This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(2)

Dread pooled in her stomach. She’d lost track of how many eligible Fontes remained on the island, but she couldn’t afford to scare off more. She resisted the urge to turn and see who was left.

All Fontes were blessed at birth with defensive magic—fire, wind, water, earth, electricity, and so forth—and thus they were respected and revered, considered a precious resource whether they were chosen to serve or not. Each Fonte received a generous annual stipend, was exempted from military duty, and was protected from harm.

Until they weren’t.

“Good riddance,” Alessa hissed. Anger was safer than panic, and she knew her duty, which meant not falling apart where someone might see. “Anyone who’d abandon their people isn’t worthy of being my Fonte.”

Without a Finestra to absorb and magnify their power, a Fonte’s gift was fairly weak, but at least they had useful powers. Not like hers, which was basically worthless without a partner to draw from.

So she couldn’t argue with Adrick’s response of “Better an unworthy Fonte than none at all.”

She risked a quick glare. Aside from his eyes—green on a good day, hazel on most—her brother was nothing like her. Tall and lanky, with tanned skin and golden curls, Adrick strolled through life with an easy charm, while she had their mother’s dark waves and creamy skin that burned easily, and her ease and charm had been snuffed out by years of rules and isolation.

“You could be more encouraging,” she whispered.

Adrick appeared to consider the possibility. “Someone has to laugh about it.”

“It isn’t funny.”

“Of course it isn’t.” There was a slight tremble to his voice. “But if I think about it too seriously, I’d never get out of bed.”

Alessa swallowed. When her first Fonte, Emer, died, Adrick had stood outside the Cittadella’s walls belting out bawdy sea chanteys in his best pirate voice for hours until her sobs became hiccups of laughter. Adrick was never serious, no matter how dire things became, but after years of wishing he’d take her situation seriously, she wasn’t sure she could handle it if he did.

A soloist began the Canto della Dea in the common tongue, soon joined by another in the ancient language, then others, until a dozen languages wove a harmony as intricate as the community.

Together, we protect. Divided, we falter.

Wizened old Padre Calabrese shuffled up the stairs as the last note died, clearing his throat repeatedly even though no one was speaking.

“The gods are cruel but merciful,” he began.

Easy for him to say.

“In the beginning, Dea created humankind, but Crollo insisted we were too flawed, too selfish, to endure. When Crollo sent fire, Dea made water to quench it. He brewed storms, and she granted shelter. And when Crollo vowed to cleanse the earth and begin anew, Dea challenged him, because she had faith in us. ‘Alone,’ she said, ‘a person is a thread easily snipped. Intertwined, we are strong enough to survive.’”

Alessa squirmed on the unyielding bench. It would be her luck to lose feeling below the waist and topple over when she stood to leave. Dea really should have sweetened the deal by throwing in some tolerance for discomfort with the great and deadly power.

Sensing the Padre’s attention shift her way, Alessa sat up straighter.

“And so, Dea and Crollo made a wager: Crollo could send his devouring minions, but Dea would raise sanctuary islands from the sea where the faithful could strive to live in harmony, proving their worthiness and defying Crollo’s cynicism. And because she loves us, she armed her children with gifts…”

Alessa tried to look as gift-like as possible as furtive glances flicked her way.

While it was all true, and obviously they owed Dea a debt, the goddess could have chosen a simpler solution. An impenetrable shield, perhaps. Or made the islands invisible. Maybe she could have negotiated Crollo down to one planetwide scourge, and they would’ve been done with this nonsense a half a century ago. But oh, no, in her infinite wisdom, Dea decided to teach her children about community and partnership by creating saviors who couldn’t save alone.

The divine pairing existed as a constant reminder that shared strength was their path to salvation. Hence, a Finestra could only magnify someone else’s gift.

Hand in hand with an opera singer, a Finestra could bring the harshest music critic to his knees. For a few minutes after touching an archer, a Finestra could hit every bull’s-eye. And paired with a Fonte, a Finestra could defeat an army of demons sent by the God of Chaos.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to work.

When Alessa first stood before the Consiglio, the row of wizened elders had made it sound as easy as one, two, three.

1.??Choose a Fonte.

2.??Do not kill them.

3.??Amplify their magic to save everyone and everything on Saverio—or become the first to die.

Alessa’s gaze slipped to the glittering coffin.

Well, not the first.

Even now, some insisted the deaths were a good omen. Terribly sad, of course, but reassuring. A Finestra so powerful she accidentally killed her first Fonte? They would be well-protected in the siege. And her second? Well, accidents happened. Besides, she was young, and these things took time. Surely, she’d be more careful with the next. But after three funerals, Alessa’s strength didn’t feel like a promise of victory anymore, and time was running out.