“Of course.”
“Do the Finestra and Fonte have the power to pardon someone of a high crime?”
Alessa cut a glance at her.
“Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer or anything. I’m talking about my brother. I know what everyone thinks, but Shomari’s not a deserter, I swear. Like I said, he’s just a sucker for a dare, and his friends challenged him to sneak onto a ship. The little jerks ran away when the crew woke up, and I bet you anything Sho tried to hide so he wouldn’t get in trouble, then panicked when the ship left the dock, and he officially became a deserter. He didn’t even take anything with him.”
Alessa blew out a breath. “I’ve always been told desertion was an unforgivable crime, but I don’t know, maybe under the right circumstances.”
“Like if his sister became Fonte?”
It was tempting to say yes, to lock in one strong contender, but she couldn’t use Kamaria’s brother as coercion, and she truly didn’t know. “Maybe. I can’t make any promises.”
“I get it. Sorry we’re not making this easy for you.”
Alessa tried to wipe her eyes discreetly as Kamaria left the room.
“Don’t say anything,” she said to Dante, who was watching her far too closely.
“Wasn’t going to.”
She sniffed. “They’re all alive.”
“They are.”
“Saida has a good attitude. Josef was a good sport. Kamaria was strong and she seems motivated. Kaleb was … well, Kaleb was Kaleb.”
“I enjoyed watching him squirm.”
She gave him a scolding look. “Be nice.”
“I’m not nice.”
“I think you might be, actually.”
Dante looked mortally offended, which struck her as so funny she began laughing, then couldn’t stop, until the tears she’d been fighting broke free and she wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying.
Dante looked increasingly horrified, but she couldn’t have stopped herself for anything in the world.
“Uh, are you okay?” he asked.
“Never better,” she wheezed. “Inigo?”
“Wrong.”
“Alberto?”
“Still wrong.” He held the door open for her.
“Ranieri?”
“Not even close.”
“Julian? Amadeo?”
“All right, piccola, that’s enough for today.”
* * *
The rain had become a deluge during their training session. Water coursed from the eaves of the courtyard, ferocious gusts of wind sending sheets of rain sideways, so the covered walkway offered no protection.
Alessa and Dante sloshed through the courtyard to the stairs, and she heard a huddle of servants arguing about the fastest way to bail out the kitchens. If the Cittadella, perched at the top of the city, was this inundated, she hated to think of everywhere else.
“Shall we make a run for it?” Alessa asked Dante.
Rainwater dripped from the tips of his hair as he looked at the sky. They were going to be drenched no matter what.
“Come on.” Alessa grabbed her skirts and dashed into the pouring rain. She could barely see past the water coursing down her face, but she stuck her tongue out at the statue of Crollo as she passed anyway.
A loud rumble, and someone slammed into her.
“What—”
Dante propelled her forward as something crashed to the ground behind them. The statue. Shards of marble skittered across the waterlogged courtyard.
She stumbled but didn’t fall. Dante had her arm in a vise grip, hauling her toward the stairs.
“It’s not going to fall again.” She struggled, but his hand might as well have been an iron shackle. “You can’t touch the Finestra, you dolt. The earthquake is over.”
“There was no earthquake, and that wasn’t an accident.”
She tried to turn around. “Did you see someone?”
“I could barely see anything.”
He let her go when they reached the stairs, pushing aside wet hair plastered to his forehead.
Dante flicked the drops from his fingers and gestured at the side of her face. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” She touched her cheek.
Dante gripped her elbow again, urging her along, but her waterlogged skirts kept tangling her legs, binding them together.
“Oh, for Dea’s sake, hold on.” She yanked her arm free and found the clasp, unwrapping herself and bundling the wet fabric into her arms. The forest green tights she wore beneath were nearly as thick as pants, and her leather boots—which were probably ruined—went above her knees.