Si dice sempre il lupo più grande che non è.
In a story, little lies make the wolf bigger.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 26
The laughter wiped from his face.
“Why?” Alessa clambered out of the tub. “Why would you pretend to be a criminal? An outcast?”
“Why do you care?” He slammed the salve onto the counter and walked out.
Leaving a wet trail behind her, she ran after him. “I’m trying to understand you.”
“There’s your first mistake.”
“If you aren’t marked, you don’t even need a Fortezza pass, so why did you come to work for me?”
He wouldn’t—or couldn’t—look at her. “Because men do stupid things when women cry?”
“Not good enough. You lied to me.”
He whirled on her, eyes flashing. “You found me, remember? And mark or no mark, I am an outcast. No home, no family, no friends.”
“I told you—” She stopped, suddenly lightheaded. “I thought you understood what it felt like, but you’ve never killed anyone.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Maybe I just didn’t get caught.”
“Which one is it?”
“I didn’t save them. Same thing.” He stared at the floor, hands gripping the hilts of his knives like they were the only thing tethering him to the ground.
She couldn’t stay angry when he looked so lost. “Your parents?”
“To start.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m a much better listener than I am a Finestra.”
“You don’t need my ugly history.”
“What’s one more tragedy?” She gave a delicate shrug, a gamble that paid off when he quirked an almost-smile. “I told you mine,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice.
He turned to the rain-streaked balcony doors, fists clenched, mouth tight. She was about to leave him in peace when he finally spoke. “They were killed by a mob. People we’d known all our lives turned on them, dragged them outside, and beat them to death.”
She shivered. “Why? What could they possibly—”
“Nothing,” he snapped. “They didn’t do anything to deserve that.”
“No, of course not,” she said in a hurry. “I didn’t mean—”
“They weren’t perfect, but no one deserves that.”
“Of course not. I just can’t fathom why people would do something so terrible for no reason.”
“Oh, I’m sure they had reasons. People always have reasons. People can justify anything if they want to enough.”
“I’m so sorry. How old were you?”
“Old enough.” The anger in his voice was for himself, not her, but it made her flinch.
“How old?”
“Twelve. But I was big for my age. Strong. I could’ve fought, given them a chance to get away. And I didn’t.” His voice was so hollow it seemed to pull the air out of the room. “I hid. I heard it all and I did nothing.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Of course it was.” Dante dragged a hand through his hair.
“You were a child.”
“And they were my family. I should have died with them.”
There was nothing to say. Even if she could find the right words, they wouldn’t reach him, locked away as he was inside himself. And she knew, without a doubt, that if she said the wrong thing, she’d snap the fragile lifeline he’d given her to hold.
How cruel, that sharing someone else’s grief did nothing to alleviate it for them. In physics, there were rules and forces, equal and opposite reactions, a balance. But emotions didn’t obey rules, and though sympathy settled over her like a heavy blanket, it did nothing to help him. No matter how much she was willing to bear, she couldn’t lighten his load. Even her hands, which stole power, strength, and life itself, were powerless to siphon off any of his suffering.
So she didn’t speak, but she didn’t leave. Standing close, she offered what little comfort she could with her presence alone.
Dante stared at the rain-drenched city below, but she knew he wasn’t seeing anything at all.
There was more wincing than sobbing in the following days, but a week into their training, the Fontes still flinched every time Alessa came near.
Tomo had mostly regained his strength, but he watched from a safe distance as Alessa took turns using everyone’s gift, even Nina’s. The wrongness of shifting matter made Alessa’s stomach churn, though, as if the laws of physics fought such an unnatural force.
At the end of one especially long afternoon, the Fontes and Alessa sat around the formal dining table, wilted like flowers in a drought. Tomo and Renata had joined them for a quiet supper of white fish in a lemon wine sauce—the quality of the Cittadella’s food had definitely improved since the Fontes arrived—and even they didn’t try to make conversation beyond answering Saida’s hesitant questions about their family recipes. Tomo perked up a bit, looking charmed as she explained her project. He knew a surpising amount about baking, too. While he listed a number of dishes for Saida to choose from, Renata smiled weakly and promised to think of something later, and everyone else seemed relieved that they didn’t have to find the energy to speak for a while.
As Tomo and Saida debated the use of rice flour versus gelatin in a dessert Alessa wasn’t familiar with, Kamaria stared blankly at the nearest candelabra. Her powers made the flames grow and shrink in a lazy rhythm as though the fire itself was breathing, swirling smoke toward Kaleb. She either didn’t notice or chose to ignore his pointed sighs.
Eventully the conversation lapsed into silence.
“I think it may be time for a break,” Tomo said, tapping his new walking stick against his chair.
Alessa nearly cried. A break? They were supposed to be finished for the day.
