This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(35)

“Do you ever think about leaving?” she asked.

“Saverio?” he said without looking up. “Every damn day.”

“There’s still time. I’m sure there are captains who’d prefer to weather Divorando under another Finestra’s protection. I’ve heard Tanp is beautiful. A better climate than Saverio and probably a better savior, too.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I’d rather go to the continent and fend for myself.”

“That’s a terrible idea. The scarabeo strip it bare every Divorando.”

“Not true. They usually head our way before they eat everything. No point wasting time on grass when there’s a whole island full of tasty people offshore.”

“You think you’d survive without Saverio’s protection?”

“Hasn’t done much for me, yet.”

“What’s stopping you, then?”

“I haven’t the coin. Besides, I said I’d keep you alive so you can save Saverio.”

She blew out a breath. “Right. Save Saverio.”

Her nerves vibrated hard enough to shatter her bones while she composed an elaborate mental fantasy of ripping the book out of his hands and throwing it, just to hear it hit the wall. Anything to break the silence.

Oblivious to her piercing stare, Dante sank deeper into his seat.

“I can leave, if you’d like privacy,” she said.

“I’m reading, not bathing.”

She slid back until her legs draped over the arm and pulled a throw pillow out from behind her, hugging it to her chest. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked.

“Chair’s comfortable. Company isn’t terrible.”

She dropped her chin to the pillow. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in years.”

Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she slapped a hand over it.

Dante lowered his book. “Can’t you ring a little bell for food or something? Isn’t that what fancy people do?”

She gave him an arch look. “Yes, we fancy people love bells. But I’m hosting a formal banquet for the Fontes tonight and shouldn’t spoil my appetite. You’re welcome to dine in the mess hall with the soldiers if you’d prefer not to witness the social carnage.”

Dante sniffed. “And gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon?”

“That is entirely up to you.” She should probably discourage him from speaking ill of them, but if he felt like judging someone else for a change, she wouldn’t object. “What have they done to make rusty-spoon-eyeball-gouging so tempting?”

“They complain. Constantly.”

Oh. Still her fault, then. “Yes, well, they expected exalted positions serving their illustrious Finestra and Fonte and instead are stuck with the greatest failure in the history of Saverio. It’s not exactly what they signed up for.”

“They signed up. It’s their job.”

She sighed. “The last time I ventured into the city, children jeered at them and ran away, screaming at the sight of me.”

“They don’t treat you with respect, they can’t expect anyone else to.”

Heat burned the back of her throat. “I haven’t exactly earned anyone’s respect.”

“I don’t know about that. Your mentor—the lady—”

“Signora Renata. The dowager Finestra. You know her name.”

“Whatever. Anyway, she looked impressed when you were barking at her earlier, like a puppy yapping at a bulldog.”

“Now that’s the confidence builder I needed.”

“Finestra?” Kamaria stood in the doorway, watching them with a strange look on her face.

Alessa tossed the pillow aside and scrambled to her feet, cursing herself for being caught in such an undignified pose. “Yes? Do you need something?”

“We’re heading downstairs.”

“Wonderful. I’ll be right down.”

Kamaria left and Alessa rolled her shoulders back, feeling like she should be wearing armor.

“è meglio cader dalla finestra che dal tetto,” Dante said softly.

It’s better to fall from the window than from the roof. One of Mama’s favorites.

“Very clever. Are they falling through me or pushing me out of one?”

He stood, sliding a small leather-bound book into his back pocket. “Only one way to find out.”





Eighteen


Chi vive tra lupi, impara ad ululare.

Live with wolves, learn to howl.

DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 28


Alessa had the place of honor at the head of the table, so she couldn’t miss a single miserable glance or flinch as the Fontes took their seats.

To Alessa’s right, Nina bowed her head, whispering a soft prayer.

Alessa picked up her fork and the movement startled Nina, who knocked her water glass into her lap.

Across the table, Saida grimaced. Kaleb groaned.

Nina’s lip trembled as a servant hustled in with a stack of napkins.

Alessa grasped for old memories, anything to talk about. “Kamaria, do you still play guitar?”

Kamaria idly toyed with her fork. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just wondering. Nina, how are you enjoying the temple choir these days? Your solo at last week’s service was lovely.”