He shrugged and returned to the shelves.
“If you have no preference, how do you choose?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“You give insufficient answers.” She crossed her arms. “Fine. I don’t need to know anything about you.”
“No, you don’t.”
After carrying his book haul to an end table, Dante sprawled in a leather armchair. His pose was as relaxed as a sunbathing cat, but he flipped through book after book with feverish intensity, putting one down only to grab another, as if hunting for something.
“You won’t be here long enough to read all of those,” Alessa said, annoyed at her peevishness.
“Watch me.”
She was. Too closely.
Between the soft snick of turning pages, silence beat against her eardrums. She’d never realized quiet had weight to it, a pulse that somehow, paradoxically, made it difficult to hear anything else.
Occasionally, the Fontes’ voices sounded through the walls, making her twitch.
She wandered toward the door, ears pricked.
“Come la cosa indugia…” Dante muttered.
She finished it for him. “—piglia vizio. I know. But I wasn’t eavesdropping, just making sure they hadn’t left without me.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
Alessa perched on the armrest of the nearest chair, tapping her heels against the leather. Her soft dress shoes didn’t make much noise. She swung her feet harder, each impact making a soft thump.
Dante didn’t look up.
He would avoid an argument the one time she wanted one. She reached for a small globe on the end table, spinning it with a flick of her finger. The continents were shaded gray, indicating their destruction, while the islands were painted in vivid color.
Altari’s reclusive population was content to be left alone on their snowy island, buying little and selling less. She could only imagine how they’d reacted to the recent flood of Fonte refugees. If she could hop a ship and flee, she’d risk the long and treacherous voyage to Tanp, a tropical paradise on the far side of the world. Returning ship crews spoke of water clear as glass, and fruit that tasted like joy itself, but while many a captain returned with saplings, they never grew when replanted on Saverio.
“Do you ever think about leaving?” she asked.
“Saverio?” he said without looking up. “Every damn day.”
“There’s still time. I’m sure there are captains who’d prefer to weather Divorando under another Finestra’s protection. I’ve heard Tanp is beautiful. A better climate than Saverio and probably a better savior, too.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “I’d rather go to the continent and fend for myself.”
“That’s a terrible idea. The scarabeo strip it bare every Divorando.”
“Not true. They usually head our way before they eat everything. No point wasting time on grass when there’s a whole island full of tasty people offshore.”
“You think you’d survive without Saverio’s protection?”
“Hasn’t done much for me, yet.”
“What’s stopping you, then?”
“I haven’t the coin. Besides, I said I’d keep you alive so you can save Saverio.”
She blew out a breath. “Right. Save Saverio.”
Her nerves vibrated hard enough to shatter her bones while she composed an elaborate mental fantasy of ripping the book out of his hands and throwing it, just to hear it hit the wall. Anything to break the silence.
Oblivious to her piercing stare, Dante sank deeper into his seat.
“I can leave, if you’d like privacy,” she said.
“I’m reading, not bathing.”
She slid back until her legs draped over the arm and pulled a throw pillow out from behind her, hugging it to her chest. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“Chair’s comfortable. Company isn’t terrible.”
She dropped her chin to the pillow. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in years.”
Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she slapped a hand over it.
Dante lowered his book. “Can’t you ring a little bell for food or something? Isn’t that what fancy people do?”
She gave him an arch look. “Yes, we fancy people love bells. But I’m hosting a formal banquet for the Fontes tonight and shouldn’t spoil my appetite. You’re welcome to dine in the mess hall with the soldiers if you’d prefer not to witness the social carnage.”
Dante sniffed. “And gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon?”