Nessuna nuova, buona nuova.
No news is good news.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 11
Still reeling from her revelation, Alessa didn’t notice the door to her suite was open and nearly leapt out of her boots when a figure popped out of nowhere.
“Oh, sorry!” Saida squeaked.
Kamaria awkwardly stood from the couch, favoring her wounded leg. “Kaleb’s awake and in a beast of a mood, but he doesn’t know anything about what’s been happening, so we told him to go back to sleep. What happened out there? Is Dante going to be okay?”
The sympathy on their faces was too much, and Alessa crumpled.
“Oh, no.” Kamaria limped over and gave Alessa a rib-crunching hug, while Saida patted her back.
It wasn’t the first time she’d wept that day, but this time she cried with her friends’ arms around her.
When the worst of her sobs were over, Saida ordered her to sit and bustled off to gather ingredients for something she swore cured heartache.
Alessa had no appetite, but any baker’s daughter knew how food soothed the baker as much as the recipient, so she let Saida have at it.
Kamaria seemed relieved they’d moved past emotions and began ticking off a list of non-terrible aspects of the current situation on her fingers. “One, he’s inside the Fortezza, so he won’t get chewed up by scarabeo. Two, sounds like a lot of other people will be safe, too. We can figure something out after Divorando, but first, we need to get through it.”
“Seriously?” came an indignant male voice from the doorway. Kaleb, clutching the doorframe. “You’re having a party without me? Almost dying wasn’t enough to earn me an invitation?”
“We’re planning, Kaleb,” Kamaria said.
“And baking!” Saida called from the kitchen.
“Using our brains and our skills.” Kamaria smiled like a cat about to pounce. “What could you possibly contribute?”
“Ha ha ha,” Kaleb said. He turned to look at someone in the hall. “Couldn’t stay away, huh? Help me in, will you?”
Alessa stood as Josef helped Kaleb totter inside. “You aren’t supposed to be here. I promised Nina I’d scratch you off the list.”
“In exchange for a secret,” Josef said. “The secret’s out, so the deal is off.”
“Was it her?” Kamaria asked. “Did she tell Ivini?”
“She says she didn’t.” Josef stopped, forcing Kaleb to stop with him. “She was scared and trying to protect me before, but she’s not evil. Dante in prison doesn’t help anyone.”
“Then, if she kept her side of the deal…” Alessa said, a question in her voice.
“I’ve made my choice.” Josef helped Kaleb sit on the couch. “Whether she likes it or not, I’m here to help.”
Saida brushed flour from her hands and came over with a tray of teacups. Kaleb sniffed his, grumbling about adding something stronger.
“Any more distractions before we get on with it?” Kamaria asked. “Anyone need to use the restroom? Everybody got a snack? Your beverage of choice?”
“No,” Kaleb grumbled, eying his tea.
“Aww, does baby need a nap?”
Kaleb stuck his tongue out at her.
“If we’re all settled, then it’s time to decide who’s taking Kaleb’s place. I may not be in the best shape of my life, but you find me a better pair of crutches, and I’ll be there.”
“Any of us would,” Saida said. “It’s up to you.”
Alessa’s idea came fully into focus as they all volunteered once again. For days, the pieces had been just out of reach, but watching so many people step up to give their safety away forged the final connection. “I think the texts are wrong.”
“Care to be more specific?” Kamaria said.
“Sorry,” Alessa said. “I’m still sorting through it. Okay, so, out of everyone on Saverio she could have chosen, Dea gave this gift to me, knowing who I am. How much I hate to be alone. How badly I wanted to be a part of a community. To make connections and have friends.”
“Aw, group hug.” Saida stepped forward, arms outstretched.
Kamaria hauled her back by her skirt. “Let her finish.”
“The holy doctrine says I needed to lose my identity and be isolated to form the kind of connection a Finestra and Fonte need, but I think, maybe that’s bullshit.”
“Finestra,” Kaleb gasped in faux horror. “Such language.”
“Shut up, Kaleb,” Kamaria said.
“Shut up, Kamaria,” Kaleb retorted, mimicking her tone so perfectly Saida got a case of the giggles.
“While we’re on the topic,” Alessa said, “can you all please use my name? I know there are rules, but I think some have gone off track over the past few hundred years.”
“Screw rules,” Kamaria said. “They’re overrated.”
Alessa smiled. “Well, um, hi. I’m Alessa Paladino. Nice to officially meet you.”
“Alessa?” Kaleb said. “Really? I would have pegged you as a Mary, or maybe Marie.”
“This is a fun little theological lesson,” Kamaria said, earning an elbow from Kaleb. “But you still haven’t told us who’s going to hold your hand when the bugs come.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say.” Alessa took a deep breath. “I was sort of hoping it would be … all of you.”
Four pairs of eyes stared blankly at her.
“I think Kaleb collapsed because you were each absorbing part of my power, so no one was overloaded, but when you let go, Kaleb got the full force, and it was too much.”
“Meaning?” Josef said.
“Meaning I’m supposed to have more than one Fonte. Simultaneously.”
“Whoa,” Saida said. “None of the texts ever mentioned such an idea.”
“Didn’t they, though?” Alessa smiled sadly. “Together, we protect. It’s in every song. On every mural. Maybe it’s what Dea wanted from the beginning. She told us to find safety in connection. In community. We—the people—wrote it down and turned it into a million rules regulating everything a Finestra could wear, touch, love, or speak to. The gods didn’t make those rules. That was us.”
“The apocalypse is coming in—” Kaleb pretended to check his watch. “Ten days? Eleven? Who can keep track? And we’re throwing out the rulebook. Nice. What about the part that says ghiotte are evil?”
Alessa couldn’t smile. “That one might take longer to fix, but we’ll figure it out after we save the world.”
Josef still looked dazed. “A team of Fontes?”
Kaleb cleared his throat. “Ahem. I have it on good authority that the correct pluralization of the word is Fonti.”
Kamaria punched him on the arm, and they broke into a childish slapping fight.
Alessa watched them bicker with fierce affection. The Verità may have said loving no one was the only way to love everyone, but she’d fallen in love with Dante, and now her heart could burst with love for her friends.
Love didn’t demand perfection. The people—human, flawed, imperfect—who’d begun writing the Verità hundreds of years ago might have started on the right path, but they’d gotten lost along the way, a pendulum swung so far it had snapped. And if they were wrong about that, they might be wrong about other things.
She’d tried to be like Renata, strong and stoic, hiding her emotions beneath a layer of cold detachment, and it had never fit. She’d tried to be what she thought the gods wanted her to be, what she was told the people needed her to be, and it had gotten her three dead partners, and a shell around her heart. She’d been stunted until she threw off the rules, shut the holy books, and let herself be the emotional, stubborn, distracted mess she was.
Her mistake was playacting at being someone else.
She was still Alessa. She was a person, a daughter, a sister, a lover, a friend. She didn’t have to shed those roles to become Finestra. She only had to rearrange the parts she already had. She might be but one stitch in the tapestry, but every stitch had a purpose, and threads couldn’t become art without them.
To become one of many, she had to be one.
And to win the battle, she needed her friends.