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.
Forty-Five
Tardi si vien con l’acqua quando la casa è arsa.
It is too late for water when the house is burnt down.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 7
One week before Divorando, Alessa couldn’t take it any longer.
Saida and Kamaria were asleep in her bed after she’d made a big show of falling “asleep” on the couch hours earlier, and Josef and Kaleb were staying in the Fonte suite, so when she stole out of her room and eased the door closed, the coast should have been clear. But Kaleb, as always, was a pain in the ass.
“Leaving without me?” he wheezed, hanging onto the railing.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
“I couldn’t sleep, and I heard you stomping around out here. I’m going with you.”
“Going where?” she asked, innocently.
He gave her a look of utter exasperation. “If you say you took me to see the monster with my own eyes, maybe you won’t get accused of treason. I wanted to scold the mongrel who dared to soil my angel, or something like that.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Come on, help me down the stairs.”
Alessa didn’t want company and she didn’t want to share the few stolen moments she got with Dante, but Kaleb had a point.
They paused midway across the courtyard so Kaleb could catch his breath. “Has no one wondered why I haven’t been out and about? Truly?”
“We told everyone you’re taking your duties so seriously you’ve become a recluse. The waving was very helpful, though.” He’d waved magnanimously down to the servants from the hallway railing the day before.
“You’re going to let him out, right?” Kaleb winced with every step, his fingers digging into her arm, his free hand white on the railing.
“I can’t. Ivini’s told his supporters to back us instead of fighting us, and it would all fall apart if I align myself with a ghiotte. I can’t take that chance, especially after everyone agreed to let the Marked in. We’re finally united.”
“Yeah,” Kaleb said. “Against someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
“Shocking, I know, but it turns out this whole divine savior thing isn’t quite as fun as they made it sound.”
“Not fun? What part of this isn’t fun?” Kaleb snorted with laughter. “I’m having the time of my life, aren’t you?”
“It’s a party every day.”
“Carnevale from morning to midnight.”
“A birthday that never ends.”
As they slowly made their way down through the Fortezza, they left the smooth walls of the main corridor for older, rougher tunnels, and finally, the catacombs. Kaleb was trembling and sweaty despite the damp cold, and the echoes of his wheezing made it seem as though the thousands of skulls lining the walls were breathing.
Two half-asleep guards stood outside the crypt where every deceased Fonte and Finestra lay in state.
“We’re here to pray for the…” Alessa struggled to get the words out.
“Revoltingly hideous monster,” Kaleb finished for her, speaking far louder than necessary. He grimaced and waved the guards away. “Shoo, will you? It’s bad enough without being gawked at.”
The guards traded irritated glances, but let them pass.
The mausoleum was entirely made of stone, with individual tombs on either side, gated to keep their occupants’ eternal slumber from being disturbed.
When they reached the first empty crypt, which Alessa realized with a lurch might someday be hers, she could make out the lone figure in the dark.
The day she’d met him, Dante had been in a cage, but he’d been magnificent, dominating the space with grace and power. Now he slumped in a corner, his eyes dull and lifeless. And it was her fault.