This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(13)
Like a dutiful show pony, Alessa promenaded past pillars wrapped with flowered vines, beneath strings of twinkling fairy lights that burnished everyone and everything with a warm, romantic glow. A true storybook wonderland for everyone’s least favorite ice princess.
Renata looked proud and Tomo smiled as Alessa took her place between them at the head table.
She didn’t return it. Maybe someday, after she’d wed her next Fonte, and the battle was over, her mentors would completely forget they’d ever considered killing her. She never would.
Discreetly, she adjusted herself as every ragged breath shifted her low-cut bodice a fraction lower. While a wardrobe malfunction might tempt some candidates, she’d burst into tears if anything else went awry.
“Rolls?” Tomo said, gesturing to a basket of steaming bread.
How nice of him. How considerate. Perhaps Make sure the Finestra eats a well-balanced diet was listed right below Discourage your life partner from murdering her in the mentor handbook.
According to the stories, Renata had faced her own army of scarabeo without breaking a sweat, but Alessa’s monumental failures had her so shaken she was contemplating heresy and murder. It was almost impressive, really.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to hold it against them. Dea only knew she had plenty of thoughts that wouldn’t land well if she spoke them aloud. Lucky for her, she had no one to talk to.
If her life depended on it—and maybe it did—Alessa couldn’t have recited the dinner menu when the tables were cleared, but her stomach wasn’t empty, so she must’ve eaten something.
Now she was supposed to say something. If only she could split her mind in two and let one half obsess about her predicament while the other kept chugging along.
Liveried servers circulated with trays of a bitter digestivo in tiny crystal goblets. It scorched a trail down her throat but did nothing to settle her stomach.
Not all Finestra/Fonte pairings were romantic, so it wasn’t like she needed to find someone who was perfect for her. Many took lovers or life partners after Divorando, and it didn’t diminish the divine bond. After all, hearts were meant to love in more than one way. Her daydreams might feature a Fonte who was a partner in every sense of the word, but in real life, she’d settle for a friend.
Or anyone, really, at this point.
Everyone turned to watch as she stood, and she realized she was still holding her napkin, twisting it until it curled on itself. She bent her legs slightly until her hands were below the level of the table and dropped it. Saved by a tablecloth.
“Um. Hello,” Alessa said. Oratory genius. “I’m delighted to welcome you to our glorious Cittadella, the pinnacle of Saverio’s stronghold and home of our armory, where we keep our greatest weapons.” Oh drat, she was supposed to be the greatest weapon. “That is, our greatest weapon aside from the people of Saverio. Like me.” This was falling apart. “And our Fontes! Our miraculous Fontes, blessed by Dea to serve and protect. And by protecting, serve.” Why did anyone let her speak? “So, with no further ado”—and no more talking—“we will now be treated to demonstrations by those noble Fontes.” She nodded, smiled, nodded again, and sat with a thump.
Tomo, bless him, began to clap, and it only took a thousand years before others joined in a wan round of applause.
The Fontes stood from their respective tables and made their way toward her, reluctant boats being towed against the current.
Let the games begin.
Seven
A conti vecchi contese nuove.
Old reckonings, new disputes.
“Our first performer tonight will be Josef Benheim,” Tomo said, kicking off another round of applause.
Lanky and long-limbed, with deep brown skin and serious eyes, Josef had always been a solemn boy. Nicknamed “little man” by their teachers, his rare smiles had become even more rare since he’d lost his sister. Or, rather, since Alessa took his sister from him.
Josef’s entrance was hindered by Nina Faughn clinging to his hand. They were the closest to Alessa’s age, so she knew them better than the other Fontes. It looked as though their longtime friendship had taken a new direction in recent months.
After extricating himself from Nina’s grasp, Josef strode to the center of the performance space. The light glittered on the silver trim of his royal blue tunic as he bowed, his attire a subtle tribute to Ilsi, who’d worn the same colors the day Alessa had selected her. Josef wasn’t spiteful, so she knew it wasn’t meant as a jab, but pain lanced through her anyway.
Like Tomo, Josef’s power was to create cold, or rather, to remove heat, as Tomo always made a point to remind her. Cold is merely a lack of heat, therefore one can remove heat but not create cold. Unsmiling, Josef froze the contents of a few waiting glasses. In addition to supplying his family’s year-round gelateria, Joseph’s gift made his family the primary supplier for the iceboxes of Saverio, and their home was one of the finest on the island. Not that his family only used his gift for their own enrichment—that would be shameful—but distributing ice to the poor wasn’t what gilded their home in luxury and thus didn’t come up in conversation quite as often. Of all the Fonte powers, his was fairly straightforward—aim, freeze, watch scarabeo fall and shatter—but it had a narrow range, and that could mean a long, drawn-out battle.