He who has a bad name is half hanged.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 11
The hilt of the Captain’s sword smashed into the base of Dante’s skull, and he crumpled to the ground.
Five years of training and every lick of sense flew out the window as Alessa tried to lunge for him, but Renata, who’d never, not once, touched her, held her back with a vise grip around her arm.
“At ease, Captain.” The ice in Renata’s voice stalled Alessa’s fight. “Explain yourself.”
“I assure you, I will,” Captain Papatonis said gravely.
Two soldiers hauled Dante upright by his arms, and the Captain roughly removed his helmet.
“That’s not her Fonte.” With a vicious yank of Dante’s hair, he forced his head up. “It’s an imposter.”
The crowd gasped, recoiling in horror, as if they were witnessing some grotesque specter and not a beautiful man who’d been felled by a cowardly attack from behind.
In that moment, Alessa hated them all.
Tomo laughed uncomfortably. “Oh, dear. Given the circumstances, we decided studying was a better use of Kaleb Toporovsky’s time, so we brought a stand-in, Captain. A harmless little maneuver.”
“You see, Captain? You’ve disarmed him and knocked him unconscious, when you simply could have asked us.” Renata raised her voice. “Dearest, why don’t you send Signor Toporovsky to the balcony?”
Tomo’s cane tapped a frantic beat on the stairs as he hurried away.
Alessa couldn’t breathe for the hundred years it took before Kaleb stepped onto the balcony. Tomo was probably bracing him up from behind, and there was a decent chance he was about to keel over, but Kaleb waved and blew kisses, grinning like the guest of honor at a birthday party. The air rushed back into Alessa’s lungs as thousands of troops and a thousand more civilians looked up to see their Fonte, alive.
“Begging your pardon, Signora,” said the Captain. “But that’s not the only problem.”
Dante opened his eyes with a low groan.
“Allow me.” Ivini stepped forward, half-turned so the crowd could hear his every word. “My apologies for the spectacle, but I had to act when a member of my flock informed me that evil had infiltrated the Cittadella.”
“No,” Alessa said. “That’s not—”
“Quiet,” Renata hissed. “For his sake and yours.”
Without warning, the Captain slashed Dante’s face with his dagger.
Alessa leapt, but Renata was faster. “Enough!”
Blood dripped down Dante’s cheek, puddling on the white stone, but he couldn’t hide his face with his arms pinned and a knife at his throat.
Dea, help me, Alessa begged silently. I don’t know what to do.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head in the tiniest no.
“As you’ll see, that thing,” Ivini continued, “is a ghiotte.”
Dante’s eyes bored into Ivini’s as the wicked gash across his cheek began to knit back together, and the crowd rumbled like the first warnings of a storm.
“Using his wicked wiles, he secured a spot by our Finestra’s side, tainting her magic and weakening our Fontes.” Ivini motioned as though shielding his eyes against Dante’s wickedness. “A formal execution is too good for the creature, but my flock will dispose of it.”
“No,” Alessa gasped. “That’s not—We cannot—”
Tomo coughed, his look pleading with her. “Finestra, you are a compassionate soul, but perhaps we should let cooler heads prevail.”
Renata gripped her tighter. “Hold. Your. Tongue.”
There was nothing she could say. Nothing she could do. If she showed mercy—if anyone realized she’d known and allowed Dante to stay—or worse, that she’d welcomed him into her arms …
“There will be no killing here today.” Tomo’s calm demeanor was a splash of cool water on the fires raging all around. “The Blessing of the Troops should not be tainted by such ugliness.”
Ivini, the picture of indignant horror, seemed to realize his plan to become Saverio’s avenging angel, executioner of demons, was crumbling. “But Signor. He brought evil into this holy place. Tainted her purity with his sin. He deserves to be punished.”
“And I expect the Consiglio will agree, but that decision is up to them, not you,” Renata said.
Alessa shook with rage and fear. They were trying, but they could only do so much.
Ivini pivoted to don the role of guilt-stricken martyr. “La Finestra sul Divino. Your benevolence is inspiring. I beg you, let me transport the creature to the continent, then. Even if it means my own death. My final act of penance for how I have wronged my savior.” A gratified smile toyed at his lips as scattered voices from the crowd cried out in protest.