This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(33)
“Ah. Well, we may have to bend a few rules.”
Saida and Kamaria exchanged looks.
Nina’s glass bulged above and below her fingers. “Sorry. Sometimes I slip up when I’m nervous.” She loosened her grasp, and the solid crystal goblet regained its shape.
“Wait.” Kaleb sounded slightly breathless. “Are you saying you’re going to use our gifts before choosing a Fonte?”
“I. Um.”
“Let’s not worry about that today.” Renata came to the rescue, descending the stairs. “We’ll give you time to get acquainted first, then Fonte Tomohiro Miyamoto will be—” Renata stopped, brow furrowed. A percussion of heavy boots echoed through the tunnel.
A platoon of soldiers filed into the courtyard, led by Captain Papatonis, whose face was white as bone. “Finestra, the Watch is here to see you.”
Chills prickled up Alessa’s neck.
Soldiers carried in a stretcher with a piece of stained fabric concealing something large. As they set their burden before her, something flopped out from beneath the tarp.
A claw, twisted and underdeveloped.
It twitched.
A nearby soldier raised her bayonet and stabbed the fabric. The twitching stopped, and a trickle of midnight blue snaked out.
Captain Papatonis cleared his throat. “The esteemed Fifth Platoon is here to present the First Warning.”
Josef’s glass slipped from his hand, shattering in a spray of golden shards.
For better or worse, Alessa finally knew how long she had left.
One month.
One month to choose her Fonte.
One month until they faced a swarm of those … things.
One month, and it would all be over.
Seventeen
La morte e la sorte stanno dietro la porta.
Death and fate are behind the door.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 28
At Renata’s subtle cough, Alessa dragged her gaze away from the creature and forced her lips to move.
“Thank you for your service and your vigilance.”
Renata was right, practice did make perfect. The ceremonial response had slipped out so smoothly she might have been receiving a bouquet of flowers rather than the mangled corpse of a massive, demonic insect.
The soldiers saluted, armor clanking in the stunned silence of the courtyard, and banged their staffs on the ground, making everyone else flinch.
Visibly steeling himself, Captain Papatonis grabbed the corner of the tarp and yanked it off, exposing a smooth, beetle-black exoskeleton and bulging, liquid red eyes. So intact, so perfect in its horribleness, the scarabeo could have been sleeping.
“I’ll have it put in storage once you’ve had a chance to look it over,” he said, before marching away at a clip, mumbling about making preparations.
The soldiers, stone-faced beneath their helmets, bowed and left, abandoning the dead scarabeo in the middle of what had been a cocktail hour moments before.
Alessa took a slug of limoncello.
Was she expected to move it herself? To hang it above her bed like a baby’s mobile, perhaps? Something to stare at during the long nights while she lay awake, frozen with dread?
“Someone will remove it later,” came Renata’s low voice. “Time to lead.”
“Ugly, aren’t they?” Tomo broke the stillness.
The Fontes wore matching expressions of nauseated horror as Tomo and Renata casually examined the hell-sent creature lying before them in a growing puddle of its own ichor.
“Small, though.” Renata walked around the creature, eying it from all sides.
“The First always are.”
“Still. Could be a sign of a weak year.”
They were restating what Alessa already knew, making idle talk while she worked up the courage to approach a monster larger than a fully grown person. The creature’s mandibles curled instead of stabbing out from its jaw, but they were still wide and sharp enough to snap a person in half.
“It does look a bit … soft,” Alessa said, trying to sound unimpressed.
Saida made a sound between a cough and a sob.
Kamaria and Kaleb had their eyes closed, and it wasn’t clear if Josef was holding Nina up or the opposite, as they both looked at risk of keeling over.
Alessa swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter. Either her years of preparation were finally paying off and she’d been toughened up by the many hours she’d spent in the cold storage room examining mummified scarabeo from past Divorando … or she’d finally snapped.
Hors d’oeuvres and a deceased scarabeo. A fitting welcome to the Cittadella of Doom.
Dea, your comedic timing is impeccable.
“The pincers are, uh, more curved than the last batch, wouldn’t you say? Closer to those from the Divorando in 431?”
Renata nodded as if Alessa had made a very good point, which was especially impressive since there hadn’t been a Divorando in 431. It had been 43 … 5? 437? It was definitely an odd-numbered year.
It didn’t matter. The Fontes didn’t look as though they were hearing much of anything.
She muddled her way through a few more derisive comments before Renata clapped her hands together and cheerily announced she’d show the Fontes their new quarters.
Like a train of miserable ducklings, they followed Renata up the stairs, seeming as defeated at the prospect of moving in as they were at remaining near the monster.