Kaleb struggled to sit up. “After all he did for us, they’re going to leave him moldering in a crypt through Divorando, with no way to escape if things go south? And then what? A public stoning?”
“Hopefully not, but for now, we have no choice.” Renata looked at Alessa. “He’ll be given food and water through the bars, but the guards won’t have keys. We made it clear we won’t tolerate any mysterious disappearances or ‘accidental’ deaths. Justice will be served.”
Justice. There was no justice in putting someone on trial for what they were, not what they’d done.
Alessa tried to hold on to the smallest bit of hope. For now, Dante was safe. But he’d be alone through the siege, surrounded by marble tombs and people who hated him.
“Go ahead,” Renata said, taking Alessa by the shoulders. “Cry. Rage. You deserve to. You’re angry, and you should be, but you get to choose whether it will make you bitter or make you better.”
The siren call was strong, but Renata was right. Railing at unfairness wouldn’t help anyone.
“Your people have never truly listened to you before, but they will now.” Renata squeezed Alessa’s shoulders. “Win the battle, and we can find a way to save him. But first, you must win. Don’t waste his sacrifice. Take the power it gives you and use it. He’s not the only one who needs saving.”
Forty-Three
Belle parole non pascono i gatti.
Fine words don’t feed cats.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 11
As the sun went down, Alessa stood before another gathered crowd in the piazza. The hush of anticipation was so profound, the acoustics so perfect, she didn’t have to yell.
“Today is a day of mercy,” Alessa began. “The Consiglio has decreed that the ghiotte will be given a trial after Divorando, and I—” She took a deep breath. “I have agreed. As Dea bid us, Saverians must be a people of mercy, forgiveness, and welcome, who protect each other from the forces of evil and chaos.”
Her gaze fell on a sharp face beneath slicked-back silver hair.
“There is no divine grace like forgiveness, is there, Padre Ivini?” she asked.
Ivini nodded, his keen eyes assessing. “Your benevolence toward the wicked is like seeing the face of Dea.”
Her smile was so saccharine she hoped it gave him a toothache. “It is, isn’t it?”
Alessa took a long moment to find the grubbiest faces in the crowd, the hollowed cheeks and fearful eyes of the Marked. Soon, the city gates would close for good, and they would be on the other side. They watched her for reassurance that she was strong enough to defeat the swarm before it descended on their ramshackle homes and devoured them.
As they stood there, the last far-flung villagers were trickling into the city, passing huddles of Marked and baring their wrists at the city gates to receive their Fortezza assignments.
When Divorando came, she’d have an army at her back and magic in her grip. The Marked would board up their windows and doors and huddle inside, praying and hoping they lived to see the morning.
“Five years ago, I was chosen by Dea to protect you, and I didn’t understand why. I wasn’t the smartest or the bravest. I wasn’t always kind, and I often said the worst thing at the worst times. Signor Miyamoto and Signora Ortiz have had their work cut out for them.”
A few laughs broke out, cut off by shushing.
“Dea made me powerful. At first, I thought, too powerful. I no longer think that. My gift was a challenge to become more than I thought I was. And today, I’m going to challenge you. I used to have a brother who believed I’d always do the right thing. Ironic, as he was asking me to do the wrong thing at the time, but like most sisters, I didn’t listen.”
She paused, with an indulgent smile for the scattered nervous chuckles.
“I once asked someone to be better, and I was told that people don’t change, that they’re selfish and cruel and only pretend to be good. I disagreed then. And I disagree now. Today I ask you to prove me right. We are flawed, imperfect, and often broken, but we all contain the potential to be more. Those who bear the mark of crimes have made mistakes. Some grievous. They have stolen, hurt, and at times, taken lives. I am your Finestra. I have taken lives, too.”
A few concerned murmers fluttered between groups, but she pressed on.
“Not intentionally, and not out of anger, impulse, or revenge, but knowingly. I’m not so different from those who’ve stolen to eat or killed to live. I suspect many of you feel the same about mistakes you’ve made, but I believe in you as Dea believed in me, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that we’re strongest when we love more, forgive more. Not less.”