This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(8)

The robed man bent to grab the girl’s tunic, forcing her to stand. “Blessed be the wretched, for they know not what they do. You’d need no coin if you had the sense to listen to your betters.”

Frowning, Alessa took an involuntary step forward.

“Let her go.” The crowd parted like butter to a hot knife as the young man stepped through, his sneer darker, frightening. He couldn’t be but a few years older than Alessa, but he walked with the authority of one who expected others to move aside.

Ivini’s disciple straightened until the girl’s toes barely touched the cobblestones, his grip firm. “Is she with you? If so, you need to teach her some manners. The gods don’t appreciate—”

“Drop her, or I’ll send you to meet your gods right now.” The young man’s movement was slight, his broad shoulders shifting in the merest threat of a lunge, but Ivini’s minion stumbled back, inadvertently dragging the girl with him.

He didn’t make it far. The young man seized his wrist and gave it a brutal twist that splayed his fingers.

The girl broke free, darting behind her rescuer to use him as a barrier. With wide eyes, the child watched her bully forced to his knees, whimpering in pain.

The young man let go and wiped his hands on his pants with a look of disgust.

The disciple glanced around, clutching his injured arm, but no one leapt to his defense, not even his leader. It seemed the Fratellanza’s religious fervor didn’t extend to putting their bodies on the line.

“Brother,” Ivini said in a cold voice, fury burning in his eyes. “Let us show grace. Even the most wicked may come to see the light. Eventually.”

The dark-haired stranger knelt to help the child gather her scattered coins, adding a few from his own pocket before he stood and continued on his way, strolling past empty storefronts to where the street narrowed to little more than an alley. He stopped beneath a worn placard reading The Bottom of the Barrel and pulled the door open, releasing a burst of raucous voices. As if he could feel her eyes on him, he glanced back and met Alessa’s gaze, raising an eyebrow in silent challenge.

She looked away, blushing.

Ivini resumed his sermon, funneling his anger into it, and the crowd responded like a bonfire to dry kindling, flaring hot and fast.

Cold sweat dewed Alessa’s forehead. Renata and Tomo had made it sound like a few lone dissidents, but this was a revolt in the making.

“Who has the courage?” Ivini demanded. “Who is brave enough to smite the false prophet?”

“I’d do it,” a woman shouted, and the crowd roared their approval.

Alessa inched back into the shadows.

Death was creeping closer, but this wasn’t where she intended to meet it.





Four


Chi ha fatto il male, faccia la penitenza.

As you make your bed, so you must lie.



A bell tinkled above the door as Alessa entered the apothecary. Luckily, Adrick was the only worker on the floor. He looked up, his mop of curls bouncing as he fumbled the jar he was handing to an elderly woman.

Alessa signed that she needed to speak to him.

Hiding his movements, he signed back, “Trying to get me banished?”

“Knife. My head,” she signed, pulling her hair back to reveal the bandage.

His nostrils flared, and he signed a curt “Outside, ten minutes” before turning back to the customer and saying aloud, “That one’s infused with dried herbs, but if you ask me…”

Alessa pretended to peruse the store’s offerings, uncorking a small bottle and coughing at the rank contents.

Adrick looked pointedly at the open door to the storeroom, and she left to wait for him outside.

When he emerged from the darkened building a quarter-hour later, Adrick held up a hand to stop her from speaking and jerked his head toward the main road, setting off without checking to see if she followed. His legs were considerably longer than hers, and he made no effort to adjust his stride.

“Did you know?” she said, trotting to keep up. “About this Ivini person claiming I’m a false Finestra?”

Adrick’s silence was answer enough.

“Adrick! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I knew it would worry you.”

“Strangers are throwing knives at me. I should be worried.”

“Then why are you here?” he shot back. “One knife to the head wasn’t enough excitement for the day?”

She blanched. “I only stopped wearing the veil recently. Hardly anyone knows what I look like.”

“Signor Arguelles does.”

“Well, he didn’t see me.”

As children, they’d spent countless hours crushing herbs for their neighbor before Adrick became his apprentice, and while she couldn’t imagine the kindly older man betraying her, it wouldn’t be the most shocking recent event.

“Tell me what you’ve heard.” Alessa stopped short, forcing her brother to turn back.

“Look.” Adrick blew out a breath. “It’s been a long day. The apothecary has been mobbed with people looking for tinctures to remove their marks—impossible, of course—and medics needing supplies to treat people who tried to burn or cut theirs out. People are panicking, thinking…”

“That I can’t protect them.” She’d thought she was the only one who lay awake at night, afraid she’d let everyone down. Instead, her deepest fears were being shouted from every street corner.