Le rose cascano, le spine restano.
The roses fall, and the thorns remain.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 15
“They couldn’t wait one more day?” Dante said.
The soldier flinched at his anger.
“Let him go, Dante. It’s not his fault.” With salt-stiffened hair and sand in every fold of her skirt, Alessa was a mess and in no state to speak to a crowd, but there wasn’t time to change.
The booms grew louder the closer they got to the front gates, but she didn’t stop until she reached the steps before the Cittadella.
“Where is her Fonte?” Padre Ivini, his silver hair slicked back, blue eyes gleaming with an unholy light, stood in the center of a roiling crowd in the piazza. “Why the secrecy?”
The crowd parted as people shied away from Alessa’s approach.
Ivini stopped. “Ah, Finestra.”
Adrick stood in the group behind Ivini in one of those ridiculous robes, and she shot him a venomous glare. Emotion passed across his features—anger, disappointment … relief?
“You dare question Dea’s choice?” Her voice shook with what she hoped came across as righteous anger.
“No, my lady,” Ivini said. “I know exactly what Crollo meant in choosing you. His final trick will doom us all if we let it stand. Admit it. Your touch cannot save, only kill.”
Panic rose in Alessa’s chest as the crowd rustled around them. “Guards, remove this man from the piazza at once.”
Captain Papatonis and his guards traded uncertain looks.
“The people are afraid, Finestra,” the Captain said. “No one has seen you perform. It might reassure them.”
Ivini smiled with satisfaction. “See? Call your Fonte out here and show us, then we’ll sleep peacefully in our beds.”
Easier said than done. It didn’t even matter that she hadn’t chosen one yet, because none of the candidates were there.
“The connection between a Finestra and Fonte is sacred.” Alessa fumbled for the tenets she’d read a thousand times. “You can’t honestly expect me to perform an act of divine intimacy in front of strangers?”
“It’s for a good cause,” Ivini said with a sly smile.
“Captain.” Alessa turned to Papatonis. “You’re married. If I gave the order, would you summon your wife here, take off your clothes, and perform your marital duties for all to see?”
Papatonis’s face went red. “Of course not.”
“Ah, so you wouldn’t perform an intimate act in public. Interesting. But I should?”
Ivini’s eyes narrowed. “Lay hands on someone else, then. That’s not sacred.”
“Are you volunteering?” It might be worth it to watch him scream, but she struggled enough to control her power when she was calm and prepared. Now, it raged, unpredictable and angry like the rest of her. If she touched Ivini, she’d hurt him or worse, and while she’d love to watch the light dim in his eyes, it might be the last thing she ever saw if the crowd combusted.
“I’ll do it.” Dante stepped forward.
She forced herself to sneer, as if he and the whole situation were beneath her.
People were watching. Waiting. Her heart thudded.
“Here’s a brave soul.” Ivini glowed with anticipation. “If your words are true, Finestra, prove it.”
Alessa drew the moment out, making sure everyone had a chance to see her examine him, curling her lip in disgust. Then, as though deigning to touch something revolting, she extended her hand toward Dante’s.
“Where we can see,” Ivini said sweetly.
She rolled her eyes, gratified to earn a few chuckles. With a sigh of feigned irritation, she held up her hands so the crowd could see they were bare, then placed them on both sides of his face.
The crowd held its collective breath. A second passed, and another. With languid boredom, Dante slid his hands in his pockets.
Alessa turned to Ivini. “How long must I stand here before you admit you were wrong?”
Scattered chuckles. Ivini fumed.
Alessa flicked her fingers at Dante in a haughty dismissal. “If we’re finished here, I have more important things to do than appease your theories, Padre. And I imagine the good people of Saverio would like to get on with preparations so we can enjoy Carnevale. I look forward to presenting my Fonte to you all tomorrow evening.”
The cheer that rose was weak, but they weren’t jeering, and Alessa marched back to the Cittadella with her head high.
Dante looked ready to haul her up the stairs when they were safely inside, but she shook her head. “The Fontes. They’re still locked out.”
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, her legs gave out. Alessa sank against the wall, breath shuddering out of her. She would have slid all the way down, but Dante yanked her into his arms.
“Dea,” he breathed into her hair. “I thought they were going to kill you, and I couldn’t fight them all—”
But he had.
She dragged his head down and stopped his litany of what-ifs with a kiss.
Dante stilled.
Parting her lips, she traced his lips with her tongue, and his control snapped. His hands were everywhere at once—cupping her face, running through her hair, gripping her waist. He pressed her against the door, pressed his mouth to hers, pressed his hips into her, as if trying to meld his storm of desperation with the tempest raging inside her.
They’d taken a risk, and it had paid off, but Dante’s ragged breath said he knew how close they’d come to losing it all.
“Knock, knock,” called Kaleb. The gate rattled. “Anybody home?”
Dante dropped his head to Alessa’s shoulder with a groan.
He didn’t say a word as she let the others in, but Kamaria eyed Alessa’s pink cheeks with a knowing look as they traipsed up the stairs, chattering and laughing. No one else noticed that Dante and Alessa were silent.
At the top, Alessa realized she had to say something. Tomorrow was the last day for all but one.
“I’m so glad I got to know you all,” she said with a smile. “The Consiglio will see you in the morning to interview you and make recommendations. I hope—” She swallowed. “I hope someone will volunteer, because I don’t want to leave such an important decision to a random drawing or have the Consiglio choose. But no matter what, I’m truly thankful for your hard work, and … and for your friendship. I can’t tell you how much it’s meant to me.”
Saida sniffed loudly, which set off a round of laughter, and they wished each other a good night.
When the door of her suite clicked closed, Alessa and Dante were alone. Her lips tingled, still swollen from his kiss, as their eyes met.
He pointed at her bed. “Go.”
She flushed, her heart pounding.
“Alone.” He sat on the couch. “You’re so close. Don’t let me distract you now.”
“I can’t change how I feel about you.”
“It doesn’t matter how we feel. Some things aren’t possible.”
Tomorrow evening, she’d stand on the balcony with her chosen Fonte.
The next day, she’d be wed. And he’d be gone.