“Is there something in particular you still want them to work on?” Renata asked. “Everyone seems a bit tired.”
“I ordered sweets,” Saida said tentatively. “Maybe a little sugar would help us power through.”
“Very thoughtful of you, dear,” Renata said. “But Tomo, I think they’ve had enough for one day.”
“My apologies,” Tomo said. “I was unclear. I didn’t mean today, but rather, a full day of rest tomorrow.”
Renata stiffened. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Rest is as essential for training as sleep is for learning. A day of rest, prayer, and time with family will rejuvenate us all, and I can think of no better way to give warriors purpose than remembering what we’re fighting for. Besides, Mastro Pasquale is coming in the morning, so the Finestra will be occupied sitting for her formal portrait.”
Alessa wasn’t the only one who stole a glance at the line of portraits on the wall, centuries of Duo Divino captured in oil paints, staring solemnly back at them. At first glance the people in the portraits seemed to have little in common, ranging in size, shape, skin color, and gender. But one thing they did all have in common was that every single Finestra was paired with a Fonte.
Well, at least Mastro Pasquale, who’d been Alessa’s art tutor in the early years of her time as Finestra, was talented enough to add a Fonte later and make it look as though they’d posed together. Wouldn’t that be a fun story for tour guides to share with future visitors to the Cittadella. Assuming, of course, that Alessa managed to find a Fonte and together they triumphed over Divorando so the Cittadella was even standing in a month.
Renata rubbed her forehead. “Might as well get half of it finished now. I suppose you may all take a day of rest.” It seemed to pain her to grant it. “But I expect everyone an hour early the following day, prepared to give one hundred percent. And I hope you all make good choices about how to spend your day off.”
With a hostile glare at the portraits, Renata stood in a swirl of burgundy skirts and helped Tomo to his feet as he waved off a round of thanks.
“Well,” Saida breathed when they’d gone. “This definitely deserves a celebration. I’m glad I splurged for the deluxe assortment with the chocolate-dipped cannoli.”
A pastry box appeared from under Saida’s chair like a magic trick, and the Fontes eagerly dove in.
Josef, Nina, and Kamaria took their desserts to go. Kaleb ate his in one bite and snagged a second from the box before it made it to the head of the table.
“They’re from Il Diletto,” Saida said. “That’s your family’s pasticceria, right?”
Alessa blinked at the familiar logo obscured by her thumb.
“The Finestra doesn’t have a family,” she said softly.
“Right,” Saida stuttered. “Of course. I know that. I just thought—”
“Wait,” Kaleb said around a mouthful of pastry. “Your brother’s Adrick Paladino?”
Alessa’s throat tightened. “Like I said, the Finestra doesn’t have—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Kaleb waved a hand in annoyance. “The Finestra springs, untouched, from Dea’s holy loins. Got it.” He licked a smudge of powdered sugar from one manicured fingernail, squinting at her. “You don’t look anything like him. Well, maybe the eyes.”
There was no point clinging to her divine origin story if they refused to play along. “I wasn’t aware you even knew Adrick, much less his eye color.”
Kaleb went slightly red. “He’s everywhere. Can’t avoid him.”
Saida looked like she’d start whistling if she could. She handed the box to Dante. “You two can share the rest. Come on, Kaleb. There’s bound to be a battle for the shower before cards, and I’m not going last this time.”
“Pssht,” Kaleb scoffed. “If we aren’t training tomorrow, I’m leaving now.”
Saida chased him out the door. “We’re in the middle of Chiamata!”
Kaleb’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Switch to Scopa, then. Josef and Nina are practically sewn together, they can play as a pair.”
Dante picked up the box of sweets and held it out, but Alessa demurred, toying with her necklace, a small silver pendant on a delicate chain. “You can go, too, if you want. I know you didn’t plan on being stuck with me for so long when you took this job.”
Dante gave her a funny look. “It’s not a big deal.”
Like probing a sore tooth to see if it still hurt, she couldn’t resist pressing him. “You sure? I bet parties get pretty wild this close to Divorando.”
“Do I seem like a party guy?”
“I have no idea what kind of guy you are. All I know is Dante isn’t your real name, and that you read a lot of books, punch strangers for money, memorize proverbs in the old language, and claim to be a terrible person without providing a lick of evidence to back it up. You, NotDante NoLastName, are a complete mystery to me.”
He sat forward. “And you can’t stand mysteries, can you?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, here’s a truth for you. I don’t enjoy most people, so I don’t enjoy most parties.”
“Shocking. I used to love parties. And people. When they weren’t scared of me.”
On second thought, a mouthful of sugar was exactly what she needed.
Ignoring her outstretched hands, Dante continued his methodical perusal of the assorted pastries. “I’m not scared of you.”
She raised a victorious fist. “One down. Victory is mine.”
Chuckling, he popped a puff pastry into his mouth.