“You call that groping?” Dante pried her hands away from her face. His smile died as they stared at each other, and she knew he was going to bring up leaving, to offer her what little safety he could with his absence in case Nina didn’t hold her tongue. As long as he was gone, Alessa would be able to dismiss any rumors as hysterical fabrication.
But once he was gone … he’d be gone.
Two suits of armor lay on her bed like stiff metal bodies. One, constructed for Alessa’s precise measurements; the other, one of the many usually mounted in the Fonte suite, chosen because it was the closest to Kaleb’s measurements.
“You and Kaleb are almost the same height, you know. Similar build, too. Under a suit of armor, no one would know the difference.”
Dante tucked her hair behind her ears. “I can’t be your Fonte. What would I do, heal myself until the scarabeo gave up and flew away?”
“I’m not asking you to stay for the battle.” She kissed the hollow at the base of his neck. “Only for the Blessing of the Troops. It’s my last public event, and people will talk if my Fonte isn’t there.”
Alessa twined her fingers together behind Dante’s back.
“Please?” she said. “Stay a little longer and save me one last time?”
* * *
The metal was cold and unforgiving, even atop a thin, sleeveless tunic and leggings, as Dante eased a chain-mail tunic over her shoulders, then helped her don the breastplate, and strapped panels to her thighs and calves.
She’d wear gloves for the Blessing, but not for the real battle.
Her hands, feet, and legs would be bare beneath the armor when it came time to fight, so her Fonte could hold on, even if he or she became too injured to stand.
When she’d gotten her first armor tutorial, she’d asked why the Fonte and Finestra helmets left the back of their necks exposed, but Tomo had explained how looking up was essential in a war when your enemies attacked from above. And, hopefully, the Finestra and Fonte would do their jobs well enough that very few scarabeo got within range of them anyway. The troops, densely packed together on the hillside, were a much more tempting feeding ground than two lone figures atop a peak, protected by magic. She hoped.
“I didn’t think he could even sit up,” Renata said as Dante descended the stairs to the courtyard. “How’d you get him into his armor?”
Dante flipped up the visor.
“Oh,” Renata said. “Brilliant.”
Dante flipped it back down as Captain Papatonis marched in to escort them to the piazza.
Alessa had to admit it was impressive—the thousands of armored soldiers in perfect lines, standing at attention in the piazza. And if she let out an ooh of admiration when they began their first series of drills, it was drowned out by the watching crowd’s awe.
As they moved into the second series, her gaze caught on a flutter of white. Icy fingers crawled up Alessa’s spine as Ivini led a line of robed figures into the piazza.
He’d never brought anything good into her life before, and she doubted he was here to make amends, but the Fratellanza made no move to disrupt anything, merely filling in the little bit of empty space on one side. She couldn’t exactly have him expelled because her neck prickled with warning.
Renata wasn’t pleased either and said something to Captain Papatonis that sent him toward Ivini, a cold look of determination on his face.
Alessa sent Ivini one last glare, poking him full of eye-daggers, then returned her attention to the troops. Ivini had tried his best and failed. He wasn’t worth another moment of her time.
The Captain rejoined them as the exercises concluded, and Alessa stepped forward to take her place for the Blessing. Dante stood slightly behind her on one side, Renata and Tomo on the other.
“Dea, blessed Goddess of Creation,” Alessa began. “We ask you to guide our weapons—”
With a hiss of metal, a guard in the front row drew his.
“Creature of Crollo!” he yelled and sprinted toward them.
Heart in her throat, Alessa fumbled for her ceremonial sword, but Dante drew first, stepping in front of her. To protect her.
“Get back, Finestra,” the Captain yelled, running forward to join Dante as a human shield.
Or so she thought.
But when Captain Papatonis raised his sword, it wasn’t to ward off the mutinous soldier. And Dante was bracing for an attack from the front, not behind.
Alessa screamed a warning, but it was too late.
Forty-One
Chi ha un cattivo nome è mezzo impiccato.