearly the gods missed their perfect candidate.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “The gods don’t want me.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. “So. You know my full name, and I still don’t know your last name.”
“Last name?” Dante said with a twinkle in his eye. “Luce mia, you don’t even know my first name.”
“Wait.” Alessa stood. “Dante isn’t your real name?”
“It’s my name, just not my first name.” A smile teased at his lips as Alessa prowled closer.
“What’s your first name, then?”
His smile deepened. “I’m not telling.”
“Why not?” Alessa’s voice rose with indignation. “Just to annoy me?”
“’Course not. Annoying you is a perk, though.”
“I bet it’s something terrible, like Eustice. Maybe I’ll call you that until you tell me.”
He snorted. “Call me whatever you want. But don’t expect me to answer.”
“How do you say jackass in the old language?”
“Stronzo.”
“Bastard?”
“Bastardo.” Dante sauntered toward the door. “Should I write these down for you?”
“I’m sure they’ll come in handy.”
Dante held the door for her to go first. A bastardo, but a gentleman.