“Yes, Alessa, I remember.” Her name on his lips sent a strange thrill through her body. “So. Your family. You had one.”
She sighed. “Yes, I had a family. I suppose I still do, depending on how pious you are.”
“Are they pious?”
“My parents are. They haven’t spoken to me since the day I left. They’re faithful believers.”
“And shitty parents.”
“That’s not fair.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Siblings?”
“I have—had—oh, forget it, I have a twin brother named Adrick. Sometimes he delivers things or sits on the other side of the garden walls to speak with me, even though it’s against the rules.”
“So, was your life … good? I mean, you seem so…” He struggled for the words, twirling his hand through the air as though flipping through a mental stack of vocabulary words. “Lonely. Like you miss it.”
“I do. I miss them so much it’s like something’s been carved out of my middle.” She dropped her gaze. “My father used to call me his little cat, because I couldn’t resist an available lap.” She gave a sad laugh. “I was too affectionate at times. I used to embarrass Adrick by trying to hold his hand around his friends.”
“It must have been a shock.”
“Becoming Finestra was like drowning. You go every day of your life without noticing the air in your lungs, and suddenly you’re plunged into deep water, and air becomes the most precious gift you never knew you’d been given and never thought would be taken away.”
“Not sure I’d notice.”
“That’s sad.”
He shrugged.
“I wish you were the Finestra, then. All the personal space one could ever want, an epic battle, and plenty of isolation. Clearly the gods missed their perfect candidate.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “The gods don’t want me.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. “So. You know my full name, and I still don’t know your last name.”
“Last name?” Dante said with a twinkle in his eye. “Luce mia, you don’t even know my first name.”
“Wait.” Alessa stood. “Dante isn’t your real name?”
“It’s my name, just not my first name.” A smile teased at his lips as Alessa prowled closer.
“What’s your first name, then?”
His smile deepened. “I’m not telling.”
“Why not?” Alessa’s voice rose with indignation. “Just to annoy me?”
“’Course not. Annoying you is a perk, though.”
“I bet it’s something terrible, like Eustice. Maybe I’ll call you that until you tell me.”
He snorted. “Call me whatever you want. But don’t expect me to answer.”
“How do you say jackass in the old language?”
“Stronzo.”
“Bastard?”
“Bastardo.” Dante sauntered toward the door. “Should I write these down for you?”
“I’m sure they’ll come in handy.”
Dante held the door for her to go first. A bastardo, but a gentleman.
Twenty-One
Chi pecora si fa, il lupo se la mangia.
Become a sheep and the wolves will eat you.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 26
The island began trembling during breakfast, as though it, too, shook with dread. The second quake sent Alessa back upstairs, dripping with spilled orange juice and grumbling about deities who could have sent messages composed of clouds or rainbows, but oh, no, they simply had to use natural disasters as a countdown clock.
The shaking subsided by the time she stood in the training room in clean clothes, but Crollo seemed determined to dump an ocean from the sky. She set to work arranging the pillows she’d brought to make it feel less threatening—and break any potential falls—but she couldn’t do anything about the ominous rumble of the storm.
Kamaria leaned against the wall, projecting rakish ennui in snug, fawn-colored breeches, but she kept fiddling with the laces of her untucked blouse. Nina stood behind Josef, subtly mirroring his movements like the tide responding to the moon. The pale pink of her dress was a change from her usual white attire, but not by much.
Kaleb’s usual scorn had melted into sullen gloom, and in case anyone wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about being there, he’d chosen to wear uninterrupted black from head to toe. Feet planted wide, arms crossed, he glowered at anyone foolish enough to glance his way.