At a rustle of movement below, she peered down at Dante. “Are you trying to look up my skirts?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m making sure it doesn’t take off and drop you on your ass. I don’t feel like catching you.”
“Oh, Dante,” she crooned. “You do know how to make a girl’s heart flutter.”
He smirked. “If I was trying to make you flutter, you’d know it.”
She dropped the book, aiming for his aggravatingly gorgeous face, but she knew he’d catch it regardless.
“The Siege of Avalin,” he read, holding the ladder in place with his foot so he could open the book.
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, if that doesn’t capture the mood of the evening.” Of all the books in the Cittadella, she’d pulled out an account of the one Divorando that Saverio almost didn’t survive.
“The Finestra who panicked, right?”
“Yep. Ran back to the city and tried to hide. The Fortezza was breached, rivers of blood ran through the streets, hundreds were massacred before his Fonte coaxed him back to the peak. Oh, take my advice and skip chapter seven.”
Dante promptly flipped to chapter seven, because of course he did. “‘The Orphans Left Behind.’ Nothing compared to waterfalls of blood or whatever you said. Orphans means they were lucky enough to survive, at least.”
“And is surviving always better?”
“Point taken.”
“It’s not the worst chapter, just the saddest. They put the babies in group homes, and within months, most stopped crying and refused to eat.” She blinked away tears. “Only one group thrived.”
She climbed down, turning to lean against the ladder, but Dante was too close and too tall, so she found the lowest rung of the ladder and pushed up on her toes, as if he wouldn’t notice she’d suddenly grown six inches.
Dante’s eyes twinkled at her sudden height and he stepped back. “And?”
Alessa hopped to the ground. “And?… Oh, the babies. Right. The girl caring for them had lost her entire family in the siege, so she held them all the time. Singing to them, rocking them, talking to them. Mostly just holding them. That was all it took. Everyone thought they needed food and shelter, but touch was what they needed most. Without it, the other babies simply gave up.”
Dante bit his lip. “And you know how they felt.”
She flushed. “Not entirely, but I can relate. That’s all.”
He tapped the book against his palm. “Does it happen when you touch anyone?”
“As far as I can tell.” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “Ironic, isn’t it? I would kill to hold someone’s hand, but if I do, I kill them.”
“And all this isolation is supposed to make you appreciate the holiness of connection or something?”
“Yes. A Finestra’s earthly relationships are severed so we can avoid distractions, remain pure of heart, and be fully committed to the quest at hand. I’m supposed to appreciate connection more by not having any.”
“Seems contradictory.”
“It worked. Made me quite eager to have a Fonte.”
His eyebrows drew together. “You got a real shitty deal, Finestra.”
“Alessa,” she said softly. The words tasted strange, awkward and unfamiliar on her lips. “My name is Alessandra Diletta Paladino.”
“Thought you weren’t supposed to have a name.”
“I’m also not supposed to kill my Fontes or have a man in my suite.”
He gestured to the wall. “You going to tell them?”
“Maybe I should. At least they’d know what name to curse. But no.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“I don’t know.” She sank into a chair and pulled a pillow to her chest. “I’m tired of being a title rather than a person, I guess. Just don’t say it where anyone might hear you.”
He studied her, thoughtful. “Alessandra. The gods’ chosen protector.”
“How do you know that?”
“Too much religion in my childhood.”
She knew what that was like. “Your parents were devout?”
“No.” His expression darkened.
“Well, my full name roughly translates to the gods’ beloved, brave protector of humanity. Dea must have felt she had no choice but to pick me after my parents set me up like that.”
“Does your family ever visit?” he asked.
“Finestra, remember? I have no family.”