Renata’s loud clap was as startling as being pushed into a cold lake, and Alessa’s foil clattered to the ground.
They all watched it roll across the floor.
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Kaleb said under his breath.
With a pained smile, Renata declared Alessa in charge. Her absence left a strange and unpleasant intimacy in the room, and Alessa polished her foil with unnecessary vigor.
Kaleb threw his sword on the ground with a clang. “Can someone tell me why we’re practicing fighting skills when we have magic?”
Kamaria shot him a death glare. “Not everyone lives in a walled villa, and anyone less privileged than yourself—in other words, everyone—knows it’s worth learning how to defend yourself.”
Kaleb rolled his eyes. “How many times have you fought off an attacker?”
“Ask him.” She pointed at Dante. “I bet he’ll tell you.”
Dante straightened at the sudden shift of attention his way. “Tell him what?”
“That it’s important to know self-defense.”
“Oh, sure. If that’s what you call it.” Dante’s lips quirked.
“What’s so funny?” Kaleb demanded. “If you have a problem, say it to my face.”
Dante stood. “You think a scarabeo will say en garde before it eats you?”
Kaleb glared. “Whatever. We have real power.”
“You won’t last long enough to use it.”
Kaleb gestured to the wall. “Hence the weapons—”
Dante scanned Kaleb with a dismissive sniff. “A weapon’s only as good as the fighter holding it.”
“Dante,” Alessa warned. Bodyguards were supposed to fade into the background, not indulge in sword-measuring contests.
Kaleb’s hands clenched. “Whoever was chosen as Fonte should have had years to prepare, but we’re all playing catch-up because of her.”
“Watch it,” Dante said, but Kaleb didn’t heed his steely glare.
“No uniform. You aren’t even a soldier. What do you know about anything?” Puffing himself up like an affronted goose, Kaleb strolled over until he was nose to nose with Dante.
Alessa only had time to sigh before Kaleb’s chin snapped up, Dante’s knife at his throat.
“I know how to find an opponent’s weakness.”
Kaleb’s eyes went wide with fear as Dante nudged his head higher.
“Enough,” Alessa said. She didn’t mind seeing Kaleb humbled, but she shouldn’t have let it get this far.
Dante didn’t move.
“Stand down.” Slowly, Dante lowered his knife, and Alessa hung her foil on the wall. “Thank you, Dante. Helpful, as always.”
Nina chewed on the end of her braid. “Do—do scarabeo even have weaknesses?”
Dante flexed his fingers. “Everything has a weakness.”
Alessa walked over to one of the painted scarabeo on the wall, trying to remember the details of the corpses she’d dissected. “I never paid much attention to their individual vulnerabilities, but let’s find out.”
* * *
Alessa spotted the thin, worn book she was looking for on the highest shelf of the library, in the section devoted to scarabeo. Her fingertips barely brushed it, even when she hopped. She turned to locate one of the step stools scattered about and found Dante’s warmth right behind her, trapping her between him and the shelves. She inhaled sharply and pressed back into the books, sending a few tumbling off the far side.
Dante dropped the book into her hands, then stalked around the other side to return the displaced tomes to their rightful places, scowling at her through the gaps. He’d let strangers batter him bloody, but looked mortally offended at the possibility of damaging some musty old books.
Gathering her scattered thoughts, Alessa flipped pages as she walked back toward the Fontes. Diagrams blurred into jerky motion, line-drawn scarabeo scuttling across the page so vividly that she shivered.
“There. See where their armor plates meet?” Using a table as a barrier between herself and the Fontes, she placed the book down, open to the page. They craned their necks to see, but made no move to approach, so she nudged it closer and pulled her hands away. “Dante, could you tell us which moves you would use to strike those areas of vulnerability?”
Dante emerged from the stacks. “I’m here to keep you alive, not play teacher.”
“Fighting off scarabeo would help keep me alive.”
He shrugged. “My job’s over by then.”