This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(105)



He left to take a shower, and she dared to open the first letter, dated on her fourteenth birthday, weeks after she’d left home for the Cittadella.

My dear girl,

I know I’m not supposed to, but I can’t help missing you more than words can say. They held a parade for you today. Adrick says you looked beautiful, but I couldn’t bring myself to go. How could I, when it would break my heart even more to see you and have to pretend you aren’t my daughter?



“Knock, knock. Had enough prayer yet?”

Alessa scrubbed her face of tears and tucked the letter into Dante’s book of proverbs, holding it close as she went to open the door.

“Everyone dressed and decent after all that praying?” Kamaria peeked through a gap in her fingers. “Can’t have my virgin eyes sullied on the eve of battle.”

Nina blushed, and Josef looked scandalized.

“We didn’t want to interrupt your prayer—” Nina shot Kamaria a scolding look for her snorted laugh. “But we wanted to check on Dante, and the sun is setting, so the day of prayer is technically over. Besides, we have nothing to do but rest, and it’s too early to sleep.”

“We could spend some more time worrying,” Kamaria said. “That’s still on my to-do list.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Dea help us,” Alessa said. “It’s the day before the apocalypse, and we’re throwing a party.”

Adrick stood outside, looking sheepish.

“What are you doing here?” Alessa demanded. “You’re supposed to be inside the Fortezza.”

“I knew you’d fuss, so I hid until the gates were locked. Too late now! I’m going to fight with the militia and help tend the wounded. Warrior medic, at your service.”

Alessa sagged against the doorframe. “Now you decide to be heroic? I swear, you’ll be the death of me.”

Adrick smiled hesitantly. “At least this time it’s not intentional?”

She sighed. “Come in, then. We have enough food to serve the whole army, but nothing’s hot, and the beverage selection is lacking, unless you’re a fan of room temperature limoncello.”

Adrick rubbed his hands together. “My favorite.”

“I believe some of you have met my brother.” Adrick’s assistance with their heist hadn’t been enough to outweigh his past offenses, but it appeared they’d tolerate him.

Dante strolled out, half dressed, as she finished the tense introductions. Adrick startled, visibly astonished at the sight of Dante glowing with health, in stark contrast to the broken wretch they’d smuggled out of the crypt the night before.

“Oh, hey. Gang’s all here,” Dante said, bicep flexing as he dragged a hand through his damp hair.

Adrick made a soft noise of approval and elbowed Alessa, which she pointedly ignored.

“They came to check on you,” she said. “And my jackass brother decided to become a medic at the eleventh hour, so we’re stuck with him, too. I’m kicking them out after we eat, because everyone needs a good night’s sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kamaria said, waving her off. “Any last minute instructions? Pep talks? Battle cries?”

“Yes,” Josef said. “We need a team motto.”

Dante eyed the book of proverbs in Alessa’s hands. “In bocca al lupo. In the mouth of the wolf. It means ‘good luck.’”

“The wolf’s mouth?” Kamaria said. “I don’t get it.”

“Some say it means to face danger—the wolf—and hope for victory. Others think it refers to how a mother wolf carries her babies, safe from harm despite her sharp teeth. The correct response is, ‘Crepi il lupo’ or ‘Crepi.’ May the wolf die.”

Alessa flinched.

“It’s just an expression,” Dante said to her alone.

“I like it,” said Josef. “In bocca al lupo!”

“Crepi!” Kamaria shouted back, fist raised, but it sounded more like crappy, and everyone laughed, except for Dante, and it seemed to cost him immense effort not to.

“When this battle is over, I’m giving you all pronunciation lessons.”

“All right,” Alessa said. “Now that we have our rallying cry, dig in.”

“Eat, drink, and be merry.” Nina passed a basket of fresh bread to Josef.

Kamaria raised her baguette like a flute of prosecco. “For tomorrow, we may die.”





Forty-Eight


Tutti son bravi quando l’inimico fugge.

All are brave when the enemy flies.

DIVORANDO


Doom had a color. Not quite black, but a dark gray shot with blue that reeked of foreboding.

A distant shadow on the slate sea grew closer and larger, expanding to hide the horizon. Below Finestra’s Peak, the surface of the ocean was still, holding its breath.

The low, steady beat of the infantry’s drum line was meant to evoke an army of steady heartbeats thumping in time. No fear, no doubt, no individuals. A collective.

Alessa’s heart revolted, hammering so fast it seemed to lose its rhythm every few beats.

Windows were boarded and streets swept clean. Her army was a phalanx of gleaming armor, but the wall of metal could not entirely hide the people behind it. The grimy but determined faces of the slapdash militia peered through the gaps, searching for salvation.

Emily Thiede's Books