He pointed at her bed. “Go.”
She flushed, her heart pounding.
“Alone.” He sat on the couch. “You’re so close. Don’t let me distract you now.”
“I can’t change how I feel about you.”
“It doesn’t matter how we feel. Some things aren’t possible.”
Tomorrow evening, she’d stand on the balcony with her chosen Fonte.
The next day, she’d be wed. And he’d be gone.
Thirty-Six
Al povero mancano tante cose, all’avaro tutte.
A poor man lacks many things, but a greedy man lacks them all.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 14
The following day dawned too beautiful to trust. No icy rain or brutal heat, no ominous clouds. In fact, no clouds at all. No breeze, for that matter, but the temperature was too perfect to complain about the stillness, and the world outside Alessa’s balcony rang with the sweet twittering of birds beneath an azure sky.
She’d slept alone, in her bed, heart aching to be near him, to cling to their last hours together, but Dante was more cool than usual.
She decided to work innuendo into as many sentences as possible, hoping the challenge of making him laugh would tamp down her anxiety and dread about saying goodbye.
The Fontes would be sequestered with the Consiglio for a grueling series of final interviews. Their strengths and weaknesses would be weighed and measured, and they’d be ranked. After, she’d see who was left and who—if anyone—would volunteer.
She had nothing to do but worry until then. She’d worn her loose white Consiglio gown, in case they called her in, so at least she was comfortable while her insides twisted into knots.
Alessa opted to worry in the gardens, which worked out nicely as Dante had plenty of room to pace. She picked a tiny white flower from a nearby bush and pushed the stem into her high bun, then another.
Kamaria was the most likely to volunteer, and if Alessa was choosing, she’d be her top choice. But the whiff of treason left by Shomari’s defection was a variable she couldn’t dismiss.
Kaleb wasn’t likely to volunteer. Nina was so fragile. Saida’s gift was tricky to use. Josef would be a strong battle partner, but in his time at the Cittadella, she’d barely seen him smile. It shouldn’t matter, but the thought of facing Divorando without a few laughs was rather depressing.
By the second hour, Alessa had an entire halo of lacy petals around the base of her topknot and had moved on to gathering a bouquet.
“How long is this going to take?” Dante grumbled. “You have pollen in your hair, by the way.”
Alessa brushed at it, but she couldn’t see the top of her head. “Emer and Ilsi were approved within a half hour, but it took an entire day before the Consiglio cleared Hugo. I thought for sure they were going to send him home and make me choose again.”
Dante stopped pacing. “You never talk about him.”
“He wasn’t the most interesting person. He was so bland that he might as well have been a bowl of vanilla pudding. I chose him because I was tired of killing people I liked.”
“Oh. Is today worse or better, then?”
“Both?” she admitted. “I like them. All of them. Even Kaleb. I have more control over my power now, but I’m still asking someone to face Armageddon.”
A line formed between Dante’s eyebrows as he walked over to tilt her chin—down, not up, alas—and blew on her hair, gently de-pollinating her.
“Did you know that Finestra is a base word for other words?” She couldn’t help herself. “Like defenestration.”
Dante stopped blowing. “Yes.” He sounded wary. Smart of him. “It means to throw someone out of a window.”
She snickered. “Or to break a window. It’s a metaphor for—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
She fluttered her eyelashes in mock innocence. “Deflowering a virgin.”
Dante couldn’t stop the laugh that burst free. “I want it on the record that I didn’t even touch your flowers.”
“There’s still time.”
“Is this a side effect of forced purity and years with nothing but novels for entertainment?” He tugged his ear. “All these pent-up naughty thoughts finally taking over?”
“Maybe,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Or maybe it reined me in, and I would have been even worse. Can you imagine?”
“Dea help me, I cannot,” Dante said, pushing a lock of hair off his forehead. It promptly slipped back, and Alessa reached to brush it away. His jaw went tight. “I need some exercise.”