“If you prefer a different flower, there are easier ways to drop a hint.” Plucking a shriveled blossom from its wrinkled stem, she shredded the petals between her fingers. It didn’t deserve the punishment, but when had deserving ever protected anyone?
If she had died, another Finestra might be rising to take her place. Either that, or Saverians would’ve woken to find themselves completely defenseless. Her family would have lost their daughter and their last hope of survival in one moment.
Below her bare feet were depictions of the three remaining sanctuary islands.
The fourth wasn’t shown. The lost island had been wiped from the maps, forsaken to fade into obscurity after it fell during the first Divorando.
It was up to Alessa whether Saverio would survive the next.
She pushed to her feet, grimacing against the pain, and crept around the statue to the pane of glass set into the wall. She needed to face her enemies head on, and of the entrants on her rapidly growing list of foes, at least this one was dead.
The husk of a scarabeo, shriveled and dusty from centuries in its airless tomb, peered back at her with unseeing eyes. Like some enormous, warped nightmare of an Atlas beetle, it had three curved horns and a glossy carapace that appeared midnight black at first glance but was actually mottled with all the colors of the rainbow, like a spill of grease on dark water. The desiccated specimen, a souvenir from the first Divorando meant to be a testament to Saverio’s survival, taunted her.
The girl and the monster, face to face. The girl, a killer. The monster, dead. Or perhaps, the girl a monster, soon to be dead.
She curled her fingers against the glass, nails scraping against the surface.
Thousands of these … things … were coming. For her. For Saverio.
And now she had to deal with knives flying at her head and hands itching to wring her neck.
Frightened people crave certainty.
She was frightened, but even worse, beneath the fear and grief and anger was a whiff of relief. For years, she’d clung to her parents’ faith. Then she’d become the blessed Finestra, and it had been easy enough to have faith at first. But now, with everyone else’s certainty stripped away, it turned out she had none of her own.
If Ivini was right, she’d wasted the final years of her life. She couldn’t bear that.
If he was wrong, her death would doom them all. She couldn’t risk that.
Papa always told her not to trust fear, but fear was all she had.
Fear. Stubbornness. And the simmering anger she’d been tamping down since that knife drew her blood.
Every swallow brought tears to her eyes, but the burn in her throat threatened to ignite a fire in her chest that would spread, take over, scorch her from within until she was nothing but a pile of ash.
And she was going to let it.
If she failed again, she’d have her answer, the sign she’d been waiting for. If her hands killed once more, she’d sacrifice herself for the greater good.
But first, one last try.
Back in her room, Alessa stood before the mirror on trembling legs. The dark shadows below her eyes echoed the bruises around her neck, but her eyes sparked with determination.
She dressed at quarter speed, inching a loose dress up her torso and gently knotting a shawl around her neck to hide the evidence. If anyone reacted when they saw her, she needed to know it was because they didn’t expect her to be alive, not because they were shocked by her injuries.
She chose the two sharpest of the small knives in her kitchenette and carefully slid one inside each of her tall boots.
As she reached the ground floor, a regiment marched past. Boots. So many boots. Each identical to the pair he’d been wearing.
Alessa froze, her muscles seizing in terror. She hadn’t seen her attacker’s face. He could be one of them, still moving through the Cittadella with impunity.
One soldier flicked a quick glance her way and frowned. Alessa couldn’t tell if the woman’s reaction was pity or distaste, but it was enough to snap her out of her trance.
Alessa ran through her plan before opening the door. If Tomo and Renata showed any sign of shock or disappointment when she entered, she would know.
She stepped inside, waiting as the door closed behind her.
Renata gave a little wave and yawned into her espresso.
“Good morning, Finestra.” Tomo pushed his chair back and bowed. “You’re early today.”
“No time to waste.” Forced detachment cooled Alessa’s voice, making her sound abnormally calm.
They didn’t notice. Renata drained her cup, oblivious, and Tomo turned back to his news sheet.