“Well, excuse me,” she said, a bit indignant. “I didn’t begin studying the old language until I came to the Cittadella, and pronunciation wasn’t my priority. Are you fluent?”
“Yes.”
“Who taught you?”
Silence.
That’s what she got for trying to be nice.
She twirled her hand through the water to create a funnel. “Do you believe any of the old lore?”
“Some.”
“How about the ghiotte? Some people think they’re still out there.”
A pause. “You ever met one?”
“Of course not.”
“But you believe they’re lurking in the forests, waiting to attack the good people of Saverio.”
“No,” she said, drawing the word out. “They were banished to the continent, so they were either killed in the first Divorando or died out since. No one could survive that long without a community.”
“Maybe they had their own. Maybe they still do.”
“You’re awfully crabby for someone who doesn’t have an opinion. I thought you didn’t believe in them.”
This time, she was left to picture his shrug.
“You’re probably right,” Alessa said. “If it was true, Dea would have just taken the power back. Why let someone keep a stolen gift?”
“Who knows why the gods do anything?”
“We know plenty. They created Finestra and Fonte to protect the island. Obviously.”
“From the attack they send. Why doesn’t Dea tell Crollo to knock it off?”
“She’s trying to make us better. To remind us about community, kindness, and connection. Two souls joined in partnership, creating a window to the divine and a physical reminder that all mortals can, and must, be a stitch in the tapestry of the world.”
“They make you memorize that speech?”
“No.”
Yes.
Alessa flicked the water, creating angry ripples. “If our soldiers could drink from the fountain, thousands more might survive every Divorando. It’s appalling that anyone could be so selfish.”
“People are selfish,” Dante said. “Everyone just pretends to care about others, hoping they don’t get found out.”
“How delightfully cynical. All the more reason to have the ghiotte as a cautionary tale.”
He scoffed. “Against what? Healing?”
“Selfishness. I always assumed the Finestra was naturally selfless. But I’m not.” She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. “I think that’s why it keeps happening. I’m being punished.”
Dante seemed to have used up his capacity for conversation.
Alessa stared at the water, wishing she could pull the confession back and wipe it from his memory. What was it about speaking to someone you couldn’t see that made one want to overshare?
Right when she thought the conversation was dead and buried, he spoke. “If you even try, you’re better than most.”
Her lips twitched into a grateful smile. “Why, Dante, are you being nice to me?”
“Not intentionally.” A long silence. “You staying in there all day?”
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
She was tempted to stay in longer, simply to aggravate him, but if she stayed another minute, he might have to fish her out after all. Besides, the Fontes would arrive soon. By evening, they’d be alone together for the first time. Well, their first time alone with her. For all she knew, they met weekly to discuss how much they loathed her.
Alessa stood, watching the water drip down her legs before reaching for a fluffy robe. Bundling up, with a few pats to be extra sure everything was covered, she walked over to where Dante reclined on the stairs, hands behind his head.
He looked up at her through a fringe of dark lashes. “You didn’t drown.”
“Maybe next time.”
Sixteen
Tristo è quel barbiere che ha un sol pettine.
Do not risk all your eggs in one basket.
An hour later, Alessa paced before her favorite bench in the farthest corner of the gardens. Hidden by the tangled branches of a lemon tree, she couldn’t see the Cittadella, only leaves and flowers. Sometimes, tucked away there, in a world so green and lush it felt like paradise, serenaded by bees and birdsong, she could almost forget her captivity. Not today.
She must have looked like a chicken trying to fly, hands fluttering by her sides, but she didn’t care. She’d killed three Fontes—three—and her brilliant plan to avoid killing another was to bring them all to the Cittadella? The phrase “all your eggs in one basket” wasn’t ominous enough for the occasion.