Page 63 of A Betrothal So Bloody

I give the back of his head a flat glare, but don’t rise to the bait.

Silence settles between us again, and though I try to distract myself with the stars again, I cannot stop my mind from drifting back to Dante’s confession. I wonder if he’s thinking about it, too—if he stopped thinking about it even once since uttering the words to me.

Thinking about our time in the cottage jolts me into remembering that I had skipped my evening prayers before falling asleep in front of the fire. I had never forgotten my prayers—not even after the most grueling days of training, when I wanted nothing more than to fall straight to sleep.

I whisper my prayers under my breath, not caring that he can hear me over the mare’s steady hoofbeats. These soft words are the last shred of my daily routine that I can still cling to. Chiara’s pendant weighs heavily around my neck tonight, and I think of her with each word of prayer. To my shock, Dante doesn’t interfere. He doesn’t utter a single word until I have finished.

“No padre nostro?” he asks.

“Don’t mock me.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Believe it or not, those old Latin phrases still bring me some comfort—though it’s been decades since any of them have passed my lips. It reminds me of…before.”

Before.

When he was human, he likely attended mass publicly and routinely, one of the many glittering figures among the Venetian nobles. Before he’d gotten sick. Before he’d slaughtered everyone he had ever loved. My mouth goes dry. Tragedy shouldn’t change the fact that he’s a monster, but I cannot deny how my chest aches at what he’s gone through. Something has shifted, even if I would never admit it to Mother Superior. Maybe not even to Chiara.

How could any of them understand? I wouldn’t, if a slayer had come home with such blasphemous notions.

For the first time in my life, I silently pray for a vampire. Not for the man he used to be before turning, but for the one before me now.

The horse has slowed even more. It can’t keep going at full tilt all night, after all. The steady rocking sensation begins to have a lulling effect, and the grogginess from my violent awakening this evening does me no favors.

Squeezing my arms tighter around Dante, I rest my forehead against his shoulder with a sigh. He stiffens, trying to look over his shoulder at me.

“Sorry,” I mumble, forcing myself to straighten.

“You’re fine. I mean—it’s fine.” He clears his throat. “Rest if you need to. You’re a bit of a nightmare when you’re cranky.”

“Only a bit? When did you get so polite?”

But I’m too exhausted to protest his invitation or dream of an alternative. I rest my cheek against his shoulder and keep one eye on the stars floating above the horizon until my eyelids become too heavy to keep open.

twenty

The next two nights of travel are blissfully uneventful—other than having to evade spring rain. Our second detour from the storm takes us further off course than either of us would prefer, but villages are plentiful in the area before the final stretch to the supposed location of Callistia’s Grove.

Once we reach the rugged wilderness, I am wholly unsure what to expect, but I can be certain there will be no couriers at that point. I send an update to Mother Superior well before then, explaining that Dante and I are on a trip—something of a honeymoon. The location I provide is just far enough to throw any scouts off that might be sent to trail after the oh-so-romantic escape I’ve kept them abreast on.

My heart flutters uneasily as the letter slips from my hand to the courier’s.

I am still trying to learn about my new husband, dear aunt. Despite his eccentricities, intimacy has been delayed, and he’s made no effort to indulge any temptations. I am certain our future will become clearer after our travels, and will reunite with you then.

It has been nearly four weeks now since Catarina left me at the D’Agonisto villa. All that time and no certain answer about Dante’s alleged vampirism cannot look good on me, but it will surely be worth it in the end. Either I will find a cure, or… Or I will do away with yet another vampire in the name of the Order—and on my own, at that. Surely, my results will justify my unusual strategy.

The night is still young when we reach a quaint agricultural hamlet on our northward journey. I fidget with the map, trying to make sense of where exactly we are after our latest detour to avoid the rain. As I’m deciding which nearby town is worth aiming to reach before sunrise, I do a double take, glancing between the yellowed paper and the slow start of farmland buildings.

A little gasp escapes me. “This place…”

Dante scoffs. “You’re enthralled by a dingy little village?”

Ignoring him, I twist my head side to side, searching the shadowy buildings as the road smooths and the buildings multiply.

“I… I believe this is my childhood home. I grew up here.”

His pause is heavy, reading far too deeply into my stunned realization. “We’re halfway to town center. How are you only just now remembering that?”

“I haven’t seen it in over ten years.” I should be more hesitant to give away so much, but shock loosens my tongue. “We must purge ourselves of our pasts after we are welcomed into the Order. It’s forbidden to make contact with our former families—forbidden for me to even cross into this place. Anything that could detract from our training.”